Songs of Anisha
“Oshodi Night,”
by Dele Afolabi
The honest and meek must be around somewhere,
But assuming they’re not is the safer thought,
Wallets are vanishing and watches too,
Take all for pickpockets till you leave unscathed.
The human mass endlessly rush on,
Purposeful strides bespeak a worthwhile destination,
But who can tell?
The faces do not smile,
The fierce exterior of the evil heart?
Or the boldface pose of the innocent,
That, with luck, keeps muggers off ?
Business thrives, second-hand clothing,
Tell the story of a people,
Condemned to a life of second best.
The muddy decay forever stinks,
But they’re not bothered as they slosh through,
Those who see the scum as theirs by right,
Their diverse bustling shows no unity,
An each for himself individuality,
That speaks of no bond.
Yet there’s a link, a potent commonness,
In the latent bitterness in all of their hearts,
Carried along daily, perhaps till a sign comes,
For those who know about these things have said,
That if these wronged sufferers ever rise,
The fire that’ll burn will ignite here.
But no fires burn this Oshodi night,
Just the weary legion trudging on,
And something in this night air,
That smells like frustration.
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