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(for: ’niyi osundare)

the goldness of those eyes,
like the eye of the earth –
beaming, mirrors the secret softness
hidden by the ash-like depths of our souls!

many of them, brother, so learned;
 o! carrying shrines of empty superiority,
as they coaxed the lads
to believe the new deities of half-truths,
and bring sweet-smelling oblations
to each black prof who looks and speaks at us;
’niyi, my brother, you know these well!

yet, when we saw your inner complexion,
we knew it well:
we, the celebrate sons born at the niger’s banks,
you’re a prof: a black prof: a twin of us!

the preciousness of those sharp eyes,
the ever-ruminant seed of that heart
which almost marked your pen, a ruffian!
are these the ingredients
in those soup of our radical celibacy?
your presence like other presences
in our village:
spoke tranquility and hopefulness
to a village full of raw anxieties!
then you twinkled away from us
not forever, no, but for a while!

brother, while our eyes, almost in cessions,
are down-turned in supplications
to the brightest eye of the earth;
our ears in remembrance with our eyes
seeing the sacred lips gaping in admonitions:
‘whenever the muse in ferocity comes:
then strike the pen as a hunter in his primes!’

yes! when we heard this lexicon,
we knew it well:
we, the sad sons suffering at the ant-hills,
you’re a prof: a black prof: a twin of us!

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