Solid Impressions: Iv

(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!