The Trial of Christopher Okigbo

I Hungry earthworms Forever entombed in the bowels Of mother earth Awake Defy this asceticism and prostrate For your ultimate destiny Lies not in the dogmatic Steady march along beaten footpaths Hungry earthworms These reminiscences of plaintive cooing They do not placate Those dethroned, deprived spirits Of our fallen ancestors Ancient dejection above Deploy your genius here On this demesne Extirpate this invidious trust In the compound animal… II So the poor abuses of the day Led men of talent, assiduity; Men who command success Into violent remonstrance. The death storm brew Compelling conscience to self denial And self-sacrifice Oh, it was sublime! Those rare virtues Joined bone to muscle Together seized singular vantage Where conscience would not Compromise dignity or freedom Previous infidelities to mother earth Prefixed a commercial metaphor… Leaving no outrage. III Genius botanists- Chroniclers in the light Of a later knowledge Presaged disturbance inseparable… Mother earth cried: ‘Listen white man, I’m bleeding’ In aggrieved intimacy. He, Who sowed seeds of discord Laughed Laughed consumedly Leaving no dregs. IV They told me Absolute life contains death To which I replied In absolute terms That profanity and self-abasement Could not be disguised As spiritual humility; And that implicit obedience To some numb serpent Or organic completeness Were mere prevarications. They With preternatural gravity Deplored my innocence: They would rather court Moderate vice Than Immoderate virtue. V What manner of men were they? Gold- alloyed to some commoner But more durable metal? Subjects of Nyoora ’s muse- ‘and they shall into the forest retreat Leaving their kindred in encampment Leaving no graves for their dead?’ O wretched tenderness I hate thee! I hate thee! VI I listened again and again To the silence of prodigies; I listened to my contumacy I listened to the foreign troops In my bowels…crushing my resolve I listened to my ingratitude… What will Mother Earth say! VII Come confidence Strip me of this impotence Guide me to the sunset tree Where the earthworms are gathered! Was it not written-? many an elegant and facile poet Shall to the front For her love’s sake? Her love’s sake! Yes, Mother, For your sake! VIII So I, Okigbo, Metamorphosed into ‘a low growth Among the forest.’ And when I died Did Mazrui not write? Have you not heard!