When Shall We Converge Again

Memories of those nights at Ekpoma Cling on to my dreams like bees to raffia palm Seeking for food to be produced The Muse said we left many issues unresolved While we sat around the well at my abode Pondering what the Age demanded Uwem was there as were Taye, Alexis, Broderick and Stephen We all voiced our consternation over The non-reforming crusader And the dispiriting creed of the times However, we bore no armour to confront the statutes So, we suppressed our artistic urge And swallowed their decrees Like tasteless morsels of cassava But the Muse insists we were armed with the word To combat those unfit men who like lice to hairs Cling to the throne of the masses Because that was what the Age demanded Many seasons later, greys upon our receding hair lines The Age still demands that we speak against The putridness in the community orchard Because that which emerged without sourness and carnage Now festers like a worm-infested sore In answer to the Muse’s prompting Troubadours, Brothers and Friends of my youth When shall we then converge again Like we did around vessels of sweltering morsels On the floor of my abode in the little town of Ekpoma To restore the beauty that the Fathers dreamed of?