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?
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