This subtle dance in smallest tendons
And tiniest of contractions,
In littlest of words.
Minor C, disclosed in me in
tapping of ten digits
on my sheets.
When they dance in, and straighten,
Lift me so high, I smile...
Upright posture.
Ink flows in, -in colours inimitable
by any wild palette-
and out again.
Arabesque in a lazy Arabian Night
by a knight chained
and beaten, battu.
Let my hands play F and C
Let their hands help,
Legs changé.
In inmost words that find
their final place,
ultimately.
***
March 3, 2017
© Darren White
Categories:
battu, beauty, body, dance, health,
Form: Free verse
BEGGARS' VOICE
We are here!
Under the muggy weather
With my fellow 'Battu bearer'
Roaming from street to street,
place to place,
and City to City
For our daily bread.
We are here again!
'We',
indispensable members of this naytion
With our broken calabash,
Fallen stick,
And creamy rags
On our dangling neck.
At night, when the shining sun retired
And returned to his bed
We returned to our open mansion
With our fragile mat
Lying under the regime of cooling breeze
to injects us
And for our little landlords
to sucks from the little streams
on our fragmented body.
We are here!
Under the sicken policy
of our able saviour
that enrich their swollen stomach
irrespective of the country-men
with there oppressive jeeps
and shiny silent action automobile
Under the ultra lavish mansions.
By
Ajeyemi Wasiu .A
Categories:
battu, africa, courage, depression, feelings,
Form: Free verse