George Osodi
By
Aremu Adams Adebisi
A basketful of water
they come dressed in garbs
of esoteric wars
as their tongues devoured heads
into sleep and silence;
yesterday stirs on her bamboo bed
in the reminiscence of confections
wrapped with bitterleaves…
the smell of dust and blood
now rent the ominous sky,
our brothers are sands with live coals
flaming the feet into forbidding…
they are the outsiders whose griefs
become plangent than the bereaved
that through their dawns we witness
the rising of the scorching sun
in rays not as blunt as during the day
but when the sun sets in his chest
and night is a head-load of the sunrays
we would know who always calls at us
with a basketful of water.
Reflections
If you can write the way I write
In freeverse, rhymes and lyric lines,
I bet you’ll find yourself the right
Of being a muse that redefines.
If you can write the way I write
In words that soothe a lonely day,
I bet you’ll find yourself the might
To bear the sunlight by its ray.
If you can write the way I write
And learn the hush of nature’s mirth,
I bet you’ll find yourself the light
That sieves the aging from the birth.
If you can write the way I write
After you’ve turned an enthusiast,
I bet you’ll find yourself the sight
Of that real you in death and past.
Meaningful and challenging