Posted by E.C Akachi on
Moonlight Rhythms
The sky lit a fire
The rainbow cleared a path
The crickets chirped her name
The ogene sang her praise
That new moon
he played her poems on his drums
His dreams were wet with her voice
But he never told
He never told of how her shadow tamed his feelings
of how her jigida inspired his rhythms
of how he hoarded his love in little calabashes of shyness
The new moon would come again
but there won’t be a dance
and no footprints would trail the arena
Instead the ogene would be silent
and the flute would linger
Because sometime, somewhere
a calabash had broken from too much use
and a drummer had died clutching his drums.