One Night at Victoria Beach By Gabriel Okara

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One Night at Victoria Beach

By

Gabriel Okara

The wind comes rushing from the sea, 

the waves curling like mambas strike 

the sands and recoiling hiss in rage 

washing the Aladursa' feet pressing hard 

on the sand and with eyes fixed hard 

on what only hearts can see, they shouting 

pray, the Aladuras prays and coming 

from booths behind, compelling nightlife 

forces ears; and car lights startle pairs 

arm in arm passing washer-words back 

and forth like haggling sellers and buyers-

Still they pray, the Aladuras pray 

with hands pressed against their hearts 

and their white robes pressed against 

their bodies by the wind; and drinking 

palmwine and beer, the people boast 

at bars at the beach, Still they pray.

They pray, the Aladuras pray 

to what only hearts can see while dead 

fishermen long dead with bones rolling 

nibbled clean by nibbling fishes, following

four dead cowries dining like stars 

into deep wes where fishes sit in judgements 

and living fishermen in dark huts 

sit round dim lights with Babalawo 

throwing their souls in four cowries 

on sand, trying to see tomorrow.

Still they pray, the Aladuras pray 

to what only hearts can see behind 

the curling waves and the sea, the stars 

and the subduing unanimity of the sky 

and their white bones beneath the sand.

And standing dead on dead sands, 

I felt my knees touch living sand-

but the rushing wind killed the budding words.