Laments for 'Shola By Okogbule Wonodi

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I

When the dust came I sought shelter 

Under a canopy of thick grown palms,

I raised my voice,

Half-speaking, half-singing, 

Above the rustle of winds, 

Far from our fathers' barns.

I have heard your response, 

Half-laughing, half-chattering,

Fondling my name;

 Flattered, I have hung my songs

A foot too low 

That you and Tony and Toddy

May from them weave 

Scenes too distant for your birthcry. 

But you are gone,

Gone with morning dews on your head, 

You have left before the first rays 

Have lighted the swallows' ways.

II

We sang through white horns 

At the sprouting in the farms,

But the fruit falls unripe, 

Our barns thin and rust 

Yet their keepers keep no words 

That were theirs on earth. 

Only, I wait for the rains 

And speak to them:

You've left us to ourselves 

In our season of drought; 

We have come handsfull 

And have made our mouth taleful 

Between drought and new yams, 

But you have left your your hold 

And seeds fall unripe

I am alone 

And the murmur of my lips, 

Carry song and tears homewards 

From a plain away from home

And when the rains come, you fathers, 

Who will run and laugh under your houses!