When silence echoes loudly

lips droop in shame

words are afraid to perch

eyelids battle the unseen

ears become an open garbage heap

that stink from gossip

lies spread-eagled their legs

the unborn is fated to live

in the womb of maggots and

chemistry

let me wallow in silence

covered with akwete

its whiteness hide my coal-skin

I must chew the cud

and vomit a forest of nostalgia

coal lights a fire that burns

in regiments

I search for truth in between your testicles

clawing my white nails

frozen by years of rejection

my body is a temple

naked and desirable

to beckon the wanderer to explain

why do my roots sag on both sides

why did the ofo tree in an embrace

with me uncover my past?

I am made of more. pure

bronze and fired clay

kola and the aftertaste of bitter-leaf

I am the dot, the locus

of a circle

the mother of pain and joy

boxed into the center of cowards

hiding behind bandits, herds, and men

I am Igbo, the land of

of oracles and thunder

the beginning of the passage

the yearning for the caves and hills

the incantations of the flute

the struggle of rivers flowing ceaselessly

in the veins of the earth to our roots

and fronds dripping blood

give me freedom like a wrapper

without strings

loose at both ends.

I know your name

but can't remember

why the oxen fit not the yoke

nor the chariot its rider

Shall I call you a country

when oceans run into streams

Elephants battle trees for space.

The trees fall. Grasses die from

too many rain-tears. The eyes are worn out

like moth-eaten clothes

Shall I call thee a country

in nets and traps. Eagles

migrate to higher rocks

ravished by endless yearning for crumbs

from the master's table.