POETRY: Homage to Ukala

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Prof Mabel Evwierhoma

If only the reaper, grim as he is

With his scythe pierced the roof

Or cut off a portion of the top,

Or pulled some sides off the eaves,

awning and all,

and did not become the ripper;

There would have been room enough

for the ink pot, top, quill and-

the heads and hands of ready writers

in the gathering of the feast of letters

that we return to,

like the watering hole.

Why he did not perforate the roof,

Or make the eaves and awning want repair,

Or hole-ridden, beats one:

‘Twould have been better for us to complain of,

and:

shiver from the draught of cold,

or the smouldering heat;

the flogging by the rain

despite the pall of gloom cast upon the homestead

even as misshapen as the covering would have become.

Gladly,

 at nightfall,

we would have counted the stars

through the holes,

wiped the sweat

with our weather-beaten apparel

and waxed lines from the roofless experience,

or baled water gladly

from the lashing rain,

despite the makeshift cover.

What becomes of us

now that the rooftop is whipped away?

Without the covering,

we huddle into corners,

seeking spaces for refuge

to form lines of consolation

with diluted ink.

Tear-faced and askance,

We look aghast:

The cover for our commonality is gone,

the halcyon days of erudition truncated-

written off, overwritten

and run aground.

Alas! The scythe in futility,

tried to scratch off one name

But O! it remains legible.

                  Mabel Evwierhoma

Vanguard News Nigeria

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