My Village Crier

Gong! Gong! Gong!
Gripped in his senile manual-nest,
His metal pet resounded with faith.
Caressed with a gnarled Ogbu stick,
The sound burrowed through the thick
Hallowed Otoogwe forest;
So expressed was the chief’s mind.
Treading through the thin Ogboli path
Leading toward the grassy outskirt,
The sound signalled like a hovering kite.

Gong! Gong! Gong!
The busy culinary pestle stopped,
The palm-wine prospecting machete halted,
The foot-caravan of firewood listened,
Commanding a public aligned audience.
Gee nu nti! - audibly his voice.
Voice-brandishing the craved -
Ofala- the regal outburst,
He painted the community with pelted
Sound for a knowledge-burst.
Ezeokpu square bar feasted on a new topic;
The product of his metal-tonic.

Gong! Gong! Gong!
The sound faded toward the next village,
The nocturnal chirping crickets took turn,
The moody sun announced her passage.

by Onyeazor Raphael

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.