(February 12,1958 / Dagauda, Bauchi State, Nigeria)

The Music Of Cowardice

Hoopoe, our bird of wisdom
The celebrated pendant, the poet
After decades of cultural heroism
Filled a cup from centaur
Back home
He packed aside his stepping stone songs

In a compact tree by the citadel
Owl like, he hoots
Facing the citadel, he trills
Turning sideways,
Still on he harps
And how they wished
That it weren't a municipal tree
They would have hurled red hot coal at him,
Hurled un-smothered ember at him
And down a sapling
He sings in an orchestra of nightingales
Its alto reaching the fortress:
Omen, the genius
The whizkid
Omen, the genius
Hovering above him
A kite in a counter tenor hymns
Our children
Chilling the children
Boiling,
Boiling the sleeping cauldron
Our children!

Oh, stop your music of cowardice
You nightingales, you kite
The children, in their store of wisdom
Have very, very little
They are only out to peace
So save your tongues to naught

You churn fresh milk
Ere the cheese will emerge

You concoct and boil
Ere the soup is made

You till the weedy field
Ere the crops will yield

So hold your tongues to naught

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

Oh, stop your music of cowardice You nightingales, you kite The children, in their store of wisdom Have very, very little They are only out to peace So save your tongues to naught....touching expression with feeling of sadness. Children are our future, they should enjoy the freedom and wisdom. A brilliant poem is penned amazingly.10
Can feel the sadness throughout this poem, a heavy heart can only feel it's pull. Very vivid imagery and rhythm. Great poem! 10++ Thank you for sharing. RoseAnn