Flashes

in midst of vicissitudes

you say

let bygones be bygones

how can this be

when one bygone has eloped

bagging along

his inadequacies

beyond boarders unknown

and the other lounged into a hole?

I digress...

and come to think of it

how similarities ring through -

that it rained in Ojoto:

after my grandmother was buried,

after my father was interred,

after my sister went to the grave.

and you may say:

rain is

now a herald of cleansing

a revelation

that their souls have reached

beyond the clouded realm of eternity.

I move on...

these vicissitudes come to town

where everything is in God's hands;

co-harbouring

in a makeshift shade

accommodating spent men -

labourers

hungry and begging

in casting and binding session.

I shake my head...

next to them

a political signage on Trans-Ekulu bridge -

three big fat heads smirking at them

whose god is better?

I wish...

that the rain:

that leveller of realities

can sweep these vicissitudes

down Udi hills to the tributaries

linking the river lines

to the Atlantic's high current.

they sail away...