Lament of the Flutes by Christopher Okigbo

TIDEWASH……Memories

fold-over-fold free-furrow

mingling old tunes with new.

Tidewash.....Ride me

memories, astride on firm

saddle, wreathed with white

lillies & roses of blood.....



Sing to the rustic flute:

Sing a new note...



Where are the Maytime flowers,

where the roses? What will the

Watermaid bring at sundown,

a garland? A handful of tears?

Sing to the rustic flute:

Sing a new note...



Comes Dawn

gasping thro worn lungs,

Day breathes,

panting like torn horse -



We follow the wind to the fields

Bruising grass leafblade and corn...



Sundown: I draw in my egg head.

Night falls

smearing sore bruises with Sloan's

boring new holes in old sheets -



We hear them, the talkative pines,

And nightbirds and woodnymphs afar off ...



Shall I answer their call,

creep on my underself

out of my snug hole, out of my shell

to the rocks and the fringe for cleansing?

Shall I offer to Idoto

my sandhouse and bones,

then write no more snow-patch?



Sing to the rustic flute.

Sing a new note.