Nights (Night 5)
(A Retrospective Assessment of Ayoola Goodyness Olarewaju’s Nights)
I read nights from a face of a war widow,
left my eyes in the bellowed darkness,
gorged by vultures at the ruins of torn nights.
but I still know my name and I’m a night.
I saw breasts covered by gory nights
when greed libbed human souls
milked tears of despairing women
when Man hunt peace at war field…
I saw night robbed feeble thumbs
with garnished words at poll scenes.
some nights, scenes for sinister hands
when they wear faces of nefarious intent…
I see nights beyond those night
far beneath the rays of your naked sun…
but nights wear the garments of our minds
for night does not live, we vein its blood.
nights can be days of our busy sun
or the cloud that cry on our seeds
when we grain on our furrowed dusks
to harvest moon in the palm of morrow.
I have rainbow of night tales
of the weary sun that lights my night…
I tell these tales from my senile eyes,
your tales of nights of tinnitus nights.