My Water Falls…
My water falls
Like the gushing waters at Ipole Iloro
Cascading down with majestic musicality in the African rainforest
Smoothening the rocks hewed into
The entrails of nature like a practiced craftsman
Who lodged these torrents in the heart of the forest,
in the recesses of nature?
It was a rainy day, but she was not draining.
Did she realize:
When she allowed herself a shower
By the feet of the gushing waters
that her satin clothe hugged her vital statistics
like an invite to his vitality?
Climbing mountains, descending valleys
Her skirted self must take care
Not to slide into the tempting entails of nature,
nurtured by the picturesque ambience of a begotten countryside
When next she visits Ipole
Will the water still fall
Or would she let the oro+
Sketched into the landscape of Ipole speak only to the forest?
*Oro (Yoruba) – word
*These poems are from an unpublished collection, “Constant Mirages and other Love Poems”
My God, amazing poetry. Aptly captures the angst in the forgotten nation of Somalia. Eerily familiar tone, I feel connected to this poem because I wrote one very much like it a year ago.