You can trust the headless scream of Yaba to buried in its Cementary
A frothful battle for living or dying.
And if this concerned a child of twelve
Watching death roll to her on rail tracks
What sympathy can come
From the raw-peppered heart of such a Horde?
You can trust Oshodi to undertake
the wake of the living.
A mere girl of twelve!
She clutched the earth,begging life
In fistfuls of mud, foaming in her
Feverish pleading in turn,impotent world of sorrow where love,
Lacking muscle,weeps in little graves,
Hurrying through the broken fence
To flee malediction in her fading eyes.
The train tolled its horn as I crossed the fence
And I wondered if she was bound for home
Before the fever made a fire in her bones,
Wondered if home was her deathbed of murk
Where Yaba profanes life and death.
I passed again the scene of her mortal battle and saw the fight she waged then as she lay dying by the railbars hoping to pluck a ministering hand from a crowd deader than her dying self.
I too filed past her on her that day,
Forced to pay last respects to one
More in need of life than mourning.
Dear girl,twined afresh by guilt
I plead breathing corpses of your mourners in mitigation.
I plead flesh that fell with yours,
Leaving only rattling bones
That toll your silent cry forever
In the wilds of a headless world.
Written By : Eyitayo Fasasi