The Lagoon was once a lake…


By Akeem Lasisi


Let us roll out the Westerly wind

To see if the pines of the East would dance with glee;

Roll out Monsoon drums

For the beady feet of visiting gods.


The sky is tired

Of thunder’s monotone

Earth weary,

Of threadbare tunes of recycled larks.


To the conservative, morning can only come after its noon and night

But I belong to the caste of alternative thinkers

Seeking a new dawn in the midst of dusk,

A bold sun in a baffled night.


This eve of my flight,

This flight of my eve

I whet my dream

On a stone of hope


The lagoon was once a lake

Lake itself, a puddle

Until it amassed a fame undying

From little, little drops of angels’ tears.


The god is wise, the god is wise

Let the night cry the god is wise!

He who knew the trick of undying, stored its baritone voice,

In a roaring disc of immortal thunder.


The god is wise, the god is smart

For where are the traces of the yester buffalo

Which trod the Sheddam meadow with feet of steel,

Wreaked primordial havocs on the martyr-red grass?


His sense was might

Reasoning, his phobia

The only tune in his fiery flute

A hanging participle of instant death.

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