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Voices from the abyss

I wake up in the morning sounding like a cosmic colossal catastrophe
About to unfold
I wake up every morning with a different voice
On some days I sound like agbero* Gbenle

On a day alomo* fraternizes with igbo*
On some other days I sound like the crescendo in the cock crow
On a day the cockerel is smitten with sore throat
On some days I sound like Spider and Rosco

On the day they broke bottles in a fight
Somewhere between Gambari and Patey
I wake up each morning with a different voice
Maybe it’s because

Sometimes during the night, I see myself
Cutting through the icy streets of the abyss
I witness the birth of Spider who was once Ayomide*
Born prematurely into polygamous penury

I witnessed the metamorphosis from larva to pupa
Caught in a web of neglect
Reeking of rotten decadence of decades
I see Abeke at fourteen with baby Abdul Rasak now

Rosco;
Thrust violently into delinquency by pressures of sudden acclamatisation
Hence, the need to belong to a family
He never knew one as he grew

He watched as Scorpion defended his boys
In a way his father never defended himself
I wake up each morning with a different voice
The one given by the streets I have walked on

Voices struggling
to find expression from
The icy streets
of the abyss.

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