Take Me To A Den
Of Colours
The
burden of vision groans
In
the confused hue lines of eyes-are-crying.
Take
me to a den of colours
To
see not the spiky stems
Of
memories and sorrows.
Show
me fields dressed with lavender and gazania
In
colours graceful and royal as purple.
Find
me wild plants laden with freesias and daisy,
Anter
of marigolds dancing by the way,
Velvet
touch of sand in the sun,
Caressing
the sole of my feet
As
fine air wraps iris with protea
And
I swim in and out of pig face.
Let
a host of sun flowers gallop
In
blue skies pregnant with big fat clouds;
Birds
singing,
Insects
chirping,
Like
a Christmas party,
Tease
my brilliant imaginations
Through
colourful afternoons
Bring
hopes of eternity
In
the den of colours
And
live with them.
©Tydale Abigail.
Rise Up
You
were there when the bustling wind travelled into the shores of your creek,
You
were there when the angry mountains delivered its sands into your basin,
You
were there when the tyrant rains beat your course with hail drops.
You
were there when hostile men paddled their heavy logs across the smoothness of
your skin,
Still,
you were there, when that unruly sun stole the sweat of your face into the
cabin of its clouds,
You
were there,
Buried
in the veil of your own tears.
When
hours heard the heights of your story,
Days
dived into the dunes of your drowning sorrows,
Seasons
sailed across the scripts of your growing sadness,
The
sight of you, a pity to the dreams of your youth,
The
town boy cried for he willed to see you rise,
You
were there,
Buried in the veil of your own tears.
Now
you stand on the pillar of time,
With
your bed in the heart of the city,
You
jump on the expectations of the crowd,
Not
bothered by the rudeness of the sun,
'Cause
at twilight, your glow is paradise to the eyes,
You
are here,
Dancing
in the flow of your fountain.
You've
escaped from the mountain side to the centres of the streets,
You've
stolen the people's hearts from the fog at the country side to the beauty of
your being,
For
the sun will never boast to rise up alone no more,
Neither
will the wind feel it is the only lady that can make waves in the city,
'Cause
you stand above the plains of the sky and the earth at dusk,
This
is where you are,
Rise
up!
©Tydale Abigail.
The Prettiest Mammal
In The Wild
Mama
told a story
When
I was a child.
She
said,
When
you are a lady,
Never
go into the wild.
There
is only one prettiest mammal there;
Small
and gentle.
Lion
kings spend hours running after her.
Cheetahs
and bears would never surrender their quest either.
Even
tigers do not rest their paws until she is taken.
But
when I asked Mama;
Is
the prettiest mammal in the wild not a helpless prey?
No!
She replied.
All
the richest animals in the wild
Admire
the meekness of the gazelle.
And
with her innocent look and alluring horns,
She
seduces the most revered beasts in the jungle.
So,
the gazelle never rests
As
the animals ask;
"Will
you marry me?"
Because
she is the prettiest mammal in the wild.
©Tydale Abigail.
Tydale Abigail
Tydale Abigail is a Nigerian historian
and poet. She writes popularly on politics and leadership, African history and
girl child empowerment, with a focus towards reconstructing a history of Africa
in use of poetry. Tydale loves to draw and paint also. She lives in Calabar,
Nigeria.