Talking Drums

The West African News Magazine

Poets' Corner

The Shadow

Conceived of a morality that was pure;
Descended it as it were,
In a flame filled with joy and pure;
Of spirit, in and out.
Down it came in all majesty.
Out of reach of all humans; with honesty,
Upon a lonely one.
Unto the singularly heart of an Evangelist;
Unto the soul of Bukar.
Appeared it to him in a mirror;
A magnified element of immense valor.
Imbued with such power that was major.
Deep in the still of the night.
Bukar gave a squeak and pulled;
His garments of robe and silk.
Fell them in fragments from a lost hope.
Shriller and shriller it became;
Clearer and clearer it was sure,
T’'s the shadow that warns us all,
Of eternal doom or life.
Here on earth or thereafter;
But the rock-heart of Bukar
In the still of night, lonestood.
To himself and destiny.
T's sure, 'T was beyond here.
This was the count down.
On one who claimed the world;
To himself but none but Bukar.
Then the shadow demanded of him,
A lone desire.
His soul.
Bukar went into an insanity;
That was sane.
Aloud, he cried.
"Lord, I am done"
What could this be- the shadow?
But destiny itself.
Accountable only to nature.
T'was the last moment of repentance.
It was heard.
The oceans drenched in colours
Yet, Bukar found heaven.
We will find seven.

Akeh-Ugah Ufumaka
Bronx, New York

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