Asoro
Smoke climbed the sky like a funeral chant.
Foreign boots pressed into the heart of Benin.
Oh yes, to sack the land of my being,
To crown a woman Oba, awua!
I am Asoro.
My flag is red.
The earth of my being is red.
As they pressed forward,
Iron answered in my palms,
The ink on the iron,
a covenant,
A final gift to Ogun.
A living city of the gods was unmade.
Home of laughs were drilled in the grammar of flames.
Sacred courtyards were torn apart, forgetting prayer.
Our gods dragged into merciless daylight,
Their shadows stripped from them.
Ancient silences shattered.
Through the thickening haze
figures dissolved,
Outlines trembled;
Even history lost its spine,
Struggling to stand upright.
The thief wore uniforms of order,
And violence anointed itself punishment
But not in the lands of my fathers,
Where our artworks are his sacred language.
I am Asoro.
My flag is red.
The earth of my being is red.
They pressed forward again and again,
Iron clenched my hands
And the ink on my iron,
Still bleeding,
Still burning,
A gift to Ogun.
#GodsonOsarenren #naijapoetryfest #poetry #BeninKingdom
