Joyce Ita

November 28 - Calabar

Twisted Saturday

Twisted Saturday ------- by Joyceita

Today doesn't sound like Saturday,
It's not the same sound I used to know;
Of musty air and the scorching sun ,
Day dreams of paradise in the moon.

Today doesn't sound like my Saturday,
I see perpetual late comers standing;
In horizontal and vertical lines,
Beating down the price of mutton

Today doesn't sound like Saturday
Because it says that the majority
Will become a minority in the eagles eye
I think of our borders that are open;
To all ants,cows and flies.

Open to men walking like iroko trees
With robes on their faces
And their women with horses on their heads
I think of the mountains;
That will be made valleys from the grazing of camels
And the valleys that will be made pits by scavengers .

Oh!,Saturdays used to be my favourite color,
With memories of the festival of colours ,
Of parents telling stories of how the rainbow appeared
It used to be the day I ate goat head on an empty stomach,
But today,my Saturdays have become
Days my heart floods with a thousand thoughts.

My blessed day have been turned
Into a mourning house for the walking dead
Permit me,for I speak in tongues unknown
For fear that my own song might be sang behind prison bars.

How I miss my saturday like I missed my period
When I ate the apple in the garden of Eden
I wish my Saturdays will be soft again like the tenor note
In high school musical,
That the labour of my heroes past shall never be in vain.
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