The illusion of dripping blood, flash of crude knife
on pale opened skin scorching like a bone drilling pain.
Not the tongue that struck behind ware teeth nor the mucus that streams down the lips,
but a soul clog off body-jump.
The song began in dust of smoke, singing incense,
calabash of flying flames; dizzy dance of the spirit.
Scaly spat of saliva, incision and incantation smear on seared skull.
I am Abiku! calling for the first time!
Whinging cries shouting in split voices, calling!
hanging on its limbs drawing for home going,
in conga of cataract stepping in circles.
In vain the skin slash, charmed scaly saliva or smeared incision on sear carcass;
I am Abiku, reincarnating from the elusive world.
For vengeance, I kept knocking the repeated time,
for the gut snatched, wincing cold heart that you ate with horror,
strangers stolen away under the sight of chirping crickets,
blood sprinkled on stones and woody runts,
in their madness racing for sanity.
Laughing your cry and pain,
appease me not with cola nut, cowries nor libation.
The stranger knocked off; field day for vultures.
I am Abiku, would take what belongs to me