OGBANJE IN SANSKRIT

I make my Las jouney Tibetan
As pendulumed Karma
Belligerent against the weeping womb
I am armed to the feet
To trampen upon samskara remedies
In flirtatious Nama Rupa

Each time I listened to her muffled wails
Escape through dried tongue and trailing lips
That lay flatulent belly stiff
Exposed from a recurrent yawn
Emitted through vacant mouth

Yet I stood in silent mutation
Embalmed with a mutilated shroud
Thier reccurent Vijna bid to incacerate
My undisputed sophistication of Samsara
Surrounding mine immutable mystery
That emanate from my wheeled Avidya

Now has the procession ceased
From the surging feet of the commiserated tongues
That trodged the dome of Ayatana
And to the robbed boulders
Left without a sacrificial Gull

And now too the dark silence elasped
Their tired faces trailed sparsa
Against the resurgent spirit
That recall a faded hope
I stood in arid fallow maddened
Contemptous to the panting withered earth
Lay agony from a forgotten fertility
Submissive to the nonchalant farmer
Labouring indifferent in a lost count to seed
Hoping under the long drifting gathered clouds
To climax the period of heath
Coupling to the thrust of the Vedana shaft
Recieptive to the missionary spread of Trsna
Yielding to bear a toppled weight thrust
Over an anachronic duty of ethical inflorescence

I stood in inquisitive curiousity
Laughing over their tiredness
To mould a known child
Trashing with pitiful undulated movement
To bid me constant a champion swimmer
To walk the plank and splash sliced
Through their unbilical helpless prone
To charge against all their feat for more
Sacrifices against my successful returns
Into the inflated belly of Jati aesthete

And at their age of bloom
Reflective rays like broom swept the doom
To pierce their sullen sky to date
And to defile all fears of danger of me
To parade their canines each time they spoke

Then I will leave in french style
To hide in deep fortification to reincanate
Salient earth bowels that forbid
All parental tresspass and hope

I will sprout from Jati to Jaramarana
My real humble domicile abound
Leaving the refugee on withered security
From avenge ridden mutilated child
Whose jangling feet to Iyi Uwa from memory
Formed around the crystal palm of mine infant child

A pick out of the mystic brook of choice
Because in od-cycle I spin my Wheel of Life
I am innocent. I am a professional Ogbanje

Ejiofor Alisigwe

London, England