Moans of death

Moans of death

By Abraham Nwankwo

For three days he lay in the bamboo bed,

Moaning while relations watched in grief,

Eighty-five years of life drawing to an end.

‘Orguluo’ the bird of bad omen squawked in tune,

In the sacred ‘orbu’ tree it defiantly stayed,

Despite stones and sticks hurled at it.

A huge gallant figure Ezala used to be,

Now, a skeletal, helpless being agonizing in fear,

Libations, poured to ancestors brought no respite.

Then spontaneous recovery as the moaning ceased.

Courageously he pointed at the skin bag tied to the roof,

And all observed that it dripped with blood.

“Cut it and bury it; its’ over” he charged.

And when it was cut, he released the ghost.

And all in the room looked at one another’s eyes.