The Passage by Christopher Okigbo

BEFORE YOU, my mother Idoto, Naked I stand; Before your weary presence, A prodigalLeaning on an oilbean, Lost in your legendUnder your power wait IOn barefoot, Watchman for the watchwordAt Heavensgate; Out of the depth my cry: Give ear and hearken…DARK WATERS of the beginning.Ray, violet, and short, piercing the gloom, Foreshadow the fire that is dreamed of.Rainbow on far side, arched like boa bent to kill, Foreshadow the fire that is dreamed of.Me to the orangerySolitude invites, A wagtail, to tellThe tangled-wood-tale; A sunbird, to mournA mother on spray.Rain and sun in single combat; On one leg standing, In silence at the passageThe young bird at the passageSILENCE FACES at crossroads: Festivity in black…Faces of black like blackColumn of ants, Behind the bell tower, Into the hot gardenWhere all roads meet: Festivity in black…O Anan at the knob of the panel oblong, Hear us at crossroads at the great hingesWhere the players of loft organRehearse old lovely fragment, alone-Strains of pressed orange leaves on pagesBleach of the light of years held in leather: For we are listening in cornfieldsAmong the windplayers, Listening to the wind leaning overIts loveliest fragment….