ADAMU USMAN GARKO
Adamu Usman Garko, is still in secondary school in Gombe, Nigeria when he sent in this piece. He could have been a reincarnation of Christopher Okigbo. His poetic depth is way beyond his age. He is a poet and story writer of extra ordinary excellence. His work has previously appeared in Blueprint newspaper, The Arts-muse, Fair, Praxis magoline, anthologies like ‘The PoetryPlanet’ and ’84 Bottles of Wines For Wole Soyinka. He has also written an eBook “Lonely Season.”
His poems here resonate loudly on social contemporary issues.
Roots and Drums Speak Through a Teenage Genius
Of throat nor can
it tale the peril
Of farewell being
Sang by the heads
Of our eagles
At a time when
drench needs the syllables
Of your umbrella
That time after
finishing Masse’s wine
You flee and
leave them drinking their
Dried saliva
When wind comes
and goes like the
Wave of dusts
Just as a broken
wound it aches
Brothers that
yell and kill their dead
Sisters that pray
and naked their sleep
Just for your
emergence
When tenure shrinks
like an abated
Body you come
back downward
To recite and
embrace the smells
Of your cattles
Heaven cries of
the flames in hell
For you who dig
fire in the street
Of Masse’s bodies
2. DAYS
I await gingerly
Like the birth of
silence
In the street of
Black land
Of the birth of
doves
That can fight
The street’s
unwholesome
Dawns I hold hope
That a day
Shall hover
Into this
atmosphere
Where birds of
nest
Dwell under caves
Of fears to be
catapult
By the enemy’s of
love
I await
Your Mighty sword
That can break
the wall
Of falsity
Of hate
And of belly
heads
3. DEAR
Do you hear my
voice
How it withers of
advocate
I yells and shout
For the
Serenity’s of our nest’s earth
So that the
injury of morgue
Will not reach us
here
When we’ve a long
way to go
Embrace my voice
and hide him
In the roses you
bring
Gulp me
Let’s walk out of
dead land
4. MELODY
Voice herald my
yearns
Drowning me in a
river of echoes,
In a river of
subtle.
Smell of your
beats
A heavenly
melodical chants it rhymes,
Flows like the
muffle of gong.
Your rhyming
chorus comes
Like a chant of
Arabia,
Like Yoruba
maid’s gesture.
Your voice is a
minstrel
In the street of
birds,
In the street of
night.
Your voice is
poetry
Your voice i
bask,
Your voice I
satiate.