by: Olayiwola Faith
We formed an arc facing our lecturer, blinked severally and held our thoughts behind our minds as we tried to understand every word he spoke but the voice kept on calling out in low tunes, then faster, then slowly again. It spoke in a bizarre language but I understood. I could not tell why but the voices planted its meaning in my mind. They came as though I understood. But I would not on a normal day. So, today was not normal; is not; a designed epitome of an anomalous day that revealed an ancient connection towards the unknown.
The unknown ran and raced towards the sunset. It was yet, early morning; but the unknown ran for the sunset and raced through various pictures that moved quickly in their indecipherable form. They grew tall towards the sky still it touched the sky and blinked……
We felt uncomfortable as we sat at the center of many trees that stood and swerved at the same time. They stared towards us with eyes that spoke of times, seasons and imaginations. They have histories; they have lived, saw, grown and fought. Fought man and death. They have lived, spoken, created, loved, hated and died. Dreamed for more if only they would be left still…. the words move quickly through my head.
No! I scream through my mind. That isn’t true!
But they are; sweet little one; they are.
I looked up and saw a tiny yellow fly between the branches of the tree I sat underneath. The halfway wintered dull yellow and sick dark green colored leaves came down slowly and sat on my shoulders; laps. They came slowly through the ticking time and sang in sad tunes that reminds one of the freedom songs. It makes one sick. The bitter tunes struck my heart till my soul wept profusely and lost imagination and focus. My heart wept and sang along. It sang sonorously and each word formed the song; the story.
It told of a fifteen-year-old girl who lived beyond the bridge. She was a tall damsel who wore the melanin garment. Her hair was long and her nails shone. As she moved along, she sang a song. A song that called for freedom but would not hit a point.
It would go on and on and come back for no reason. The rhythm broke and song struck. But now, she is no more and no more the freedom songs. But as I walked towards the garden, I sang a song; the freedom song. Then the wind moved. Cold, dull and hopeless; for I am she.
