KOFI
By Rasaq
Malik Gbolahan
Friday, September 27, 2013.
there is a song we must
play
at the funeral of a poet -
for words are winds
that blow on the dark roads
of farewell
there is a flute; a lost flute
bearing the voices of the bereaved ones;
bearing the testaments of crushed skulls,
exiled dreams at westgate
there are trumpets to blow
for we no longer fire the guns;
when we scan the eyes of the earth
there are scars in the hearts
funeral is the perfect word.
kofi
funeral is the perfect word; funeral is when
we sit on stones of blood
demarcating the house of weeds;
when we trade silence for sermons
of forgetfulness
like a city in the dark
we grope for torches
to dress your coffin
the poet dies
not with his words.