The Feathers 2

This is a sequel to The Feathers which I posted last week. I thought about it and here I am. Do read the first to follow.

For my Sunshine, ‘Bayo.


The tale of we three

continues two seasons after the last.

Good twin farther than I wish

the spitter, a frequent caress on my skin.

We three weaving our nests

with twigs, grass and toast-coloured leaves.

Good twin bearing colourful petals from her northward pilgrim,

the spitter donning hues obtained by blood.

I, searching to the world’s end

strong twigs and some white hibiscuses.

But things, as always, go wrong

maybe for good or better.

Ever so slowly I forge my path, alone.

Picking the maize I do love and storing for the rains

with Sunshine by my side

making my living worth chirping.

Brightening my days,

assuring me of plentiful harvest

where the land will be filled with long ears

and my beak with fat grains.

Both twin and spitter gradually forgotten

their feathers deep in Mother Earth

replaced by the sun’s colorful rays

on my long black wings.

I am still friends with them though. But…. You know how it is.

The Feathers

A true life story in poetry.

I wrote this poem in my second year in the university. ASUU was on strike too (go figure). Yemisi was in her room packing some clothes to go home and I was watching her. Shayo had left days before. As Yemisi packed her bags, I wrote. This is the only poem I have written within minutes; I started as she opened the bag to put her clothes and when she was done, I put it in her purse. To me, it is the best darn thing I ever wrote and I have kept it jealously since then. I am posting it now because Janus once told me that if I never let go of what I think is my good stuff, I might never write anything better. I wrote a part 2 two years later and will share it if I get a good response to this.

For Yemisi and Shayo.

With love.


I met a bird when I was young.

It spat at me and I spat back

but it flew away.

After three rains, it returned with a flower for me

and we played, ate and slept together.

It brought its friends, twins, the next season.

We became quadruplets and though we did fight over the best worms,

we remained together.

But of the twins, one had a bad squawk

and we never really did get along.

Double seasons later, the bird with the bad squawk left.

We trio moved to the South for greener pasture,

met other birds and it all started to tumble down.

I loved corn, good twin and the spitter, rice.

They flew away most of the time to satisfy their appetites.

Loneliness crept in and I found comfort in other flocks

but I missed them so.

They stayed away longer each time they went

‘cause they did see others that loved rice.

Now, the rains have come twice and will be here soon.

I have seen others like me and another that makes me happy.

The twin and the spitter seldom fly to see me

and  no matter how hard we try, it can never be like it was.

I know one day these flights will stop

but I have two feathers from them each

and will cherish them when the owners are long gone.

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