The Dance of Agaba

Why is it that when you ask

A man to write a poem,

His pen spills only the ink

Of his deepest, hidden truths?

Here I sit, in shadowed rooms,

Haunted by the ghosts beneath

My father’s bed—

And you, the only light

My mind dares summon.

The earth must hear

The aching tale

Of a man who longs for Agaba.

In moments of peril,

A mischievous whisper stirs:

“Call her—

Invite her to dance

The dance of Agaba,

Where our bodies dissolve

Into the rhythm of wanton souls.”

You see only silhouettes

Worshipping the moon

By the riverside,

On Amadioha’s sacred day.

You remember how Ani

Once received your blood,

Cradled your oath

In the warmth of her bosom.

Yet you choose

To keep her locked away—

A maze of endless corridors

Within your mind.

And when the world

Cries out for prayer,

For repentance,

Your wandering thoughts

Summon only

Flying wrappers,

Fluttering boldly

In plain sight.