Those brutal demons
Lodged in the penumbra of your innocence
Smear your name
With brushstrokes of strange acts
When light has gone to bed
Brazen eves
Tender their trade in bright shadows
And sweet chants calling out to patronizing patrons
When light has gone to bed
And they who reap
From peoples’ lands cultivated in sweat and heat, do so
With the strength of steel; flat, hollow, round or bent, often
When light has gone to bed
Dark is not black
(as they have painted you)
Black is not evil
(but man has made it so)
But there are good souls
Who knit great tidings at your embrace
Others, who seek wisdom in your compound
When light has gone to bed
So we can say, (despite the odds)
We made canvasses of our dreams
From ink dripping through your tip;
Sculpted effigies of our selves
While listening to grandpa’s moonlight tales;
Made a collage of our future
From wax of candles bleeding sore
Yes. We can say it happened thus
When light had gone to bed
Written by: Anyanya Bassey
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
