Monday, 2 December 2013

'Baptism' A poem by Obehi Aigiomawu

Raised arms woman
Come tomorrow, I will die.
Shadow in comparison to real form,
Immersed in water, will my eyes be open
In search of a sign in the sky?
Or will they betray this fantasy and be shut like
an actor in the clutches of a scene?
Will I taste the water, or will some go down my nostrils?
Will this fake death have me prisoner for a few seconds, and will calm flee and flesh seek
Premature resurrection?
Perhaps I’ll find the water warm and welcoming
Or perharps cold and indifferent
To a sinner like many others
In need of a second chance.
Willing participant of this simple yet complex act. Unfazed by its publicty
Or skilled at hiding it well.
Will there be a mischievous stone at the riverbank?
That would cause me to stumble
And temporarily wish to make the river my grave?
Or will my short walk be smooth like a river creature returning home?
In those seconds immersed in flowing water, will I feel the transition to this new life?
Will the sky be clear or randomly dotted by birds?
Oh, for a sign to make a good story!
Pulled out from water,
Will I greedily gasp for air?
Or feign calm, like oxygen I hadn’t missed.   Will I shiver beneath dark clouds?
Or bask in the warmth of the glorious sun?
Will I stand in wait for the others?
Or be permitted to put on warm clothing—
First domestic act of this new life?
And afterwards?
How changed will I be?
Set in default?
Will new mistakes replace old ones?
Will I ask these many question then or will I just know?
Plup,plup,plup!
Water.
Water drops from the kitchen tap—
My only companion in this web of boredom,
I take it as the tick,tick,tick, of my faulty clock,
Countdown to tomorrow,
Host to my death and resurrection.


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