is smiling in the house of Inspiration;
is sitting on a cushion between this bedroom
& the balcony of imagination;
is feeding the poet — the solitary being — grains of imageries,
words, & sentences like never before;
is beating the heart of lovers —
hum-bum-bum — sings the crazy gong!
is asking the naked girl,
“bae, aren’t you overdressed?”

living ghosts in whispering trees;
& rusting irons in a river of grease.


When the dimple is no more
on the check of the composer;
& the stage is sleeping beneath
the moonless night; and the
audience is snoring on different beds,
beside different babes
uncomfortable in their own different ways;
& the night is calm and silent,
like Silent Night on a Christmas day—
a ritual of the modern man on the altar of disguise;
don’t ask me which is my favourite song.

Please, don’t ask such question,
Life is an autograph but only
in the hands of singers and poets:
an Abstraction viewed so far
from ten thousand point of views:
a Glove in Jackson’s, Violence in Shady’s,
& Youthful Playfulness in One Direction;
Did he not tell you? The other Direction
Is Death by drowning.

The Infant cries in strange melodies,
rain harmonizes with the win,
the midwives will sing a lullaby, and backyard
buckets will beat tap-tap beatings of raindrops;
there is terror in music which ears may not hear—
thunderstorms in loudspeakers—
when facing the other Direction.


Anger chained me to the chair of The Lunatic—
these people: strange in their white ropes
said, ‘He’s mad,’ with a Foreign Accent;
Anger chained me to the chair of The Lunatic—
But Music set me free!
Made me whistle a solemn song
From the album of Peace,
The Dovey Bird sings — twikki-twikki —
With its loveliest note.
Music set us free & made me

A living ghost in whispering trees;
& a rusting iron in a river of grease.

Dear Countrymen, were we in that Bush alone?



Image by David Glad via Flickr

About the Author:

Portrait - MelchizedekIsaac alesh Melchizedek writes from Ibadan. His twitter handle is @IM_alesh

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I'm finishing up a phd at Duke University where I study African novels, which I believe are some of the loveliest things ever written. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

2 Responses to “The Last Song Before The Last | by Isaac Alesh Melchizedek | African Poetry” Subscribe

  1. Sam Adeyinka 2015/11/27 at 1:50 pm #

    Hey Alesh, welcome to Edoro’s great blog. Really, it’s my first time on this blog and I’m already liking the look and fill of the blog, in short, I’m taken by your comment section. 🙂 Mind telling what tool you used for that?

    So speaking of the poem, I love the way the author, Alesh weaved up the words and the ideas behind every texts.

    Music in true sense creates a sense of inner-bliss in the one under it influence. I’m for instance taken totally by Don Williams and Kenny Rogers lyrics anytime I heard them sing via my smartphone and my black-handsfree.

    Alesh, ones again, I salute your writing style. Edoro, expect me to contact you okay.


  2. alesh 2015/12/02 at 9:40 pm #

    Thanks for dropping by Mr Sam.

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

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