In Africa, some people are known to conjure rain. This piece is not occultic. I will explain more on rainmakers later. PROLOGUE Give me rain, Let the wind rage again Give me rain, dear Heaven! (1.) Let it flood the browned farmlands, Let it refresh the waters of the ponds, And the hards rocks upon… Continue reading Introducing The Rainmaker
Tag: rainmaker
The Rainmaker’s Tales 2
Now it was tradition that young men Cut wood in the neighboring forest Before they are allowed to chose a maiden There was no axe in the town and nearby hamlets So young men did desperate things, Mirtle was a young man, deformed in one hand, Humbly dull, but very courageous Youth of the hamlet,… Continue reading The Rainmaker’s Tales 2
PROLOGUE
Give me some rain,
Take away the present situation
Let the wind bid me warn again
Give me rain, dear Heaven!
(1.)
Let if flood the browned farmlands
Let it refresh the waters of the ponds
And the hards rocks upon the dry Earth
Let the hamlet be full of the wet clay salt
(2.)
The Heavens will rumble
I summon the East winds
I knee before the passing clouds
I hear the aves call out loud
(3.)
I summon thee Wind from afar
And She quietly comes binding alas
It throws the heavy mighty doors ajar
And what a rain that must fall, aa-hah!
(4.)
The clear clouds are darkened
The firmaments are blackened
There is a powerful surge of wind,
To the East where it always stayed
(5.)
On such evenings when all is weak and wiery
When the rain falls on this hamlet, hurriedly
My long candle lights become crimson with fury
As my light-grey curtains dance in sheer frenzy
EPILOGUE
So right now I am standing,
I stand beneath the falling rains
I chose to, for it is my special calling
And I thank Heaven for this blessing!
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“I ask for the strength of the rain…
Bring down the dark heavy cauldrons
With all the gross, stalky condiments
Maka agam eme ka miri zo n’ebe tata!
(For I am about to conjure up a rain today!)”
Chukwu Nnam…
I want to make some rain today
That is why I call upon Your Name!
Biko, listen to what I have to say!
I am about to make a deep well
For I desire to call upon the Heavens
I scratch the dusts with my finger nails
Staring up the clouds for a clear sign
I chew the raw leaves of the cassava
I spit into the burning fire, raising a fragrance
Hear me my God, send the rain with thunder!
For I seek now to watch the skies turn dark grey
I call upon the clouds and winds
Come about, push your little cousin
And upon the dry lands,
Now let it heavily rain!
Hearken to me, for I am but a little boy
Part and parcel of mother Natures’ dolls
I have kept poultry, I have tilled the soil
But now I seek to hear the sound of the rain fall
When it rains, let it flood the drought lands
Let the people come down from the hamlet
With calabashes and all sorts of bands
To take this rainful blessings, You brought
Let this rain fall both on the good and the bad
Upon the farms upland and down the valleys
Let it wash away the sorrows of the land
And let the green fields yield bountifully
I feel the airs gather around the Cloud
And the Cloud, herself gather above my head
I feel the wingless and graceful surge of the wind
I knew You would always uphold my words
I sit on the young leaves of the cassava
Humbly, I squat and nod at the chalked circle
For only You Lord I call Owa ra mmiri na ozara!
The One who separated the sea with Moses’ mantle!
Note:
Chukwu Nnam… Igbo language for God, my father
Biko… Igbo for Please
Owa ra mmiri na ozara… Igbo for He who makes a water storm in the desert
Commentary:
I paint a picture known to Africa. Some people are known to make rain fall at their will and to also stop the rain from falling. It is purely an imagined piece. The Igbo is a Nigerian tribe situated on the Niger Delta.
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Some very cold nights I stay awake
Lights come flashing back to me
Such nights as cruel and heartless
Growing my mind from a needles eye
And the reason per say, trailing
The times gone in a sudden twinkle
And lives back again in another second
Like I traveled many miles back
Now I remember being the descendant
Of a thunder making rainmaker
Who when angry commands the winds
And lets the hamlet and farmlands flood
I was that hairy boy from the past
A son hewn out of my fathers sinews
During the days of the raid
When men sold men to slavery
I become the grandson of a great farmer
Who stalks yams and cocoyams in rows
Feeding the clan and the village
Bearing this rare title known to few
I had been a hunters son
Carrying the bags of my father
Marching across the forests and hills
Grinning and stalking a wounded antelope
I remember my grandfathers gun
The day I asked about him
And it was told, tales about him
The fall of North Africa
The fights, his courage
The dark days of the World War
The tank traps, the canons
I shudder, I ponder
And I realise how much I evolved…
