Ifeoluwa Ayandele
My mind is a wandering star, travelling
through illustrations & re-thinking how
to redraw the graffiti of my ancestors.
My ancestors are people of drums & dance,
& in my dream, I’m initiated into the occult
of the calligraphy of an hourglass-like drum.
My grandfather leaves indigo footprints
in the marble floor to teach me how the paths
of music intertwine into choreographic steps
on the hilltop. I place my feet on his footprints,
& my mind glows into a slithering memory
of the polyrhythmic drum in my dreams.
I’m in the forest of gods; I beat my ancestral drums,
& my ancestors hear the melody of my call.
Their ghosts gather around the tantrum of rhythms,
dancing around my naked being & chorusing:
You are the son of the Earth & the stars in your mind
are constellation of echoing corridors. Walk through
the echoes & pick your roots from the interlocking
sounds of footsteps in the corridors of your ancestral
gods, & you will unravel the myth of rebirth in drums.