Boy Adam Floats Headless In The Thames

Boy Adam Floats Headless in The Thames

Boy Adam stood headless
Before the Pearly Gates
Escorted by his kindred Abiku spirits
Bearing the branches of the cypress
Stark naked like cherubic beings
Looking forlorn like fallen celestial minstrels
Fallen angels shorn of wings
Gathering in the misty gloomy shores of the Medes
Humming the chorus of the monodies of the wailing elves beyond Hades
And the headless Boy Adam wailed.
“Oh, Lord God of Hosts
Will you not avenge my innocent blood?
And let my restless soul rest in peace?
Lest my ghost continues to haunt the neighbourhood
Haunting my assailants from pillar to post
Roaming from coast to coast
In search of my missing head.”
Then I saw the lunatic fringe on edge
Like demons on rampage in a flight of rage
Jumped off the London Bridge
As the cloak and dagger marauders roam the earth
Damning the eternal judgment of your fiery wrath.
Boy Adam floats headless in the Thames
And his red blood sets the Thames on fire
Many waters cannot quench the flames of the fiery Furies of the British Empire.
The flames of the fiery Furies
The fiery Furies of our dark miseries
As the ghouls haunt the souls, crying:
“Vengeance!  Vengeance!!  Vengeance!!!”
The elves are scavenging the ruins of Scotland Yard
As Boy Adam laments at the feet of the bard.
And his fiery red tears scorch the green tuft under my golden feet
As the jeremiad of Boy Adam echoes on Downing Street.

We are the heartbroken
We are the forsaken
And we are the forgotten
As we are rotten
In the Charnel House in the woods
And I see their dry bones
Cast in-between sticks and stones.

Boy Adam’s lamentations echoed in the darkened skies as he writhed in agony. Òmó Iya Osùn gaped and gasped at the harrowing spirit.  She was still awed by the unearthly sight of the headless boy and his kindred Abiku spirits.  How could a headless body speak without a mouth?  And she could hear him aloud and clear.  The discordant sound of his eerie voice echoed from his esophagus.  His Adam Apple contorted as he spoke and wailed.
She had to find the missing head of Boy Adam, otherwise he would never rest in peace. It was even an abomination for Scotland Yard to bury him without his head. His òrì would reject his corpse.
She knew the head would be in the shrine of the ritual killers. Poor houseboy. Murdered in cold blood in a fetish human sacrifice for their Juju.

She had to leave before nightfall. She summoned Agbe.
Agbe, gbemi dele o, Agbe!
Agbe, gbemi dele o, Agbe!
Agebe, gbemi dele o, Agbe!
The whirlwind hovered above her head as she invoked it. It enveloped her and swirled in the wind. It carried her back to her dwelling place in the valley.

Baba Orogbo was waiting for her as she descended from the wings of Agbe.
Susan Wenger was sitting in her lotus pose before the kérégbe calabash bowl of salt water. Baba Orogbo gazed at the white witch as she sat with her eyes closed. But he knew she was seeing everything before her.
“Kabo Òmó mi, my enchanted child,” Susan Wenger said as the toes of Òmó Iya Osùn touched the earth.
Òmó Iya Osùn bowed to salute her mother.
“Kabo, Òmó Iya Osùn Òrìsà.,” Baba Orogbo welcomed her.
“Baba mi, peace be with you my father,” Òmó Iya Osùn said.
“Gba, here is your èko tutu,”Iya Osùn said, giving her a calabash of cooked pap.
Then Baba Orogbo brought out some Ibùje leaves , ìjòkùn leaves, èlú leaves and osùn- cam wood.   “Òmó  dúdú, Òmó Iya Osùn, Aláse igbá kejì òrìsà, listen. I have a message for you,” Baba Orogbo said as he put the different leaves and camwood before the feet of  Òmó Iya Osùn. Then he started chanting.

Eni sojú se mú
òrìsà ni máa sìn
Adá ni bó ti rí
Òrìsà ni maa sin”
Ó-s-enìkan-soso digba ènìyàn
So mí di rún
So mí digba
So mí di òtà-lé-légbèje ènìyàn
Òrìsà ni maa sin”
Olójú kára bíi ajere
Òrìsà ni maa sin”

Òjó kúrè, Alágada ogun
Òjó ò sí nílé, omo adìe dàgbà
Òjó wà nílé omo adìe kò kù kan
Òjó ún wè lódò
Gbogbo omoge yo wóse

Baba Orogbo swallowed two lumps of saliva and continued.

Ó mú’lé t’ará ojà
Ó so àgàn di alábiyamo,
àgàn tí ò rí’bí, ti ró sòó leyìn olúwa wà


From the Twister Child, by Ekenyerengozi Michael Chima.
July 23, 2007. Bonny Island, Nigeria.

N.B:
For the English tranlations of the Yoruba Oriki chants, consult your Yoruba contacts.

The story is still a work in progress for a film in Yoruba language, subtitled in English.

Òmó Iya Osùn, the enchanted Yoruba girl-witch known as Twister Child, was on a mission to find the missing head of the headless corpse of a Nigerian boy discovered in the Thames some years ago.

If u did author this am impressed

Yeah the story was big in London a few years back.

Scared the shit out of me.

Anyways I am impressed with your writing, although I have always had gripes with the poetic form.

Best Wishes