Wole Soyinka

Wole Soyinka 

13 de Julho de 1934

(Feliz Aniversário)

IN THE SMALL HOURS

Blue diaphane, tobacco smoke

Serpentine on wet film and wood glaze, 

Mutes chrome, wreathes velvet drapes,

Dims the cave of mirrors. Ghost fingers

Comb seaweed hair, stroke acquamarine veins 

Of marooned mariners, captives 

Of Circe's sultry notes. The barman

Dispenses igneous potions ?

Somnabulist, the band plays on. 

Cocktail mixer, silvery fish

Dances for limpet clients.

Applause is steeped in lassitude,

Tangled in webs of lovers' whispers

And artful eyelash of the androgynous.

The hovering notes caress the night 

Mellowed deep indigo ?still they play.

Departures linger. Absences do not

Deplete the tavern. They hang over the haze 

As exhalations from receded shores. Soon,

Night repossesses the silence, but till dawn

The notes hold sway, smoky

Epiphanies, possessive of the hours.

This music's plaint forgives, redeems 

The deafness of the world. Night turns

Homewards, sheathed in notes of solace, pleats

The broken silence of the heart.

by Wole Soyinka