12. The Old Man of the Crypt (A Shakespearean Sonnet)
A ghostly neighbor in the cell nearby,
The "Old Man" coughs a dry and hollow sound;
He is the mirror where the futures lie,
For those whose lives the state has tightly bound.
He represents the slow, corrosive rust,
Of decades spent within a nameless hole,
Where spirit turns to grey and settled dust,
And silence eats the edges of the soul.
Yet Soyinka hears the rhythm in that breath,
A testament that life persists in pain;
It is a stubborn dance in spite of death,
A quiet pulsing through a rusted chain.
The elder's cough becomes a battle cry,
A sign that even shadows refuse to die.
13. The Harvest of the Pen (A Petrarchan Sonnet)
The cell was meant to be a barren field,
Where thought would wither in the sunless air;
But in the soil of isolation and despair,
The poet forced the stubborn stones to yield.
With "The Man Died" as his iron shield,
He laid the secrets of the fortress bare,
And stripped the mask that tyrants choose to wear,
Until their rotting conscience was revealed.
The Nobel path began in Kaduna’s night,
Where every line was bought with heavy cost,
And carved into the dark with mental light.
No syllable of truth was truly lost,
For words survived the winter and the blight,
To bloom as fire in the morning frost.
14. The Pathfinder’s Return (A Shakespearean Sonnet)
He steps beyond the rusted iron gate,
The sky a vast and unfamiliar blue;
He carries back the heavy, jagged weight,
Of everything the silent darkness knew.
The "Shuttle" ceases now its frantic flight,
The tapestry of prison-years is spun;
He emerges from the belly of the night,
To stand beneath a wide and Yoruba sun.
A "Man of Honour" and a man of grief,
He brings the "Chimes of Silence" to the street,
And finds in public speech a sharp relief,
Though justice is a task yet incomplete.
The cage is gone, but the Pathfinder’s eyes,
Still see the stars through bars in open skies.
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