Nigeria, March 18 -- (Maestro with a Thousand Masks)

I

The last time we met Our laughter rang through the concert hall The evening was young, with you readying up For a long expected show

Your crowd was large and young and old But their ageless longing Rode the crest of the wind as you Swung and swayed in your purple moments

You sighted me from a distance Ploughed through the fold To meet me in the threshold of Of a wide and busy door.

A warm embrace, then our customary question: "When shall we have the collabo?"* A cryptic code over thirty years old Born when Songs of the Season

Made its first few outings On the tabloid platform "A-niyee, those are good poems- We must aid their spread

With collaborative performance". . . . The Gen...