Songs of Night

My Songs is a song of night. Hahahahahaha. Of course, there is a Songs of day. And I shall sing it to you soon.
Evening and morning are the first day.
My Songs is for dance. And the dance is for night too. Yes. There is a dance for my Songs of day. And I shall dance it to you soon.
I wanted to sing for egwu onwa. But I find the moon an unstable betrayer. He is the betrayer of night. So I will sing instead a Songs of night. The betrayer might choose to forego our playground if he finds we aren’t a-scared of singing.
My Songs is not for melody. Neither is the dance for rhythm. It shall be a mighty jamboree without let or hindrance.
The orchestra shall be dressed in dainty Agbadas. We shall embroider the musical instruments with tender flowers from the oil-palm. We shall be rid of great pianos and grand violins. Get us electric talking drums from the forests of Ogbomosho, the ikolo, ekwe and ogene. The ekwe shall be made from the wood of a virgin oak. I know a Fulani herdsman who shall strike the tune on the electric talking drum. He was once a beater of cattle, a cowboy or so.
Singers shall sing who never have sang, sung or sing. And their voices shall be harmonically out of tune. Aha! Let us have a harmonica too. It shall be pretty for decoration, especially hanging from wooden chandeliers. We shall be rid of keys. They are neither quiet nor noisy. So much like routine. Neither lovely nor hately.
An orchestra that is indeed an orchestra must have a conductor. We shall have one. I have the perfect fit. His voice is gruff from the long hours of shouting from the Island to Ojodu Berger. I used to pride myself on not being able to make out anything he says till I found nobody ever hears him too; except when he is conducting or collecting the fare. His manner is quite beastly and his face fearsome. He respects no one and is unfettered. He is anything but gracious. We shall have him.
We shall employ the playground for our performance. Whoever heard of an orchestra performing behind closed doors? The surrounding darkness shall be light for display. Oh the beauty of it!
Not for want of chord the discord shall indeed be sonorous. And the performance? Its sheer absurdity shall be pure melody. Destined to fail it shall struggle to live and without making much ado about life it shall sprint to life.
Night songs ought to be absurd, and unbelievable, and stupid, and unreasonable. Because they can afford to be. Day is for thinkers, Night for dreamers. I sing Songs of night. Can you dare dance to it?
Better still, sing your Songs.