Bizarre Cantillations is an experiential investigation into the human condition, a modest attempt to probe and render unto record the joys, sorrows, angst, and otherwise indescribable feelings which sum up the general experience of existence. From the Saharan drift of the African immigrants who perish daily either in the long march of the desert, or in the Mediterranean sea; the unalloyed hunger in the mainstream of the youngster who might be in love with a person hypnotized by the economics of survival therefore uninterested in, if destitute of, love. It takes an inspiring journey of encouragement for those who in the course of daily living might appear to be lost, mere victims of a globally misconstrued premise that success is a destination rather than a voyage; through an examination of The Self (both world-self and being-self) from the fall of mankind to the encryption of that fall. So that "The man becomes a boy, And longs to escape no further." However it is not the same as "The City...", a nation really which becomes " a summary blurb, the blurb a bubble" wherein social trauma is generic, for any soul whoever within the Forgotten Spectrum might well be "...yet to find God, In between short breaks From hunger and pain; To smile from within the borrowed inn..." Of their soul, where they pay no bills for light, water, or comfort. Generic though the trauma, it doesn't remove from the marginalization of womenfolk within a patriarchal cultural lattice, so that 'Zainab' might represent the reaches of such subhuman folly, "...in shrouds... A walking, breathing tent." It reiterates how much she "is a human being...soul and bone and blood", caught up in a widespread confusion of faith which continues unabated to deploy tanks and the war machine to the front lines of human coexistence, polarising without much ado the daily ritual of intercourse. Some might say that of all the gold bricks in the corpus of literary advancement, which collectively vouchsafe impartation and civilization, there are yet backward pockets of our world (only more backward than the general backward-forward civilizations of the 'wider greener earth'; therefore how much could a few verses of poetry do?! Bizarre Cantillations is a mere contribution, a grain of sand on the shore of humanity. It dares to echo once more, perhaps with a defiant contemporariness, the live myth of the African heritage, a tip of her cosmology: Ogun, and the Babalawo (and their corruption). The voyage is "Catacombian", and just as "Death, the passport, is the last port in 'these' catacombs", it emphasises that in every being lies a Fela, crusader for betterment. With more than the courage to carry on, love is the instrument of survival and continuity.
