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Life I
Life,
a rainbow in the sky,
life,
a kaleidoscope of colours;
today, the sunny-side
of laughter smiles
at us with bald-pate.
The morning of life
hangs on carapace
of a big masqurade
laced with hair-raising
lull-a-dirge.
The severed silver-cord
left on lapel of
time eclipsed laughter
from masked faces...
Lost in throes of false maturity,
life is like conditional
footing of bills consumed
in silence.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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Fresh Smiles
I notice leering looks
emitting danger from faces
I told them of birds that
sang a dirge yesternight:
Storms are part of life
surprises unwanted guests
neither do we knowingly
keep a date with obstacles.
Let your sorrows
be drowned in patience,
tomorrow will regale
with fresh smiles
like flowers bursting anew.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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Monologue: A Dance of Death
Dissecting eyes,
dissecting eyes,
insatiable, gluttonous...
Let me not to the gully traps fall.
let me not.
Men with treacherous minds
stand at the path of bliss,
their laughter cascade at sudden mishap
like fresh water falls from a mountain...
Evil men on spotless white;
they plan execution in piecemeal...
Deliver him to the Pharoah,
deliver him.
Let him take a bite of shame,
let him eat dungs.
Amidst radiant faces,
amidst hillarious laughters
amidst laughter broken
in tremolo, they plan
his disrobe in secrecy.
Like Christ in company of Judas,
they dig into his flesh,
they dig into his past.
Bring him to the alter of sacrifice,
let him know his trespasses,
yet they revere him.
O, how painful
to love and be damned!
O how insidious to betray
a loved one.
Venomous.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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The Street Beggar
Each passing day,
he curles in pains
sitting on dirty pavements,
dishevelled, impoverished.
He has neither a brother
nor a sister who cares.
He has no ambitions,
He has no tomorrow:
pity the street beggar.
Just the other day,
a deep urge of grieve
arose deep inside me
when he's remembered.
The side walk;
his dwelling place,
begging his vocation
he's abandoned.
He has no future,
he makes no choice,
he's helpless:
Pity the street beggar.
Begging in my country has taken an alarming situation. I just decided to write on one I have observed closely
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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In Times Like These
In times like this,
we need voices
that will scream in protest
shrill cries that will awaken
their conscience.
Within our walls ravaged,
plundered by elephants,
standing aloof without action
will produce untold hardship
Let's sing with one voice
against machination
let's march in anger
against gradual elimination.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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A World Without...
Just thinking...
A world without a poet.
Just thinking....
A world without a painter.
Just thinking...
A world without drama.
Just thinking....
A world without intrigues.
Ha, what a world
this will be.
Only just thinking!
I was just thinking a long this line, and decided to put it down on paper.
Can I just say I was only musing.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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A Zealot Accussed Me
Today, I became a victim,
a victim of love.
A zealot accused me for holding
my love's hand.
He says,
am guilty,
condemned to public trashing
with horse whip
for whispering love songs
to my queen.
He says,
it's a taboo
to shake my beauty's hand
it's a crime to cuddle her.
A stoneable offence to send
a bouquet of roses
He says,
am only free
to touch her without
eyes feasting.
I can only caress her succulent
anatomy when alone,
enclosed by silent walls.
I told him,
to his face that
affinity thrives in open-ness.
Sharia law in the northern part of Nigeria is alive and kicking. This poem is about a guy that fell in love but was threaten because of the hypocritical system of the law.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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African Drum Talk
In the distance drums wail:
grasp the rhythm of drum-claps
crooning, perforating our
celebrating souls
Listen, listen with attention
to the flowing crscendo
collating rhythmic melody
oozing from creative hands
of master drummers
bathing us with hypnotic slaps...
Listen, listen with intent
to the soothing body talks
of our dramatic dancers
immerse your souls in the drum-beats:
let your body sip from it.
Listen, listen with body and soul
to energizing songs of singers
voices raising and falling like
lapping sea waves
Clap on, wail on
keep the beat alive
let it not flicker away...
Daze us drummers
dazzle us dancers
stun us singers
make our waist gyrate
beyond limits.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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Feelings
I may be wrong
But I know not
A good way
to express my feelings.
Perhaps,
I will blow my gentle kiss
Across to you
Or,
Walk you
Hand in hand
Around the garden of roses
And tingle your ears
With love stories.
I will sing you a song
That will cajole you
To a timeless desire
Perhaps,
I may still say;
I love you.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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Hand of A Ready Writer
I am the hand of a ready writer,
I shall not be manacled.
I am the voice that sings,
I shall not be shackled.
I am the mirror that reflects,
I shall not be blurred
I am the drum that beats,
I shall not be drowned.
A poet that
protests slavish disrobing
of mankind
shall not watch in silence...
A poet writes to revive
famished souls
He shouts to give voice
to the voiceless...
voiceles clubbed to nothing-ness.
Thunder is waiting,
Waiting patiently to
Greet oppressors of men
They shall not escape
No, their wings are wet.
Copyright © 2005 Emeka Chike Nwogu
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