Prologue: Dialogue With Elite Friend

Friend: Chidi, why do you waste your time and energy to write poems only to post them on blogs, listservs, websites and social networking sites for people to read free?

Me: I aim to reach the highest number of people possible from diverse backgrounds with my poetry. For me, mass media like blogs, listservs, websites and social networking sites are best for my purpose.

Friend: nonsense, poetry is for those with elevated intellect, not for everybody.

Me: wrong notion. Opaque poetry written mainly for students to read and pass exams, which they usually forget about immediately after graduation, may fall into this category. Poetry is supposed to be one of the tools of socio-political and cultural mobilization.

Friend: I am still of the opinion that you should publish only on books and on literary review journals, if you want to be taken serious.

Me: (laughter) taken serious by who? The people whom I write for take me serious, judging by their reactions. Anyway, publishers of books and literary review journals are free to publish my poems if they choose to.

Friend: what do you gain from poetry since you are not making money from it?

Me: if my poetry helps to reform the society, I would have secured at least a footnote in history.

Friend: (chuckle) how do you think poetry can reform the society?

Me: (surprise) if the right messages are delivered in less opaque poetry to the highest number of people possible with diverse backgrounds, they will one day revolt against oppressors.

Friend: even blogs, listservs, websites and social networking sites do not reach everybody

Me: right, but they at least have wider reach.

Friend: how do you reach those who do not have access to the Internet?

Me: in future, I hope to print my poems on leaflets and also record them on audio/visual tapes and distribute them free in motor parks, market places and other such places where the masses are found.

Friend: (scornfully) all hail the poet!

Me: (smiling) time will tell.

Homeland Melodies

Strain your ears now
To hear decibels
Of sound,
Sound of songs,
Sound of homeland melodies
Learned at feet
Of pious mother,
Sitting with me
In a dark
Moonless night,
Starless night,
With rain threatening
And thunderstorms scolding,
With bats hovering
And mother's lamp
Our companion.

The Revolution Will Be Tomorrow

We are pretend revolutionaries.

In silence

We watch our world whirl

In the swirl of sin.

Our minstrels

Stare at the audience,

Their instruments mute.

We are like woodpeckers

That stare in awe at tree trunks,

We are like lions

That mew like house cats.

We are saints

In consort with sinners.

We are pretend revolutionaries

Cocooned in the comfort of cowardice,

We whisper to ourselves;

“The revolution may be tomorrow”.

Tomorrow,

The real revolutionaries will be born

And we,

The pretend revolutionaries

Will be buried

In the cemetery of cowards.

The revolution will be tomorrow.

Rejuvenation

Let me travel to the resort

Of rejuvenation

And tuck self inside the sanctuary

Of solitude.

Let me shield my eardrums

From this din.

The wind whistles,

The snakes hiss,

The squirrels squeal,

The song birds squirm

And sing staccatos,

Sundry shrieks pervade the shrub.

The choristers chant cantatas

And the cants,

The music manipulates.

Minions

Kneel

Mumbling.

The pastors prance

Preaching doctrines doctored.

Napalms pound the pews,

Heads from bodies sever.

Eyes dripping innocence

Bore

Into the heart of hate.

I am dying in this din;

Sovereign funds,

Stolen funds,

Subsidies,

Same sex marriage

And Strikes.

I am dying in this din;

Awards,

Aides,

Aid,

AIDS,

Grants,

And occupy.

Surgeons of Satan

With surgery sets set

To sever arteries so suction will start.

Blood will be drained,

The system will be filled

With the stench of suffering.

Let me heed the clarion call

Of my muse,

Let me step on the road to rejuvenation

And leave behind

Minstrels munching crumbs,

Motors in gridlocks

Hooting,

Hounds hounding news hounds

And hungry humanity huddled

On dirty streets decorated.

Let me leave behind

Demagogues doling out deceits.

I will return with bags bountiful,

I will return rejuvenated

To re-paint the dirtied walls,

I will return

To adorn this abode with beauty.

The road recedes,

The journey lengthens.

My quickened steps

Slow to rhymes recited

By tongues of tired travelers.

I quickened my steps again

Reaching the resort of rejuvenation,

Humming the hymn of hope.

The Swirl Of Subsidy

The wind swirl,

The harmattan

Harass the hapless masses.

Tossed into the swirl of subsidy

Naija

Shiver and wail.

The shiver,

The wail cease.

Naija

Storm the squares,

The storm strengthens.

The guardian of sovereignty

With gruff grunt unleash

The terriers of terror,

The storm strengthens.

The hounds

Storm the squares

To straddle the storm,

The storm strengthens.

The storm

Strengthens to whirlwind.

No more growls from guard dogs,

No more guffaws

From the inner sanctum.

War The Warrior Fought

(Popular Igbo war song;

Nzogbu nzogbu

Enyimba enyi

Nzogbu enyimba

Nzogbu Nwoke

Enyimba

Nzogbu Nwanyi

Enyimba enyi

Nzogbu enyimba)

(War song fades to background)

 

I search the past,

I scan the present,

I see human,

I see some frailties,

I see also conviction and courage.

(War song fades, silent interlude)

 

I wonder

If I would not fight

War the warrior fought,

Given same cause.

(War song continues, fades)

 

Mmanwu

Surrogate gods

Masked.

Mmanwu,

Okara mmadu

Okara mmuo,

Mingling with spirits

And

Mingling with mankind.

Your measured movements

Mesmerize,

Your miens

Magisterial,

Magnanimous.

In your presence

We swear,

The truth

Our witness.

We prostrate,

We pronounce our names.

Our palms

We place on your feet

Professing our piety.