The Poetry Marathon

Long before Eve wedded Adam
And begat Abel & his murderous
brother turned fugitive

Long before Noah’s ark set
sail atop the deluge
and the rainbow showed up

An autochthonous people
lived by the banks
of Njaba River.

A man emerged out of Njaba,
Chi-Ukwu’s creation,
And married Lolo.

Lolo bore Isu, and Isu’s
wife bore the fathers
of today’s Isu clan.

When you tell me whom Cain
married and how all the world’s
peoples came to be

I will tell you where Lolo
came from and how Isu clan
grew out of her loins.

Vocabulary of violence
is the trademark of
this repressive regime

Ban, proscribe,
arrest, jail,
maim, execute!

Freedom is a poisonous
snake aiming for the heart
Of the despot

Activism is treason
that lands you
in prison

Criticism is opposition
poisoning citizens’ minds
against the despot

But right inside the cabinet
a coup brews that will take
out the despot

It’s the heart of the wet season
When the woods are drunk
And we cannot navigate
The mighty ponds
On the paths to our farms.

Overgrown weeds hide
Hideous reptiles.

Cold comes knocking
So we unlock the stores
To fetch faggots we gathered
When the woods were dry
But the storehouse is empty

While we slept
While we enjoyed relief from
The scorching sun
Folks to whom we entrusted the store
keys robbed us dry,
Shared all we had gathered
Among them.

Now our children are dying of cold
No firewood to keep them warm.

Contradiction
is a multi-
branched
tree trunk
standing
lifeless
in a lush
green field

Granny had a smart goat
that heard you when you called
and answered his name with a bleat.

We called him Billy, not because he
was a billy goat but because he had
a beard like dad’s runaway half-brother Billy.

This other Billy, Billy the human,
dad’s half-brother, he wasn’t smart
like Billy the goat. He ran away
from home because he wouldn’t
marry a wife.

Billy the goat? Smart kid.
All of Granny’s she-goats
belonged to his harem.

We may not agree on this –
Nothing beats the aroma
Of cereal with a sprinkling
Of cream emitting vapour
Let alone the taste
It’s like chocolate bar
Melting on your tongue
Or your favourite ice cream
Gliding down your throat
That’s how much I love cereals

Similac, Cerelac, Nutrend –
This half-empty pack of Golden Morn
In my cupboard reminds me of them,
Of growing up when we used to
Eat them raw and Mama would warn us
To desist but the taste would draw my
siblings and I to do what Mama had forbidden

So we ate one day and left the evidence
All over our lips and the floor
And I ran to Mama once she returned
And reported that we didn’t eat raw Nutrend.

I cannot now say whether it was guilt that pushed me or childhood innocence
But I know the memory of her spanking never wanes.

Write, child.
Write as it flows.
Do not let form hinder you.
For poetry is but the word
Encapsulating powerful feelings
Uninhibited by form or shape.
So write!

We sit,
just you & I,
in this shade
whose tree we
do not know
do not see
do not care.

The leaves, variegated
in the smouldering sun,
dance lazily
over our heads,
just the two of us,
our eyes set in
same direction.

It may seem to them
we stare into empty space
but what do we care?
just you & I
know what we seek
where our gaze is turned
and I remember
what you said
that took our eyes there.

I hadn’t encountered the word
mentor when you encircled me
with words that propelled me
to unthought-of heights

but in my mind
you were
suffocating me

and now I’m sad
that you’re gone
far from here

I cry still
even as I know
spilt milk
can’t be collected

I wish I hadn’t been naive
I wish I had known better

I admire you still
and in my mind’s eye
I see you scouting the shelves
or seated studiously
like a college boy
in the campus library

who would have thought
that this ordinary man here
studying like the rest of us
was a college professor
with a doctorate in the bag?

I admire you still, my Dr.
hoping our paths cross again
if Christ tarries

Would you be kind
to offer me a crumb
of your cheddar cheese
to assuage my hungry mouth?

Would you let me sleep
in your mansion tonight?
Or would you cast me off to
your pavement on a wintry night?

Would you be the satchel to carry
me, a heavy hardback, across
life’s tortuous path?

Or would you be the nail
to fasten my resting box?