Archive for the ‘EZEAMALUKWUO SPEAKS 2’ Category

by Okoye Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo

I love to take a walk in the evening
On the old asphalt road
With an abandoned well at its end
There I would pause to rest my feet
Bend me down to pick wild flowers
And look deep down to the black beneath
Scream to the dead and say;
Tell if you know, what is on the other side?

I am a being plagued by an alien doctrine
Politics, metaphysics and religion are my terms
My tongue is laden with conspiracies,
I do question my being
My shirt is of silk and not of raffia,
My necklace is gold, not coweries
I keep rediscovering myself.

Indeed I have charted the courses of many rivers,
The Pison and the Gihon, the Eurphrates and the Tigris
Yet I still don’t know where I came from
Or where I am inevitably going.
At night I dream that I hover among the stars,
And in the day, I put my hands in my pocket
And drift like the clouds.
I am one with the wind, either here or there,
Stretch out your hand, you can never tell me from the crowd.
I am whatever you call me;
I am a soul, a human, a god.

Liberty of Creativity

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A Jasmine Flower; Picture Courtesy of Google

A Jasmine Flower; Picture Courtesy of Google

by Okoye Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo

(Inspired by “Mandela; a Biography” by Martin Meredith)

Pick a Jasmine, my love
Pick a fresh, white Jasmine.
The flowers are more lovely this year
The bird’s songs are sweeter than before
And the sky is the bluest I’ve ever seen.
But the fallen dreams of Africa,
Lie un-blossomed still in the desert soils of our hearts.
The sower will sow once more before the year is done.
The heavens will smile, and rain will surely fall by dawn.
The farmer’s boy will till the Earth
With a village song on his tongue.
But the lost hopes of my people;
Those black seeds left un-nurtured in the ground
May never know the blooming light of day,
Though I pick this white Jasmine
Though I plant kisses on your lips.

Listen! My love, Listen!!
Listen to the sound of the wind on your hair,
The chirping of the crickets in the wood,
The clapping of the wings of butterfly,
The buzzing of bees on flower petals;
Listen! My love. You will hear it surely;
The cries of infant, the wails of women,
The clash of spears, the drawing of bows and thrust of arrows,
The noise of battle and marching of tribal warriors,
The voice of pride and the words of prejudice,
The groaning of a people down and downtrodden,
It is the voice of Africa calling. . .
And I must pick myself up and go.
From the North to the South, To the East and West,
She calls; ‘My people; what have you done to yourselves,
This is no manner to live; a stranger among friends,
Knives sharpened; ready to battle,
To draw blood from kindred veins.’
Listen! My love. Listen! She calls,
Give ears and hearken.

Somewhere in time; I believe
They will be singing the Nkosi Sikekela*
And the ancient rhythms of our land,
And there I shall return;
With love for you, and time for me.
But today; the voice of my people calls;
And there is no joy yet for us to reap
Though I pick this white Jasmine,
Though I plant kisses on your lips.

NB: Nkosi Sikekela is a Zulu song usually regarded ad a national anthem by Africans south of thr Zambezi. Nkosi means the King or the Lord; and the phrase means “God guide the destiny of our land!” (Culled from “A Selection of Africa Poetry” by K.E. Senanu & T. Vincent ed. 1988)

Lyriversity — Liberty of Creativity

by Okoye Chukwudi Charles Ezeamalukwuo

In a Whorehouse,
Wine and I broke words,
Absent of Coins.
72 Virgins and I alone;
Cock hardened at such thought.
For one only was I enslaved.
She was different.
I had laid absent regard of pleasing a woman.
Apologises, a skill lacking in most men.
Sometimes wine and foolishness
Are needed to forge greater bond.
But she, not so easily swayed.
What would she have me do?
Set Bombs to purpose?
Suffer innocents to bleed?
Watch flesh strip from bone,
Both heart and honour and all;
Both beauty and beast and all?
Offer death in exchange for her affection?
Child of the house of Niger,
Now sworn to bring blood brothers to doom.
Prove of what a man can do, given cause.
Or woman or both.
She wants nothing more than to claim the throne.
She wants nothing but a dynasty in the north.
Now she stands more of a threat to us all.
She has lost mind,
The whole Niger have slipped from reason.
And I not less, the most fallen of all
Chose path upon it.
To bring comrades to harm.
To pull already spread legs wider apart
And let Apophis, rain blood on the land.
But fate bared only her fallen breast,
To let me, a foolish child suck.
Pulled cock from barn to piss on land.
Only to have balls severed from manhood.
Now I stand a bull absence of cock.
Now I can have her not, nor she, me.
Now I am half a man, and far less noble.
To heed ears to death, the afterlife beckons
There to lie forgotten by all, by whores and tavern.
By the very maiden that bid me doom.

*(Some lines were taken from Spartacus season 3)

Lyriversity — Liberty of Creativity

MrCharles.

by Okoye Chukwudi Charles Ezeamalukwuo

I have gone, placing pollens on wild flowers
Breaking butterflies from their dark cocoon
I have filled full
The brown calabashs of the coconuts
That swayed their fronds against the wind
Their dance had captured my eyes
But their fruits did not touch my lips
The song of the cuckoo bird has woken
The sun, and the skies must wipe their tears
From the face of the earth
The stubborn weeds shall reach down into the deep
Seeking new roots
The wanderer shall stumble upon
Another story to colour his days
And another dream
To fill up the empty sky at night
with enough quest and questions
To last a million heartbeats.

What will a man hide in the cave
That the blind bat will never find
How far must the sea spread its blue
That the river will not run and follow.

Alas I can never run freely
The meandering river of life
Entrusting all my faith in its green waters
Like the mackerel or the salmon
Nor can I return with the stars upon my face
The path I had once taken
Across seven hills and seven rivers
Across the wilderness
Through thorns and thickets
The fallow land, -the embrace of the red earth
Where tread the black virgins with their jugs
Walking the winding ways of our forefathers
The path of honest men
Is the lonely road
Their place is the wilderness
That is why the world does not recognise them
That is why only a few can take heart and follow
Alas I can only sit by the bank of this river
And weep
Offering my tears as libation
To the mermaid of the sea
“Oh Mermaid, oh mother,
In your presence alone have I come to see
That all my quest and questions
Are but a chase after the wind.”