| THE ARRIVAL
Is this the land
that all have longed for
and many have died for?
Is this the land?
Where is the flowing milk?
Where the dripping honey?
And where the fat ears of corn
waiting only to be eaten?
I see only a land of rocks
like the one we left behind.
Those who see milk and honey
see it in their dreams.
MAIDEN FLIGHT
That day I cried
when mother came back from the field
and I opened my mouth to receive
but there were no worms for me.
That day I cried
as mother drove me from the nest
and left me lonely on a twig
not telling me what to do.
That day I knew
I must find my food or die.
I clambered and stretched and fluttered
and that day I flew.
SYLVANUS
In heavy jeans pantaloon
and thick woollen overcoat
he stands in the tropical sun
smoking a cigarette.
His neck is in ties.
Sweat drops from his face.
He clasps a noisy transistor
tuned to the Voice of America.
He smiles at passers-by
and nods from time to time.
Ask him what's going on it the world, he says
"Funny things are happening, my brother."
|
THE OWL HOOTS
Last night I could not sleep
an old owl was hooting
many times I tried to chase it away
but it always came back to the same spot.
The hooting yes, that disturbed me
but what drove sleep from my eyes
was the fact that it was hooting
perched on the Nigerian flag.
And so before the sun rose
and without tasting oil
I went straight to Obika, the diviner
to unravel the meaning of all this.
Straight to Obika who sees with four eyes
the two eyes of men and the two eyes of spirits
but when the gong rattled and the cowries
took their position
what Obika saw screwed up his lips:
Things you could not say
without being accused of treason,
Things you could not publish
without being detained for felony.
NZEOGWU
From opposite sides of the road
two men emerged
wearing different faces
heading for the same spot
and the spot no other than
the lonely Nzeogwu's grave.
One had a wreath
the other had petrol
and a fight there ensued
for they had different views
and soon the two lay dying
beside the peaceful Nzeogwu's grave.
There lay the scattered wreath
brought for to crown the dead,
and there the wasted petrol
brought to burn his bones
and in their agony they heard a voice
Nzeogwu laughing in his grave.
© Munachi Ezeogu 1997 |
