Tuesday, 28 February 2017

Ulamnyi

Ulamnyi

A g’nedo enwe
The monkey is being hunted
M’enwe g'nedo
The monkey is hiding
A g’nacho umoro
The umoro is being chased
M’umoro egwuru onu gba'ala
The umoro is running and digging the burrow
Ochu nta  chutar' enyimenyi anyi
The hunter meets our elephant
gbara oso je k’te umunna ya
And goes back to tell his village 

Ulamnyi

ukwu anunebe akarima eshushua
The anu nebe is bigger than the forest
alu n’n'n  ekeme’g kpa ma alu nel'ye
No bird nests on her heights
ukwu anunebe ad’g ebo nime eshushua
The anu nebe is one in the forest
irurue gbara oso no’okpr’ ye
No grass grows under her shade
oshishi ye ejig’ ishi ulo nehu
No one builds his homestead with her wood
uroko anyi sueger’ ele oshishi lile
But our Iroko towers over the treetops
tobe ishi ke ugo b’r nelel’ ye
tobe ekparikpa ke’esha b'r
The eagle nests at the top, the weaver birds nest in the branches
uroko anyi wor' nja chere anwu
Our Iroko shields the ground from the angry sun
k’me irure ne ekarika ke'he suede
So the grass and the nettle brush can flourish
an’g acho ukwu nk'ya  acho n'ishi ulo
The wood of our Iroko holds up every roof 

Ulamnyi

mma n’eri umuya
The deity that eats her children
an’g enwe onye na awa oshi
Soon runs out of worshippers
onu ya be otobo ngwere n’eh'h
Her shrine is abandoned to termites and lizards
mma kpor’ umuya eg'
The deity that starves her children 
g’eshi we ahu ebianyi
Soon runs out of sacrifice
o’ji eri obara eh'h
Her shrine will be wetted with the blood of insects
mma anyi na’avuba umu
But our deity multiplies our children 
ochi g’nada n'onu ya
Our shrine is full of laughter
o’g neri ebule gbara agba
It overflows with the blood of fattened rams

Ulamnyi

ag’di ukwu g’d’gbo g’nada n’enyas
The footsteps of the giant echo in the night
od’ke oj' etikpo ite ofe agbayar’ n'enyekwu
May be he will break the soup pot abandoned in fright
ude omabe enyas’ evr’ enyas
The roar of the giant echoes in the night
od’ke oj' anar’ onyikonkwu agbu
May be he will pluck the tapper from the palm tree
ekpri omabe enyas evr uya bata otobo
The appetite of the giant brings famine to the village square 
akatakpa anyi n'eje n'el ekwa m’otikpog’ 
But our giant treads on eggs and does not break them
ude mmawnuanyi n’ayoshita udara k’umutakri’ hota
Our giant's breath shakes the udara tree so the children can pick 
nnukwu mmanwuanyi d’anyi etegwu n'otobo
Our giant leads the ancestral dance in the village square

Ulamnyi

onye ahuleg okpere mmnyi war’
if you have not seen the path of a river
gar’Itchi j’ahuma ngwo
go to itchi and see the valley that is there
uzo onyeukwu gar’ b'okpere war’ ngwo
the path of a great man is like that
nd’ogba okerekwu  j’ahu mmnyi n'ekwo
some generations will see the river
ne ngwo n’etiti ugwu
roaring between the hills
nd’ogba ngwere j’ahu mmnyi 
Some generations will see the river
n’ashua eyoro mkp'me eka
whispering gently to the pebbles 
nd’ogba ebshi j'ahu ngwo mmnyi yar'
Some generations will see the path left behind by the river
bia sor’anyi ruo n’ishi mmnyi anyi
Come with us to the source of our river
bia sor' uzo otiyiri n’ime eshushua
and follow the path it has cut in the forest
bia soro uzo ogbawair’ ne ngwo n’etiti ugwu
the way it has made between the hills
anyi gaji afta m’onyene a jule
now we can come out and no one will ask 
ob’ ndole b'dnwa.
where are these ones from.

Ulamnyi

Saturday, 11 February 2017

If all I had was money

If all I had was money
I will buy a heart
The soft and fleshy type
Dripping with the red juice of compassion
I will buy the heart that breaks at the aches of the multitude
And graft into my chest
A new one on each anniversary of the sun rising on each massacre. 

If all I had was money
I will buy a taste for memories 
Memories left on the tombstone to tell each
spirit, 'here lies a good man'
I will buy the memories that sprinkle rose petals and frangipanni to 
chase way the gnomes mauling weary hearts
A new one for each sad story on cable news

If all I had was money
I will buy the poet and his song
The rush of words from his mouth
Tumbling out like a quarrelsome brook in a lonely bush
I will buy the discernment of his brooding
A new one for each robe that clothes no one

If all I had was money
I will buy peace in bowls and droplets
I will stand by the road side and dole out a measure
May be a measure and half, 
To each straggler and each braggart
I will buy the path for them to pass
with their bowls in hand, a drop for each one lost on the way

If all I had was money
I will buy more of it or all of it
And lock it away in an iron box beneath the sea
I will buy the greed and hunger and fright
of those who have and want more and those who haven’t and want more
and give them back their life
one breadth, at a time.


Saturday, 4 February 2017

I am a village man

   I am a village man
 
Don't mind the Gucci on my feet
And the crocs I patter around in.
The lizard skin shoes only cover my calloused feet,
I am a village man
The pebbles on the hillside track
The mud on the way to the stream
That's my idea of a pedicure. 
 
I may ride in limo
Yes, my ride knows the way I am going 
And will get there by itself
It will hover above the bumps and glide through the holes.
But the way I seat you will know
I am a village man. 
My legs are strong and my waist is tuned for the rocky track. 
 
Don't mind the accent from my lips
My tone might be measured like the english lord
I may wave my hands like a frantic Italian then nod like an Indian.
Even when I bow like a Japanese man you can see for yourself
I am a village man.
My lips are thick and the phonemes are heavy
The pith in my words is native in depth.
 
I will swear by the books
And pledge my honor
See, I will take your oaths of fidelity
And wear my badge of nationalism. 
But you will see what I do
I am a village man
The bonds of blood and the fear of our deity
Keeps me from the village purse.
 
I am a village man
I am  a village man
From the dust I came and to the dust I return
The dust from the rocks that line the paths
The dust that hides my village from your man.
 
 
 

Monday, 9 March 2015

the diamond is still a stone


what if the brilliance dazzles us
and the play of colors awe us?

the diamond is still a stone.

what if it seems perfectly built
and perfectly woos our greed
with the strangeness of its scarcity

the diamond is still a stone

what if we murder and pillage
and dismember our friends
to hide the cache we stole from our other friends

the diamond is still a stone

what if we adorn our crowns
and guard the realm with zeal
to provide sanctuary for the gem

the diamond is still a stone 

what if we construct fortunes
to allow us covet our neighbours fortunes
and trample his fields in search

the diamond is still a stone

what if we build an altar
and raise an order of levites
to mumble words that are just words

the diamond is still a stone.

Sunday, 4 January 2015

We are of the earth


We who bury our umbilical cord in the soil 
We are of the earth
We who live in thatch
And mud houses that breath
We are of the earth
We who pour libations to the ancestors 
Libations of palm wine and cola nuts
We are of the earth
We who clear our patch 
Clear our patch and leave it to grow again
We are of the earth
We who catch our water from the clouds
And drink the brown rivulets coursing through the soil
We are of the earth
We who take what we need
And put it back again to bring forth again what we need
We are of the earth 
We who walk paths among the foliage
Our bare feet caressing the ants and the crickets
We are of the earth
We who eat the leaves and let the fruits fall for the bats
We who seek propitiation when the earth is angry
We are of the earth 
We who look up at the sky
And wonder at the expanse of the sky god
And acknowledge the minuteness of our footprints
We are of the earth
We who do not envy the stars of their starlight
Nor the earth of her riches
We are of the earth
We are of the earth

The Lament of the grasshopper


We will laugh at the ant
Scurrying from heap to heap
We will make merry while he toils
While he hefts grains broader than his chest
Up the log while the morning sings
Over the foliage while the dew leaves the leaves 
We will scamper in the undergrowth
Spread out our  wings to be tinged with the rainbow
Oh, we will greet the morning with a song
Tease the day with our play
Retire the night with our romance
We will laugh at the ant
At his stock of grains
And his stock of crumbs
Perfectly lined to please his eye
Wall to wall, floor to roof
We will follow him across the forest trail
Sipping the nectar he is too busy to see 
Exploring the side paths he can only wonder where they lead
He will hear our singing all day long
He will mark our laughter 
He will vow to see the flowers we have seen
To bask in the rainbow we had flown in
Oh how he will make us beg for warmth in his hearth
And for crumbs from his table
How he will stand on a pedestal
And lecture us, and wave at his hoard
Of grains and crumbs, stretching wall to wall
And we cannot bargain with the song in our heart
Nor share the memories of our adventures 
We cannot advance the taste of our romance
Nor trot out the singe of the rainbow. 
But it's our season
And we have made a reason
For the next season to come
The next season to come and find us frozen in the fields
Our memories floating in the air
For those who will once again dance in the rain. 

Sunday, 13 July 2014

Bottle of memories


You may find this message
Years from now
Tossed wave to wave
From ocean trough to crested waves
Borne across ancestral paths
Directions baked into bones
From age to age
You may find my greetings in old script hard to decipher
My words parched by thirst
And confused by isolation
I was not lost, I can assure you
Not marooned on a remote isle
Overflowing with coconuts and curious monkeys
But I could not see beyond the walls
Of my crypt bejeweled in glass and concrete
My little prison of gold and anxiety
Of what has become of luxury
I could see the tops of my sky scrapers
Their bared teeth glistening in the sun
Their souls hanging on copper threads from pole to pole
I was not hungry either
Because chicken hatched in a day
And fattened in a day
Tomatoes grew right through the metal covers of metal stew pots
Smart foods looked through the window wishing they will be dinner
Dinner for the homeless man across the street
Breakfast for the little boy left beside the dry well in the African Sahel
I did not have enemies
Nor could I remember friends that remained friends
With grenades hidden in dinner bowls
It was hard to tell who gave the boy the machine gun
And the extra magazine to fill the school yard with corpses
You will find this message years later
You may find it hard to comprehend
The battle over who marries the man
A woman, a monkey or a mouse
Why the hand wringing over the family
Children are cooked in Petri dishes and adults formed on TV and video games
You will wonder why the creator we worship
Commands us to love and hate, to kill and save , to die in order to live
To venerate the meek and saintly
To kill them off for progress
You will wonder why I left you this message
Your world is not my world
Battles are fought from afar
And words have one letter each
The dreams we built have become your nightmares
The doves we raised have grown talons
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.