Once upon a time in Nigeria
Lived a storyteller with a voice like the wind
His parables, like whispers, traveled far and wide
Touching every corner, stirring every mind.
He wrote of a land where the yam was king
Where the ancestors’ drums forever sing.
He told of Okonkwo, fierce and proud
In a village where voices rose clear and loud.
With Things Fall Apart, he tore down the veil
Unveiling truths buried deep in each tale.
He spoke of clashes, of struggle, and pain
Cultures colliding like thunder and rain.
Once upon a time in Nigeria, lived a man
Who awoke a continent, once tightly bound.
Through the pages of history, his voice ascends
A river of stories that flows without end.
MY WEDDING DAY
On my wedding day
I wore a pink suit
A white cuff links
With a black long sleeve.
I and my wife
Walked down the aisle
With hands held tight
And faces dazzling.
The rose flowers
The silvery crown
The sandhog shoe
All with effect blazing.
The gods have eaten your cake
But we still have it
Some with dirty hands
Stalking your pages
And others virgin hands
Talking your pages
With seething hope
Above you a shrine, a wreath of letters.
The father of stories
Where children never sleep
The auditorium where curtains never fall
The age mate of gems
The gods have eaten your cake
But we still have it
The Iroko has transmuted
Chinua Achebe
Unending teacher