In the calabash of life,
a profound journey unfolds
as the space
gracefully passes the baton
in the art of apprenticeship.
Success resonates like a fine chant,
akin to the resonance of the four-lobed kola nut
the water that flows,
immersing its feet
into gin and tradition.
The apprentice,
the Soldier's seed,
navigates the delicate balance
between the sun's dreams
and the moon's ways.
Hips sway
after the clover of the stars,
creating a dance
that echoes the celestial rhythm,
Taking nature in the fashion it is.
Within energy’s forte,
the apprentice remains steadfast,
untouched
by the mystic's contagion.
Breeze gently gives life to the air,
ensuring that peace
never topples over,
while the living
is meticulously scripted
in the sealed scroll of existence
The Apprentice knew anew.
In the scroll
where life is inscribed,
the celestial and clay beings converge.
The earth walks ways
where water was weaned
before birth,
guiding life in eleven directions —
light, lead, love, logic, luxury,
and power
flavored on six sticks of nature.
I see a seed of white colouration,
And pink pigmentation.
Manually easy to divide,
Not ritually difficult to provide.
I see the financially easy to handle,
A culturally accepted candle.
Announcer of a host’s good wishes,
Much more treasured than his dishes.
A proof of the giver’s honest intention
And summary of his cheerful disposition.
Alligator pepper is its errand boy,
Content to seem all through its toy:
Garden eggs readily surrendering its portfolio,
Their services adjusted relatively hollow.
Very correct to link it with West Africa
And just as flawless with The Tropical;
Consumer keep impressing its pleasant bitterness:
A continual patience with its induced giddiness…
The gods are served the best kolanut
To have the mouth of Evil amazingly shut!
Those days.....
When men didn't attempt to cage the lion,
Domesticate the cobra or try to play god
Those days when men didn't dog breed, cat breed,
Moon walk or day dream
Nature wouldn't bark so violently
With climate change, earth quakes and Tsunamis
Those days when men knew the value of palmwine, kola nut,
Utaba and it's efficacy...the insidious aroma
Of smoked yam, dipped in palm oil, pepper and salt, rattled
Our air pipe under the comfortable thatch
Of raffia palm and Bamboo sticks;
Chop sticks were alien to us
Those days.....
When a hunter would not dare return home
Empty handed for fear of being labelled efulefu
Those days when loin cloth wrapped around our sacred neck;
Gray hair, bald head, and silver stricken beard
Oozed wisdom, knowledge and understanding
Those days.....
At the darkest hour of night
Before night shadows
Steal across the wall of darkness
Into the welcoming hands of dawn;
As with defecting soldiers
At Korea's demilitarized zone
With my spoke,
I stoked the fire
Sending it's glamorous flame
Spiraling, hissing, revolving and tumbling
Like a million ocean waves,
Unraveling itself in its splendor;
Surging, splurging and lunging forward
Like a roaring lion
Seeking to subdue it's helpless prey
We encamped around the fire
At the village ilo
Titled men of Onicha ugbo,
Telling tales of valor
To psyche themselves
To the point of equilibrium
As men saturated in a binge
Of snuff, kola-nut and red bull,
With eyes of fire,
Await words of armistice
From Ukwunzu village
Drenched in the momentous suspense
Characterized by the uncertainty and promise
Which sneak in with dawn
As night tired limbs,
Like a ship gliding through
A voluptuous Ocean,
Navigates the unwinding path of darkness,
Devouring it copiously,
Seeking with desperation
To berth at dawn's
Promising shores
Our despair turns to fear,
Fear begets ambivalence
And uncertainty translates
To aspirations for
Dawn's hopeful uhuru
Women rush their cooking
Children talk in whispers
Nursing mothers put the babies to sleep
Darkness descends on the land
The winds are becoming aggressive
The buzzing is getting louder
Like a cockpit;
The ant holes are opening
From them the Akpali spirits are emerging
Their sight makes women miscarry
Make the children to convulse
The lily livered clings to their wives
The braves with a kola nut in the hands;
Sits at their door steps
The catechist doubt its efficacy
Yet his fields are still without seedlings
He too awaits this dance
Tonight the land plays host to them
Our ancestors;
They bring no harm
Without this dance
The land sees no rain
In the midst of males
The grey haired meant to move
In accordance with the rule
Legislated by nature
With kola nut blessing it starts
Through pouring of librations
To call the watching sleepers
It just invites
And unites
The hustlers and the sleepers
For we all have shares
In the unity of the parties
May the light burn still
And the keeper, keep it still
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