Long Achebe Poems
Long Achebe Poems. Below are the most popular long Achebe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Achebe poems by poem length and keyword.
The Heart of the Rising Sun
(In search of the place of the Igbo nation in Africa)
By the banks where the Rivers of Niger interwatered with Benue
Spreading their wild tentacles to the farms and gardens terrain,
Turning this gleams and divides, into food basket state called Benue
In the soil of southeastern terrain,
Lies a nation of millions, where honor resides,
And the roots of antiquity and meritocracy reign.
From the cradle of Ugwuele, timeless and deep,
To the bronze that Igbo-Ukwu cast,
Bordering the ancient People of Igala
They are keepers of secrets the centuries keep,
With a future as vast as their past
Endowed with gifts and ornaments beautiful like the Ugbala
No monarchs or tyrants could capture their soul,
For their freedom was woven in sacred and just law;
By the elders and age-grades, the village made whole,
Protected by Ofo na Ogu and in the councils the ancestors saw.
When the shadow of empire demanded their knee,
The Ekumeku struck through the night,
Aba women rioted to the disgrace of the Empires civilization.
And the women of Aba stood fearless and free,
To reclaim what was theirs by right
They found no monarch to cajole in their vandalization
They are builders of commerce, the engine, the spark,
From the stalls where the markets expand;
Through the bond of entrepreneurs' of
Igba-Boi, they rise from the dark,
Lifting brothers to conquer the land.
In the factories of Nnewi, the engines are spun,
and industrial cities of Aba, businesses run
With a genius no hardship could tame,
For the spirit of Biafra, though tested by gun,
Still burns as an unquenched flame.
From the ink of Achebe, where cultures collide,
To the starlight Adichie has shed,
From the mathematic prowess of Chike Obi
to the pure calculus eloquence of Peter Obi
Their stories travel global on rivers of pride,
By the rhythms of Afrobeats fed.
Though scattered by oceans, their legacy stays
In the diaspora's heartbeat and tongue
The Igbo remain, through the length of their days,
The proud song that Africa has sung.
HEAL THY SELF O WOUNDED AFRICA
(no to XENOPHOBIA).
Wake up a voice shouted
You slept like a pregnant woman
While the drum beat of my assagil sounds like trumpet
With fear and deep chill I listened
The ghost of mighty black warrior standing in shiver
As I face the Great Zulu warrior lost in fear
I saw him Shaka cry to the members of Mambers the great Gods of Africa
There before him stands the Mighty Nile in disbelief
With the Niger filled with bloods disagrees to stay calm
The Senegal and the Congo revolted with flood
The orange and the Limpopo grumble and cried as the sky shared their pains with continuous rain pour.
O you failed cried d Zambezi as she invades her neighbors with flood
A knock on my door I heard a voice shout
Speak out for Africa
It is I Kwameh Nkrumah speaking
This is a sacrilegious act echoed the Mighty Zik
When the house is not in order the cockroaches becomes violent
Cried out the anguish voice of Awolowo
From afar I saw a running giant coming with the force of a chariot
Then I heard a voice so mighty was it that the visitors chased it with fear
He a mighty figure decorated and protected by glory of stars
Stood there is burning eyes of anger
Cover in the black glasses with general pride
As curious as a questionnaire
I ventured in to the glorious illusionary scene
Standing before my trembling eyes was The General Abacha in his full stature
Like a Ligtening spark the mighty figure bent his head in shame
As I looked to behold who thou art
There before me I saw The Mighty Mandela in tears of betray
Weep no more thou wounded soul
The thunderous voice of King Sailaise shouted
In council with the great Ghaddafi as furious as
Idi Amin
Sankara frowned like a disgraced old man
While the ghost of Seda Sengho felt it lost its victories like Anthonio lost all his titles
In schock I turned as a firmed hand gently parted my hand
It was a mighty spirit with two heads
It is the heads of the great secretaries
Achebe and Giwa
Handing me a pen a paper
Written on it
Heal thyself O Africa before yesterday bleed to death.
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.
Chuka Nnabuife: Nwoke Na Mma
(Ab? p?r? iche maka mmemme ncheta ?gb?gba ah? iri ise nke Sa Chuka Nnab?ife)
Izunna Okafor dere ab? a
A s? na mma nwoke b? mpempe akw?kw?
Mana nke ah? b? maka nd? ?j? akw?kw?
Maka na onye g?t? akw?kw?, ma o kwegh? ya
Mgbe ah?, ? s? ka ? ga bute ego
Maka na ? kpazie ya aka n'?n?, ? s? na ego b? mma nwoke
?f?d? s?kwa na ogologo imi b? mma nwoke
Mana nke ah? b? maka nd? j?tara ?n? ha
Onye lechaa onwe ya n'enyo, h? na ? d? ka isi mkpi
Mgbe ah?, o cheta na ogologo imi b? mma nwoke
Maka na ya onwe ya b? ?s? ohu imi
Nd? ?ka s?kwa na mma nwoke b? n'af? ?n?
N'ihi na ha onwe d?ka ihu mm??
Ego kwàrà ha, ogologo imi erugh?kwa ha aka.
Ha wee ghàdozie aka n'af? ?n?
We kwubezie na af? ?n? b? mma nwoke
N'ime ihe nd? a niile
Nke b? eziokwu b? na ?ha obodo maara mm?? ka ukwu
Maka na e jigh? nkume elele isi kara aka
Ngàla nwa ebuli b? n'ihe chi ya jiri g?z?e
Mana ka m mme ka ? mara
O nwere otu nwoke nwere ihe nd? a niile
? b? maaz? Chuka Nnab?ufe
? b?gh? naan? na ? g?r? akw?kw?
Kama ogologo imi ya ha ka nke ele
Af? ?n? ya hakwa ka nke ag?
Mpe mpe akw? na-esi juputakwara n'akpa ya
Maka na a s? onye ji ya ruru ab??, ya gwuru
Lekene nwoke na mma
? b? ogologo o toro ka ?n? nkw?
Ka ? b?z? ?t?t? akara chi jiri g?zie ya
Nd? be any?, a na-eked? oke ji n'az? ?ba?
? ch?? ya n'?gba mb?, ? h? ya
? ch?? ya n'ise ihe, ? h? mkp?s? aka ya
? nwaa ya n'egwu, ? h? na ? b? keleke
? ch?zie ya n'ihe odide, ? h? na ya na Achebe b? ofu nne
?r? mgbasa ozi b?z?kwaara ya mmiri ?ñ?ñ?
Af? ?ma ya na-akp? n'ala ka nne eke
? b? nwoke maara ezi okwu
?g?g? isi b?kwaara uhie ?n?
Oge ?b?la, ihu na-at? ya am? ka ?k?r? nnewi
Maka na ? gh?tara n'elu ?wa d?ka ah?a otu
N'ihi ya keduz? ihe mmad? na-echegburu onwe ya.
Nd? be any?, keduz? ebe any? ga-ebido wee g?s?ba
? b? nd? o mere eme ka ? b? nd? ? ka na-eme eme
? b? na nd? o buru p?ta ?wa
Ka ? b? na nd? ? r?taara onwe ya
N'eziokwu, a d?gh? ama ?garanya n'af? nto
Maka na oke ji n'abala ad?gh? az? ihu ?ba
Maaz? Chuka b? oke nwoke
Ka m ka gbado ya ebe a maka mgbe ?z?
Maka na oke mm?? n?kar?a n'?gb?
?m??kp? ekenye ya ?t?
©Izunna Okafor, 2018
With wealth and blessings overflowing
Non would project this time we behold
To prove to humanity the lesson of life
Nothing stays unless true effort is made
The fourth is falling before the eyes of all
Reversing the theory of consolidation
A growth grounded in falsehood is a lie
The truth only can truly sustain any
Achebe saw it all before departing flesh
The Country stopped being as we looked
Like the carcass unbundled by termites
The country extinguished self willfully
Where the rules were thrown to dogs
Living like existence is National joke
Minds drifting according to how directed
As some swore to balkanize the Nation
Consequences of action and inactions
Where impure purposes rule decisions
The essence of being becomes eroded
Until the fabrics break to show the rot
It is gone like all can see
The pot has burst clearly
The feared has finally come
All are in confusion for next
The end has come
No prophets needed
The past has caught up
We are all part and in it
Death and birth sustain creation
A new Nigeria is a desired option
Where truth will lay the foundation
After cleansing that goes with ending
Bum! Bam!
The exixt of jokers,
They run for they shall not witness the coming of the Ijele
They say, "are we not masquerades? ain't the Ijele as Spirit as we are?"
But, their courage fell as the Ijele prepares to dance.
For he shall not dance in the glory of distractions.
The Ijele is a lone dancer!
Beautified in Glory,
Dotted by the colours of the rainbows,
Accentuated by the wisdom of no just sage,
He hungs on the escorts of the gods,
Led by a ready mortal, who counts as privilege his role.
The Ijele envelopes, swallows, captures, captivates.
He glows and graces forth and back, forth again!
His spectators rejoice in his spectacle.
They hold their breath and sing his praise.
They hunger more but the Ijele does not dance longer.
He leaves when the jaws are wide and the yearns louder.
Chaka! Chaka! Gbim! Gbam! Bum! Bam!
The Ijele doesn't dance twice
Yet, his appearance satisfies his patrons
Though they yearn for more still they rejoice in his glory!
Is Albert Chinualumogu Achebe not the Ijele?!
About the Poet
David +Nedu Okpokwasili is an Anambra-based Broadcast Journalist and writer who is driven by the need to bring social change. His articles explore themes that address the increasing "value crisis" that the society is passing through due to the global cultural exchange. David does not describe himself as a poet, but as a "sight-seeking sojourner". He wrote 'Ijele' after attending the 2019 Chinua Achebe Literary Festival which is a memorial event hosted in Awka by Izunna Okafor, Coordinator of Society of Young Nigerian Writers, Anambra State Chapter
What a World!
By Izunna Okafor
Tears roll down my cheeks
Beholding the palm tree I tapped
From his knowledge of blue ink
With a bow, lofting off a huge gap
What a World !
Our intellectuals have all died
And the vase of wisdom dried up
The siege of our dear unbounded hist
Dusked and whisked away in a rueful tomb.
What a World !
In silence has the nature laid hold
Of the man I cherish so bold
Parting him behind our physical ears
And boiling us in the pot of rueful tears
What a World !
The wave blew aloud like a ruse
Kidnapping attentions as a tale
Only to jail some minds in her rue
Blinking as sorrows in the eyes of men
What a world !
We never expected an untimely departure
But that has reposed our penner in a mellow
For the time of men is tied to the nature
And our tears for the dead a show of sorrow
What a world!
The death has struck deep down our marrow
And incarcerated us to the jail of sorrow
We wail not that he was not old
But beside us lies an empty hole
Who then will satisfy our thirsty souls
What a World!
About the Poet:
Izunna Okafor is a Nigeria novelist, poet, journalist, essayist, publicist, administrator and an Igbo Language Activist who hails from Ebenator in Nnewi South Local Government Area of Anambra State.
He writes both in Igbo and English Languages, and has published enormously in both.
Izunna, a graduate of the Nnamdi Azikiwe University, is a recipient of over twenty literary awards, and has five published books to his credit, in addition to his online publications, which cut across Journalism and Creative Writing.
Contact Details:
Phone Number: 08163938811
E-mail: [email protected]
(for: chinua achebe)
Part One
With gaiety and some pump
Forerunners, trumpeters
And the Gala came to us –
Varied voices, many eyes on faces
Swift to see the lapis lazuli
Nature’s gift to a forest:
(Teachers and teachees,
Authors, farmers and traders,
They came with songs;
Scholars and scholees,
Misters, mistresses and villagers,
They came with songs;
Lecturers and lecturees,
Drummers, dancers and clan-leaders,
They came with songs;
Professors and professees,
Pro-chancellors, chancellors and chair-holders,
They came with songs;
Governors and governees,
Business giants, dwarfs and hawkers,
They also came with songs!)
Form:
When I walk among the living with this spectral face,
I, Alfred Nobel, weep for what bears my name.
I dreamed of honor that would heal nations,
of a crown given only to those
who sowed fraternity, disarmed armies,
and raised peace above all banners.
But what do I see?
A prize of peace given to men
who had not yet earned it.
One who waged war was crowned before
his hands were tested by peace.
I whispered, this is not my will.
I think of Chinua Achebe—
a voice of Africa,
his pen cut truth into the lies of empire.
He deserved the laurel,
yet his words were a thorn in the flesh of pride,
and so they silenced him with neglect.
Racism! Even in the house
that should shelter merit,
the poison dripped.
And what of Jonas Salk?
He banished polio from the world,
saved children’s legs from crutches,
saved mothers’ hearts from grief.
He asked for no profit,
only healing—
yet no medal touched his hand.
Now I see the unthinkable:
those who cry for blood in Gaza,
those who build walls of hate,
those who trumpet war—
even they demand my prize!
Trumpeting peace while feeding war.
What mockery is this?
Jean-Paul Sartre, you were wise—
you refused the gilded chains
when you saw how they bound truth.
Perhaps you glimpsed
the corruption I now mourn.
I built a crown to honor
the greatest benefit to humankind.
Instead, it is tarnished by politics,
by vanity, by the hands of warmongers.
My name—once sworn to peace—
is dragged through the dust.
And so I weep,
for the prize I forged with hope
has become a mirror of the world’s deceit.
O humanity, restore it!
Give honor only where it is due,
and let my name no longer
be a mask for falsehood.