Long Biafra Poems
Long Biafra Poems. Below are the most popular long Biafra by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Biafra poems by poem length and keyword.
The wind of change
I looked around me
I thought i would have
Seen same silents as
Before
I looked around me
I thought i would see
Same fear from yesterday
I looked around me
I thought i would have been
Alone on my long search
I looked around me
I realise how so many silent souls
are now fed up
I looked around me
I hear alot words
That justify somany has
Finally weaken up
I look around me
and i see another fight for freedom
For a truth has just be unveiled again
So when you see
Our fight for biafra freedom
That is
The sign of the time
Coming from
The wind of change
October 1, 1-
960: a logic game
Seasoned with deceits.
October 1, 1-
960: When our freedom
Swallowed us, captive.
October 1, 1-
960: When the white folks
Left our Land with our freedom.
October 1, 1960:
Mercury of disgrace, Venus of captive.
How long have we awaited
You to come and lay
With 'Us' In the glowing chamber.
We fell for you. When dazed
With captive and a-thirst of 'Love'.
But you arrived with a gourd
And emptied on us fiend.
October 1, 1960,
Though not your fault,
But the wailing infant's,
Who despised the breast milk,
When her teeth were milk still.
Regarding her request
She was given a meat,
Though warned by her mother
Not to agitate for the folly act.
But she graciously enjambed her
Milk-teeth to the meat and it
Broke her teeth and wouldn't paved
For succeeding germination.
October 1, 1960:
Now her mother mocked
Her, weeping and gnashing her
Deteriorating blood-stained teeth.
And then i've we longed to
Chew(Be freed) but the lost teeth
Gets us fixated in indecision.
Yet, you can move on.
If your inhabitants reconcile
With unity. Biafra ignorants,
Southern jingoists, Eastern Sorcerers,
Western manipulators:
When a broom leaves his
Stead, any foe may get rid
Of him. But when he retain
His dignity among his folk.
Harm to him will be no harm.
October 1, 1-
960, Unite your folk
And your teeth will again grow.
17:09:28:11:25
The Geography of Belonging
(Differentiating between Ethno-lingual territories and political butchering of enemy territories. The reason for state creation in Nigeria was only to decimate the block power of Biafra.)
We gather in rooms across a fractured line,
Bound by a name we did not fully write
The "South-South" map, a shifting, vast design,
Searching for language in the rising light.
Is this a pact of trade, a shield, a hand?
Or just a mirror where the blind spots grow?
We seek a single voice across the land,
But speak in tongues the treaties do not know.
For long enough, our portraits were drawn cold,
By donor-hands and empires far away.
A patron’s story, beautifully told,
That left us waiting for the break of day.
But now the digital currents start to shift,
And home-grown classrooms cast the ghosts aside;
We reject the foreign lens/gods, the heavy gift,
And turn to realities we no longer hide.
Let the old capitals tremble at the change,
And call it "chaos" when the center breaks.
It is not the world that fractures or grows strange,
But an ancient empire’s ego as it wakes.
The crisis belongs to those who held the scales,
Monopolies dissolving in the sand,
As multipolar history prevails,
And sovereignty takes root in sovereign land.
Yet closer to home, the deeper stitches bleed,
Where lines were drawn by rulers in a room.
A British ink-stroke, blind to tribal need,
That bound distinct traditions to their doom.
From South South borders built on sudden walls,
To South African streets where old divisions stare,
The ghost of segregation still recalls
The psychological weight of who belongs where.
And out on the roads, the silent millions move,
Displaced by soiled creek, storm or political distress,
Migrants with nothing but a past to prove,
Stripped of the names they used to possess.
No global cameras track their quiet flight,
As they cross the borders of a sister state,
Rebuilding their souls in the shadows of the night,
Weaving a home from the fragments of their fate.
when silence speaks
there comes a time
the time when words
matters no more
this too comes
after too many
empty spoken words
there comes a time
the time when we
decide to be silent
for too long
we have been wallowing
in promise full of
empty spoken words
when silence speaks
there comes? a time
this time is a time
decision making
this time is not the
time to take nonsense
this time is am important time
there comes a time
this time is an
alarming time
this time is a time
to weak up
sit up
buckle up
in this time
empty words don't speak
when silence speaks
there comes a time
a time when we need
no more lies
a time when all
we need begin
a time of silence
in reverse
a time when old words
of emptiness can't
captivate us anymore
30th of may
the people of Biafra
choose silence
we choose indoors
we choose to rise
in this time we harm
no one but those
that don't need
we be free
in this time we got
no other way but
to let
silence speak.
There’s no victor and no vanquish,
The so-called rising sun of Biafra has been set forever,
It would be a disservice for anyone to refer to any eastern state of Nigeria as Biafra,
The tragic chapter of violence has just ended,
We’re at the dawn of national reconciliation,
Once again we have an opportunity to build a new nation.
My dear compatriots,
We must pay homage to the fallen,
To the heroes who have made the mammoth sacrifice,
That we may able to build a nation great in justice, fair trade and industry.
I imposed a blockade as a deliberate policy,
This was necessary during the ensuing stalemate,
Though it led to the mass starvation of Biafran civilians,
It aimed to compel the secessionist group to surrender,
And stop bullets from rewriting our history.
My government may seek the friendly assistance of foreign governments and bodies
especially in the provision of equipment to supplement our national efforts,
They’re however several foreign governments and organizations
whose so-called assistance will not be welcomed,
These are the governments and organizations which sustained the rebellion,
They’re thus guilty of the blood of thousands
who perished because of the proliferation of the rebellious resistance,
They did not act out of love for humanity,
Their purpose was to disintegrate Nigeria and Africa and impose their will.
Time/event: The Nigerian Civil War, 6 July 1967 - 15 January 1970 / in the voice of General Yakubu Gowon.
February 10, 2025.
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.
(In memory of Nigeria-Biafra War)
We called on him.
In vain he answered us.
He had died at dusk.
And the night passed unsung
We didn’t sing the moonlight songs
Never sang merry-be-my-friend again.
Only the leaves above rustled,
Singing mutely to the patched moon above
And the link was cut and broken at dusk.
We mourned the night passed unsung.
Only night beings hummed songs that
Rose above Rooftops, and away
Into the nights.
Soon his mother’s sobbing receded
As night’s winds lured her to sleep.
Above, the sky wore patches of mangled
Cloud. Lucifer was there casting
Lots for the nations on the Niger.
Doom had overtaken our innocence.
Soon the airplane came, rumbling noisier than
Her usual gentle flight.
Sparks of suppressed play zests unwound in us.
We rushed to the open to shout her farewell
To the unknown.
It was bombs and explosions shattered us all.
Since then, we never sang
Merry-be-my-friend again nor
Fared well to the airplane.
The faces of the tom-toms were sallow,
So was the face of the sun, dark-visaged,
Red, and starved through a pogrom
That assaulted the peace of the beasts.
Darkness spelt the names of diseases,
Each pronounced through stiffened tongues,
Whited by the scourge of hate – a common
Figure, cadaverous and laconic, but incestuous.
Grieving rivers sought ways to be rechristened
Or rebaptized by holy rills with less fetor, as
Long as riparian languages were still spoken on
Breaths of brooks, broken, but gathered in bits
By hands that leaned on fermented soot only.
And darkness persisted, perspiring from hostile
Beats of hollow drums when fire reaches them
From tormented skies.
One truth loomed: the truth of a disvirgined
Destiny, clothed in serrated raiment of grief.
On its crown, shredded petals of holocausts
Form toothless thorns shaped like lightning.
Death was prominent, dispirited, and hung loose
On strings smelted on anvils raging from heinous
Rape of a blooded land. Shores wept with humour
When our frightened coasts sneezed with mirth.
I speak of Biafra where the land still bleeds
I recall that vision, of a crowded city,
Where signs were hung in heaven,
Where voices were muted by the colour of bold words.
TOO LATE TO PLEAD
( event to Republic of Biafra)
Long time ago, all the way
From northern Nigeria, a lorry
Load of a thousand headless
Corpses arrived at“Obodo Ajana
village square”. In that instance,
The earth shivered, shrunk,
Sobbed, wept and closed her eyes.
To see none of the Inhumanity.
It was as if rain hid in the
Sky,refused to rain..
No! It was as if the sun
Romanced the moon.
An eclipse? No! Mother
Earth weept for her children,
Refused Consolation… because they were no more
More appalling, heap
Of a woman cut in her travail.
We felt really bruised.
Bruised though we were,
The Victims were buried.
Its Mission fulfilled, the lorry
Got stuck at the village square.
No child ever toyed with it.
It’s inscription “Heavens Gate”
Gradually faded to time and weather,
Leaving a scare that neither rain nor
Sun could erase. Of its Painting
The village Catechist condemned,
“Everyman had been judged before
Arrival. Too late to plead,
Too late to pray
And too crooked to say
“NIGERIA PRAYS”
Somewhere at Aburi, Ghana,
Reason failed.
Brothers in brute
Passion matched to war.
The rest was history.
AKUDOLU IGNATIUS.
[email protected]
Holy mountain
Suffer me not anymore
Oh ye big master
Cos I will never give up my soul
To the demons of vanity
What more do I have to loose
If you kill my spirit
What is the essence of life
If the most valuable source of life is exchanged
For materialistic worth
How much money is worth my life
is obviously obvious
This is not a good business
So suffer me not no more
Torture me not again
Stay far from me ye demonic forces
Of vanity and distraction
You can't win my mind
I can't go down this way
So I keep running
Yes i keep running so far away
to pray on top of the
Holy mountain
I keep fighting with my demons
Oh ye big master
Set me free from oppression
Set me free from your opinion
I can't loose my soul for vanity
Holy mountain oh holy mountain
Here I come again
Hear my quest
Save my people
Save our land
Save my soul
Oh God
Holy mountain
My town remains tougher
Confused people everywhere on Biafra soil
Blood shed no longer a new story
Despite it's different and difficult reasons
Rape murder gangs prostitution kidnapping
Of the innocent
Keeps the tougher men stable in economy
Despite the poor pays the cost
Take a walk in the east side down the streets
Despite it richness in nature
Darkness rooms and behold it powers
Over the dignity of my people
So is clear that their is fire on the mountain
So I run run run
Yes I run run run
I keep running so far away
to pray on top of the
Holy mountain
I keep fighting with my demons
Oh ye big master
Set me free from oppression
Set me free from your opinion
I can't loose my soul for vanity
Holy mountain oh holy mountain
Here I come again
Hear my quest
Save my people
Save our land
Save my soul
Oh God