Short Iroko Poems

The Iroko has transmuted  
Chinua Achebe
Unending teacher...

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ample logs
deck the fallen Iroko Trees--
Monkeys chatter...

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My father
Tall as the Iroko
Strong as the lion
Kind as can be

My father 
There to inspire
His strenght to lend 
In my time of need

My father
Always providing
Yet quick to correct
Guiding me to maturity

My father 
My hero
I love you indeed....

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From the grey-leaved tree 
Even our giant Iroko 
The eaglets with hopeful wings 
Flying & pattering with their wings 
Drumming like the drums of the jungle 
Rhyming with an eclipse of their times
– O, these motets
Of disjointed hours! –
The birds fly away over our heads,
From a forest of omen, with wings 
Looking like an eagle’s wings!...

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Journey man
Chef of Choral cuisine
Sunset at Dusk
Drained of Melanin
A voice heard across generations
Stilled in immirimious waters
Strange silence 
As hearts fearfully flutter
What deafening silence is this?
An iroko has communed with the grass
Chills crawl up macho spines
This Hero here has joined eternal climes
Adieu, brother
Adieu, Bara....

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TREES
We grow bright and beautiful 
We strong like iroko
No matter how we are cut
We sprout out more
Looking glamorous and bold
We smile with our green leaves
Truthful like the branches
We dare not go bare
Like the fig tree
We are casted to grow 
No matter what
We even settle to become a forest
I am proud to be a tree 
I am proud to be a Nigerian...

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There was once a MAN;
An Iroko in a forest of shrubs,
A dew pond in a desert.
There was once a MAN;
A moral compass in a world
Where power is noble,
And greed a creed.
There was once a MAN;
He silenced the gun,
Shattered prison bars,
Ascended the throne, armed
With love and forgiveness,
And made despots jelly.
There was once a MAN:
NELSON MANDELA!...

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to the great iroko's clan

the aging iroko has fallen
the great tree
whose shades housed my birds
whose trunk house the beasts
she has fallen -
the iroko of the clan
the clan of the ancients
the ancients of the forests
the forests of my roots
the roots of my blood
the blood -
o, the iroko has fallen
and the great eagle on the iroko
has gone, gone! foeever, gone?...

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The Iroko has fallen!
The rot has begun.
As the scavengers
Lay in wait
For what is left
Of a once great tree!
The Iroko goes home!

Today
Things have fallen apart
Cos they were hit
By an arrow of god
Then things are
No longer at ease
Because a man of the people
Goes home!
The Iroko goes home!

A great man rots
As the lowly man.
But not the rot matters
But the memories!
The Iroko goes home!...

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under the tall iroko tree 
he sat every morning.
wishing for a day never to come.

his eyes heavy with tears,
his heart heavy with sorrow,
and a light in the wind was 
was his life.

with pen and paper he roamed the 
but nothing to write,
the ones written never published.
his harvest is bountiful,
still he was never fulfilled

the delight of poetry
made his day,
but he died never recognised
with one....

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ah, thou ancient nest!
thou dark & beaming nest
planted by the river-side
near thine old Iroko tree
lofty, calm with ever fresh confident 
who wove thine primal tread?
who crafted thine sole resolve?
what artist cast thine golden laughter?
methinks some weird minstrels
with young elegant maidens
softy hired of golden black hairs
mingling with their rural drums
amid hunters wild & fierce looking
roved amid thine mid-night rites.

(to be continued)...

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What do you think about John?
About talks that he’d soon be gone
For forged papers from a con 
That should in USA drop him
And just like that – Kim!
He is A Towering Don!
The sweet life smartly switched on!
A stunt of a speed faster than Sirocco
John from USA ordering cocoa:
Thousands of pods sparing Mexico
And still remaining a financial Iroko..…
Can he, John, for all the taken Guarana 
Fulfill the prophecy of false Son of Chenaanah?...

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(for: Harris Narang)

Like a scholar of potent Nehru
He comes a pommy to the Iroko;
He comes from a long long voyage
To behold our greying Achilles:
This ever-young archer of the Iroko!
A simple face of old nature’s arts
Bearing the complexion
Of our cherished sublimity;
We saw perfection in the brief smiles;
Come to us again, Narang come!
Come with all the arts of India:
Another eagle is flying to the Iroko;
She flies singing a different song;
Seeking her perfection from nature....

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