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Akudolu Ignatius Poem
(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.
Copyright © Akudolu Ignatius | Year Posted 2013
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Akudolu Ignatius Poem
RAIN AND FLOOD
Raining all through the night,
Mum and Dad kept busy
wading water .
Soon, the flood overflew
the wooden bench we
Sat on. And nowhere was
Safe again. Soon again,
The cock crowed crookedly.
He too was drenched in
Rain and flood.
Daybreak
We must go to School.
We walked through the
flooded Streets, groping
to school.
We couldn't go through
the Pako Bridge.
We turned to the New Bridge.
Standing and looking into
the school, flood was everywhere.
Only the headmistress and the
Teachers groped in the flood
Waving us back home.
Heavily drenched in rain and
Flood, my teeth knocked
In drumbeat against one another,
rhyming with the rains.
All Babies, all children cried,
Walking back home.
My sister strapped me on
Her little back.
Nylon bags, dustbin, human
Waste, animal dung floated on the
Flood.
Amidst staccato of crying voices;
Kids’, children’s,
Adult’s, Africans’…
anarchy was loosed
upon Nigeria
AKUDOLU IGNATUIS
akudoluignatius@gmail.com
Copyright © Akudolu Ignatius | Year Posted 2013
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Akudolu Ignatius Poem
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.
akudoluignatius@gmail.com
Copyright © Akudolu Ignatius | Year Posted 2013
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Akudolu Ignatius Poem
THE PIPER He came from nowhere piping. We danced and danced in his trail. Our eyes popped out as elation swayed us. Suddenly, His pipe creaked and cracked. All feet hung as
sky dimmed her lights...
Silhouettes of Gun -shooting Devils everywhere..
Plodding hands of death lurking in the dark, lurking in the open... like hawk, Hawking chicken... Human heads fallen off as of woodcutters in frenzy.
cutting down trees.
Cry, my beloved Country!, Nigeria! how fast you fade, fading into oblivion, like a soviet. Oh Soviet! I bemoan you; once a cathedral's bell, you chimmed for all nations, now a shadow lying beneath history.
And the Piper! Now a prisoner for his people because he said no to a carnibal system, because he said no to a divide and rule system...
Your music is forever replaying to our hearts.
By Akudolu Ignatius
Copyright © Akudolu Ignatius | Year Posted 2022
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Akudolu Ignatius Poem
THE REBEL ARTIST Why do you paint pictures of silent days?, Lonely roads, lonely streets; of beggars groping their way, holding hands to each other, making beggarly music to awake crushed passions. Is this your country? Once flowing with milk and honey! Now a beggar, begging from those he once fed! Independence Day? In those days, we trekked far from hinterlands to freedom square, expectations high against odds to receive golden salutes from heroes past...Those days of innocence, when civilization slapped us in the face...when euphoria of this treacherous sovereignty beclouded us not to see this end that comes... Why, Rebellious Artist, why do you paint pictures of baby-strapped women saddled with loads, why images of riotous youths, corpse-Iittered streets. Paint pictures of these green-white flowers, adorning our great country. Paint him, our man, the president. Oh! It was beauty last night glistening all over the Aerodrome as he beaded farewell to his countrymen, boarding the air to Saudi Arabia!
Copyright © Akudolu Ignatius | Year Posted 2022
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Akudolu Ignatius Poem
The Travellers. The vagabond Cock on the Threshold's tree crowed as evil nights furtively flee from sunrise, as church bell tolled, tolling for the travellers. Expectantly, they set fourth at dawn ,early enough strutting down the river road, amidst valleys and Wuthering heights. They walked faster at noon, as sun shun very callously...withered all flowers. Weary and spent , heads bowed, penitently, they stood before him. The church bell tolled again, tolling for every one. Earth to earth, Dust to dust.
Copyright © Akudolu Ignatius | Year Posted 2022
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