Prologue: Dialogue With Elite Friend

Friend: Chidi, why do you waste your time and energy to write poems only to post them on blogs, listservs, websites and social networking sites for people to read free?

Me: I aim to reach the highest number of people possible from diverse backgrounds with my poetry. For me, mass media like blogs, listservs, websites and social networking sites are best for my purpose.

Friend: nonsense, poetry is for those with elevated intellect, not for everybody.

Me: wrong notion. Opaque poetry written mainly for students to read and pass exams, which they usually forget about immediately after graduation, may fall into this category. Poetry is supposed to be one of the tools of socio-political and cultural mobilization.

Friend: I am still of the opinion that you should publish only on books and on literary review journals, if you want to be taken serious.

Me: (laughter) taken serious by who? The people whom I write for take me serious, judging by their reactions. Anyway, publishers of books and literary review journals are free to publish my poems if they choose to.

Friend: what do you gain from poetry since you are not making money from it?

Me: if my poetry helps to reform the society, I would have secured at least a footnote in history.

Friend: (chuckle) how do you think poetry can reform the society?

Me: (surprise) if the right messages are delivered in less opaque poetry to the highest number of people possible with diverse backgrounds, they will one day revolt against oppressors.

Friend: even blogs, listservs, websites and social networking sites do not reach everybody

Me: right, but they at least have wider reach.

Friend: how do you reach those who do not have access to the Internet?

Me: in future, I hope to print my poems on leaflets and also record them on audio/visual tapes and distribute them free in motor parks, market places and other such places where the masses are found.

Friend: (scornfully) all hail the poet!

Me: (smiling) time will tell.

By Chidi Anthony Opara

Homeland Melodies

Strain your ears now
To hear decibels
Of sound,
Sound of songs,
Sound of homeland melodies
Learned at feet
Of pious mother,
Sitting with me
In a dark
Moonless night,
Starless night,
With rain threatening
And thunderstorms scolding,
With bats hovering
And mother's lamp
Our companion.

Epilogue Of Warfare

Boom! boom!! is now silent,
Heralding
Epilogue of warfare.
Quietness,
Wind of unease
Pervades the swamps.
Fishes and shrimps are dead
Inside waters mixed with oil.
Crabs feast
On the dead
Washed ashore of
Once revered rivers
Made red by bloodletting.
The half dead
Nibble at crumbs
From lunch plates of assailants
With toothless gums,
While the living,
In far away paradise
With virgins waiting
And champagne uncorked
Await more revenue
From red rivers.

Halls Of Sorrow

Like ants around
Pieces of cake
In conspiracy to lift
Sugar coated morsels
In unison to holes of abode,
They surround vaults.
They ogle
At funds deposited,
Proceeds from sweats
Of others brow.
In three-piece attires,
With smooth tongues
They instill trust
And lead victims
To halls of sorrow.
Deposits,
Now free lunch
For lenders without character
And borrowers without collateral.
Trust evaporated
On burner of avarice,
Vault robbers abound.

Picture Of Apocalypse

I see picture
Of innocent men
And women
Buried alive
In mass grave,
With orphaned offspring
Enlisted into unpaid labour,
Menial occupations
And sentenced
To life long sojourn
In gaol of deprivations.
I see picture
Of weeds planted
And watered
To grow
And replace roses
Transplanted on desert sand,
Denied water
And watched to wither.
I see picture
Of apocalypse
Painted on canvas
Of my mind.

Scorn Of Folks

Do I need to be awake?
All nights,
Enveloped in illumination
Of my lamp,
With drops of perspiration
On my scroll,
And the silence
Of unholy hours
Threatening to scar me.
Do I need to learn?
Contents of this scroll
And bear scorn
Of folks after.
From open windows of
Chambers of power
I see peers,
War machines on shoulders
In handshakes with Excellencies.
Throaty laughter,
Backslappings,
With official crafts
Waiting to take warlords
Back to war zones.

Season Of Silence

Shamboli mboli
Omboli mboli
Mboli mboli
Sham! Sham!! Sham!!!
They rant
And prattle
Meaningless lyrics.
They pour inverted scorn
Clothed in garb of praise
Onto tomb of sainthood.
They dance
Crooked dance steps
In merriment,
To welcome
Season of silence.
Yet,
In their celebration,
Unknown to celebrants,
Sacred anthills
Grow into sacred hills,
Sacred hills
Grow into sacred mountains
On whose tops
Birds of virtue perch
To sing
Songs of virtue.

Before We Are Buried

As we are shepherded
Into that deep grave
Dug by this oligarch
Prancing around
In peacock-like pride,
Princes, princesses and politicians,
Priests,
Imams
On horses back
Shouting falsehood,
Empty slogans at us,
Rubbing pepper
On our over flogged joints,
As we say our last prayers,
Ready to be sent to the beyond
In bloodless murder,
Before we are buried
In the glare
Of these co-conspirators,
This night, graveyard,
Give us our stolen virginity,
Our chastity.
Return our essence,
Our humanity.

We Are Marooned Here

We are trapped
In this cesspool
Of endless worries,
Fears,
Imprisoned in dungeon
Of lost nationhood,
We are marooned here.
Our children
Reject their citizenship,
Scaling over
Barbed border fences
In search of nationality.
Father and mother groan
In pains of old age,
In abandonment.
We watch from afar
As crisp currencies
Stolen from our vault
Fly all over,
Perching on foreheads
Of nubile damsels
In seductive dance steps
To lurid lyrics.
We hide under
Our matrimonial beds
For safety
And pray to heaven for protection
At approach of anopheles.

Avuvu

You live in tranquility,
In lush vegetation.
You dwell on this beautiful land,
Flat landscape,
This edge of Ikeduruland.
Streams circle your homestead,
Friendly weather
And fertile farmlands
Minister to your needs
In this abode of rest
For you
And your offspring.
Driven from homeland
Mba ise
In time past,
In search of succour
You traveled through Ikeduruland,
Umudim,
Amaimo.
Now on this land
Avuvu,
Chukwu comforts you
With worthy offspring,
Good harvests.
Peace massages you
And neighbours marvel
At your fortune.