Muttering voices

 " Two Black Hawks " The day breaks open like an over-incubated egg into brisky and hot halves, Perfect timing to serve vengeance like cold ice cream, And bury the hatchet with the hands that bore it first. The hands that dealt the first gruesome blow, The hands smeared with the blood of innocent citizens, Dragged into the cauldrons of death by religious bigotry.  The Black Hawks swooped with precision and mastery on their targets Years of sweats and swears Have prepared them for this flight; Their target hides in the haven of forgotten sins  far away from the scene of his crime , Praying to a bloodthirsty god With a blood-stained subha Held within trembling fingers  Death came by the first shot And several shots rained To wet the parched throats Of dead voices calling for revenge. Dedicated to the victims of 9/11 attack

  "Ozoemena" I could see their faces through the shadows; The faces that shine and hide stories untold And songs unsung, Of victories through defeats, Of silence through chatterings. Skies don't hang o'cast When glee like the sun does rise; Rainbows come after the rain, Theirs hang there in the middle of the storm that swept us away. The ends means no more beginnings; No more tears, No more struggles, No pain, The end we all dread like a plague. Sudden knocks; Heaven calls; Man bestired; The world unshaken, Man his course must run. Tribute kicks us so hard on our heads like a military boot, Sobs, heaving of the heart, and noiseless shouts rise and fall with unmatched rhythm. The world and things must fall apart Like bottles broken in a street fight All we have are wounded heads And grieving hearts. #Poetry #elegy May comfort all the families of the bereaved in the unfortunate disaster that happened in Enugu. Ozoemena!

 "Ibe" Ibem, my mates have moved on... Their journey tracing the barely travelled paths.  I tried to whet my feet on the stones of grief To brush off the blunt faces of happiness  Gazing at my slumber and slugger Mana ijem siri ike. Ijem, the voices we hear Call our feet to various crossroads  Where decision and fate tumble upon each other. You call to mind the day we set out, Eager as each smile opens a new chapter of this phase Mana nkem no na akachukwu. Nkem, the voices of love that refuse to grow faint, Through the night struggles with life, Through the roaring laughter of mockery, Through the jeers of small minds, We have risen a great clan forged by sincere tears, true  love in one heart. 

"Ka Chi Foo" There were lonely days sown in this dark corners, Where I started my walk through life. I remember them vividly like the sound of my first name TOCHUKWU in the mouths of my busybody neighbours. I saw the wall yawn with hunger As it reflected the images in my belly I knew I could drown and die in the tears that Lay with me like a lake full of sharks. The nights were so long with the constant filtering of noise by nocturnal creatures The dawn was so far beyond my reach No plea could ever bring it closer. I had a neighbour more like a brother Our names both had a T although his had life in it than God: TONDU. He kept his affluence behind close doors And constantly handed me a feigned pity.  And yes, I took it. I had a lover. Had like past possession. She hid in the dark. I heard her voice faintly but loud were her straying and fleeing steps My heart flutter, not of excitement but fear. I had hope with smouldering coals I kept fanning its embers  They kept my heart w...

 "The Saviours " On the Wake of independence, A strange coldness was poured on emaciated souls. Then came the goosebumps The trepidation, The uncertainties Which plagued the tender nation spreading so fast like a ravaging pandemic Through the fabrics of her soul. Black swiftly became white As truth glaring became lies The night settled finally with its full weight As bleeding feet scamper aimlessly in the enveloping darkness. Yet the nation trudge on Despite losing her two eyes The blind led the blinds To walk the thorny path of democracy. Here and there, Ambushes were laid on this wounded nation By men of uniform To wrest power through the guts of bullets than the ballot... But She fought tirelessly, Smeared severally in bloody coups, And fierce protests; Her heroes fell and others rose Until she escaped into the waiting arms of thieves in rich caftans and lofty campaign promises.  THE SAVIOURS who saves us not.

 "Christmas in Gaza" Look beyond the prejudice in the news reports And see our little peaceful town  Caught in a whirlwind of blasting bombs and chattering guns. Look there,  a young mother with an amputated arm wails over her dead two year old Caught by a bullet shot with precision. Our streets are littered with the breathless heaps of our young men, Fighting to repel a blind ravaging bull. Our old men weld machine guns, with their near-to-dead sights. Blinded by both rage and age. Fighter Jets fly over heads Heading for our abandoned homes. They open their dark anus And empty their waste on our homes Turning everything dear to rubbles. The sick,  The wounded,  And the maimed litter our refugee camps But there is no physician to tend a plagued nation  Our physicians are now fighters. "The war must be won!" they say. I miss the serenity of the nights spent at home, I miss the bedtime stories and the peaceful renditions of prayers to Allah, I miss the excite...

 "She is" The earth is blind. I must say that the earth chose to be blind. Because how can anyone not see how she toils away at her task? Morning, afternoon, and even at night. Was it nature or men that tossed it on her? Because she seems so peaceful in her storm. With the rising sun, she sets out Like the mother hen to search for daily bread. Many said she has a lazy head Who depends on the crumbs from her troubles. While he folds his hands in his chest And makes jest of her with his friends. Morning, afternoon and night She toils away at her task. Hoping and praying that fortune would smile back at her. And ease the weight on her shoulders which weighs heavily on her. She manages to smile through her pains, For daily she has to wear this mask. The hope of a mother is in her labour Like a patient farmer  She sows her seeds at all season She guards it to ensure that none is missing. For everything giving to her by God Both Woes and worth Nothing should be missing Even whe...