MUSIC OF OUR CIRCLE
When the tune of sapling spring takes the dry air
March with caution, into full ripe summer
Flirt wisely with flamboyant summer.
Her singing tunes deafen you and make you forget
The coming fall.
The fruits of our summer
Have enough for
reflection.
When spring beckons
Delay not but march!
When autumn knocks
Flee not, but march!
Summer comes and goes
When these seasons play their tunes
March! Brother march! Do
not flee. Do not delay.
Do not fear the barking of autumn
In her bosom the fruits of our summer are secured
Safe from the teeth of winter.
Do not mind the bite of winter
In the dearth of winter,
There are enough for reflection. After
winter, spring, then our seeds shall stir again
With the rising sun
Thaw the teeth of winter and set our seeds free.
When spring beckons
Delay not but march!
When autumn knocks
Flee not but march!
Summer comes and goes
Winter comes and goes When
these seasons play their tunes
Do not flee, do not delay.
March! Brother march!
FLOWERS AND ASHES (The Promised Land)
The birth of dawn caught us
Sinking
our teeth, deep into the earth.
Down, down we hoged;
Raising gold-tents from earth-dust.
Down, down we dust,
Raising mansions from clay.
We adored these treasures with rapture rear.
With ravishing devotion, we adorned
Our tents and mansions,
Unmindful of the passing storm of time:
Noon, twilight, dusk and
night, and
Home
ward we must again.
Our tents and mansions we must leave behind:
Ornaments that must sink,
Down, down six steps, into the bowels of the earth
Ornaments that must crumble
To dust and go with the wind.
Flowers adorn landscapes of waste.
Clay and ashes beget flowers.
Through glutted valleys, stunted Savannah and
Thirsty dunes, we groped, and for
Several seasons we soared…
Traversing thirsty valleys and vast planes
Of desert of darkness.
Suddenly, like a flash, the sky, radiant,
Summoned the clouds (that hung over our heads)
The winds came and left in a storm.
The bloated monster-cloud burst, heavy with rain And
several seasons knew plenty.
But home is not yet.
The gold mine we left behind
Nudges us with retreat.
Home is not yet
Home is many more seasons away.
A COMMON FIRE
Our common fire, once kindled, burns and dies.
There has never been a common fire.
The home fire burns up to the door and dies.
There has never been a common fire.
The tribal fire bursts from the countryside,
And ravage our common fire.
There has never been a common fire.
The blessed fire burns
up to the holy gates,
And dies there.
The gods, the cross and kahaba overwhelm
Our common fire.
The youth-fire burns up to lofty dreams
And dies there.
There has
never been a common fire.
That all things common, once kindled, burn and die?
All things common, once kindled, burn and die.
OSITA NWOSU
Dr. Osita Nwosu hails from Enugu-Ukwu, Anambra State-Nigeria.
A prolific writer, an award-winning essayist, a pedagogue and an accomplished literary critic, he holds a Bachelor of Arts
Degree in English from the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. (1977) He later attended several language courses within and outside Nigeria. Later, he bagged a Ph.D in Human Resource
Management. (1984) At present, he is a principal lecturer in English at Federal Polytechnic, Oko-Anambra State, where he was
once the Deputy Rector (1992-1997). Dr. Osita Nwosu has well over a dozen books in Administration, Languages and Literature
amongst which include Powerful Emotion: an anthology of romantic and philosophical poems. He is married with children.
BROKEN
EGG
Do
not love me like this again
You who stole what I kept for Mr.
Right
You took what is not your right
Go away! Do not sing to me of love
again
I didn’t know yours was to
suck and gain
I thought you were taking me to
a great height
So I let you ride me with your weight
Now I have lost what I cannot regain
I thought you were pulling my leg
Hence I gave you no fuss
When you hit the hammer on my anvil
Then you cracked the egg
Though I have suffered a great loss
But I miss you holy devil.
TOUCH OF FAITH
She looked up
And beheld the
Fountain of eternal life
The merciful Messiah
Sandwiched in the crowd
Of hopeless humanity.
She approached
With uncertain steps
The healing Messiah
Amidst suffering humanity
Ensconced in sinful
Satanic servitude
She wormed her way
Through sweat-soaked
Straggling straddling humanity
Tossed impulsively to
And fro by torrents
Of choking misfortunes.
She dutifully reached out
And in supreme faith
Touched the fountain
Of eternal life …
And her fountain
Of blood was gone.
IJELE
Sculptured in glory
Exuding flamboyance
Displaying all the
Colours of
The rainbow.
Ijele… gigantic, intimidating
Epitome of grandeur
Bestriding the masquerade
World like the
Mythical colossus
Ijele… proud rep
Of our ancestral
Spirits… enduring legacy
Of the generation
That sired us.
Ijele… unlike the seasonal
Youthful Ojionu and melodious
Ulaga
The ferocious Iga and Okwomma
You appear in a blue moon
But the memory lingers
Ijele… massive, monolithic
Destined to live
In the mind of those
Who dutifully hold forte
The fortress of culture.
CULTURE OF A DRESS
They call it evening dress
Because it is not only frontless
And decidedly backless,
But also shockingly top less.
Moreover, they claim it’s evening dress
Since it’s not only strapless
But also conspicuously braless
And unabashedly pant less
But I contend in my hapless stress
That this is not just a cocktail dress
Rather, a haunting dress
Because the wearer is a blunt seductress
EVERLASTING INGOT
The “blind” come to swim
In this academic sea
Knowing the challenge is grim
But strong in their resolve to “see”
They strive for the best
Performing all the test
Determined not to rest
Until they attain their best
The race is on for diploma
Even at the risk of glaucoma
But can they ignore the Supreme
Who desire knowledge to the brim
They can get useful knowledge
From any reputable college
But the everlasting ingot
Only from God can be got.
