Posted in Poetry

A song for short cuts and wrong choices

by Noel Ihebuzor  Sunday, 19 September 2010 at 00:40 

Lost in our greed and lust

we took the short cut and the road was longer

in our rush, in our grabbing rush, in our haste

we grabbed and broke the needle of the compass

and now turn round in endless circles and squares,

moving but getting nowhere and lost

and we missed the matter and still do.

 

Where the matter lies is where the truth lies,

the truth of a people lost in time, with lots of lust but lost in values

The root of the problem was the problem of roots

suspended roots, shifting roots,

dangling and swinging in the wind,

floating and drifting along in

and with the stream of convenience, like

an anchorless dream, like a malaria-ed dream

 

At the breaking of the road

we had a choice to turn to the truth,

to return to it and to begin again

to dig to where the matter lies or to lie

we chose to let the matter lie, to lullaby the truth to sleep

to finally lie finally,

hoping to suffocate the truth in the rich folds of our plunder

with the huge pillow cases of our loot

we urged the truth to die

and thus stilled and dulled the voices within us

we bent our tongues

and bartered our already battered and sad souls.

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Posted in Poetry

The road we walk

by Noel Ihebuzor

It appeared shorter, smoother and surer,

Easier, beckoning, enticing

but once our seduced feet

Set off on it

The road became long and longer

and our enlarging lust glued our feet to it

and we got stuck and sucked in

 

The ephemeral glitter, the vanishing flashing lights

left us lost, clutching our harvest of cheap gains

and dense chaff

eternal virtues abandoned

redeeming values jettisoned

 

Our lust locked us in, stills locks us in

and still locks us out

of our possibilities 

and we walk and trudge along in loose losing circles,

muscles aching, limbs limp, souls sore

minds racked and feverish

our days now empty, our nights long and limp

 

A constant rush of rash

dull but disturbing lights invade our nights

stagger into our sweat filled dreams

these dreams filled with uneven riots and battles

In which demons and angels contend

For our souls and our wayward soles

mornings are stale and dark like the days

 

We trudge on

in ever widening circles and sterile cycles

in our fatigued state, we clump and stomp,

our alluring Journey’s end

now hazy, dim and receding…..

 

Outcomes from our feverish indecent haste of the past

now visit our present,

ghosts from our past,

they clamp our limbs like dead lead

And us, miserable us,

still blind, obdurate as if cursed

very reluctant to return

to the basics

to start anew

rather preferring to sift

the blowing and bellowing winds

for a harvest of  fresh fish