Posted in Poetry

ChildMother and Wife

By Noel A. Ihebuzor

the child as mother

smothers childhood

the murdered mind weeps

when torture is garbed as culture,

a deadening deaf culture

deaf to pleas and protests

pleas of despair

the despair of the innocent,

thrashing like fish  

trapped in a net,

whimpering and weeping

the lonely lament of a lamb,

her neck gripped in the jaws

of a predator, depraved,

blood spurting from ruptured aperture,

victim’s pain and slow death

contrasting with victor’s rapture

the shivering of the struggling lamb

before the slaughterer’s blade,

as dreaded night falls,

in vain searching the dark world

closing in on her for some light

to brighten her bleak plight and

and lift her soul,

finding none

 

heiress of pain,

fragile limbs grabbed, groped and gripped

by coarse grasping hands,

the repeated shattering pain  as tender

flesh is gashed by hard hot flesh,

the happy husband

invades soft developing chambers

savours with selfish relish tender flesh,

matters little

this maturing and developing frame

now numb

matters little childhood

now broken

Matters least innocence stolen

forever lost

as forced intrusions, crude invasions,

desecrate unfolding sacred spaces

the empty victor’s gain,

the victim’s pain, our collective shame

 

Now she carries a new life in her, her child,

herself a child, drenched in confusion,

12, 13 seasons ago,

she was like this life just beginning to form,

now daughter of pain,

tied down by the glue cobwebs of tradition, vice-like

 

 

Is this meet the sacrifice of the innocent?

Is it meet that marriage mars childhood

mangling a girl child’s today and her tomorrow

destroying her innocence

in the season of her youth

making a mother of one

in need of mothering

smothering her hopes, happiness and health,

freezing rich potentials

limiting possibilities from unfolding

all because fevered callous hands,  

propped by culture selfishly reach out in greed

to harvest and appropriate fruits,

tender fruits plucked in their bud

to feed coarse souls

in collusion with parents

in search of quick gain

on such emptying and wasting plain

deaf to the cries of pain

of childhood smothered,

of dreams denied

** raw…will refine later – the subject is a delicate and very painful one**

Posted in Poetry

Crying wants

By Noel Ihebuzor

 

Weeds of woes grow

 as wants groan and drone,

flourish when frail shallow deeds

 dance and dither puny,

piddle and idle, while

needling needs over-hang heavy,

in a darkling sad sky,

 

hunger hovers,

rages and glowers,

as hollow bellies rumble,

howling; needs shout

harsh, hoarse

hard to hide

 

begging vision with action

 to unbind the bound,

not flash bulb shallow flourish,

done to impress,

impotent sterile whimper

dripping like dribble,

trickling away

like treacle stored

in a beautiful raffia bag

Posted in Poetry

Monkey come chop banana

Over here, monkeys
like ripe bananas not 
nuts nor hate nutters

first swipe was women
second, children of ex-slaves
third? soon all others?

mouths voice views concealed
by smiles hiding mindsets that
belong to museums

Posted in Poetry

Haiku Heights Prompt: Vital

By Noel Ihebuzor

Haiku on Vital

 

From “life” in one tongue

though often lost sight of when

we clutch wild at winds

 

blinkered by trifles,

we chase blank shadows and let

essentials slip by

 

The true essentials

touch deep, eternal truths shine

bright, stars on dark night

 

Vital, life giving

energy laden, bubbling

healthy and vibrant

 

clear eyes and clean hearts

find you in the complex and

hug your cool calm warmth

Posted in Poetry

Haiku on “True”

By Noel Ihebuzor

Haiku on True

True speaks not false nor

fake, voice genuine to self and

you, clear, clean and real

 

Opposite of false,

true stands upright, shiny bright

while false falls in slime

 

the false , with time,  drinks

shame;  the true with time flowers

petals blooming proud  

 

Posted in Poetry

Ogbanje III

By Noel Ihebuzor

Thick as moonless night, debilitating damp

was your grip on our minds, clammy,

our thoughts misty fogged, drugged by mystical myths,

sights clouded, we saw the horned dog,

eyes red chilli, schools of skull carrying

fish flying and whirling around,  transporting

red toothed ageless mermaids sucking young blood

and souls, never questioning

the cry of the night owl calling to mate

made mothers freeze, cowering in fear,

covering the feverish body of

sick children lest the hollow hooting of the owl

their mournful summons siphon their spirits out

mothers, fathers shivering, sweating

ignorance thick on them

like wet blankets, minds haunted

  

New day, new dawn, the frontiers of your kingdom

roll back by half every quarter

the native doctor’s beads and amulets

now gather damp and dust,

shallow short red earth covered mounds

sad resting places for souls spirited away

slowly vanishing with the roll of time

 

new wisdom, knowledge and vision replace

specious séances garbed in obscurity

progress breathes, heaves rolls forward in waves, freeing,

washing away ignorance,

shrinking superstition,

knowledge unrobes untruths and lies,

its rays piercing illuminates the dark kingdoms

where once you roamed, raged

 ragging souls and joy with your minions,

uncovering why children die

that for which we blame the gods recedes

memories of starless bleak nights and deadening days

when mothers and fathers drained by truncated childhood

now distant, your shuttles, abrupt wailings,

the dreaded terror of childhood

ended in infancy by feverish frequent returns

to spirit-land recede, the suckling mother gay

suckled by the sound of happy progressing infancy,

bonding and binding to a child who stays

 

Victory, we rejoice and regale,

cakes and candles

celebrate another passing year new and many more to come

 

But let us beware,

one victory signals another battle

new Ogbanjes could be spawned in the emerging

sterile and suffocating space

where politicians with sterile policies

men and women caged by greed

minds manacled and shackled by corruption

the grabbing hand, ending up throttling life and sucking it

in resources siphoned and stolen

our red eyes survey the empty and emptying clinics

the dying and decaying social provisions

the death of vision, and we weep     

beware also of  kindred new spirits that end childhood

lurking in sprouting new religions that reinvent

the power of witches and wizards

selling smoke, suspicion and superstition

to unsuspecting slumbering followers,

shallow bewitched, emasculated by fear, minds entrapped

 

The bank accounts of preachers, politicians, public servants swell 

as ranks of new ogbanjes now begin to emerge,

to swell in ever increasing shallow graves,

and the soul draining groans of parents in pain.

Posted in Poetry

Under size and over size

Size matters,

big good, bigger better

and this hunch back mind frame

begotten of  the cult of quantity

slowly overruns and over turns sense

the ramparts of value breached

size soon deforms, corrupts

Our world staggers,

drunk, awash with situations

Teary, tearing and tiring

where the over size bank account nourishes

the under size conscience,

shrinking and wilting

values lost, morals flown, soul in slow decay

 

nearby, the lad with the over sized chest,

six packs and biceps in riot

muscle bound, more bran bland

brain draining blank

Size defines all, limits him,

The lure and the law of the raw,

Brute force supreme

the beauty in the simple lost

in simple equations of the big

with good, more with best

his undersize emotions

seek solace but suffocate

In the heaving over scented bosom of the lass

mammary implant  oversize,

her ever enlarging wardrobe

celebrating waste,

happily co-habiting with her shrivelling soul

the well glossy manicured nails

contrast with the growing dirt

and darkening gloom within

that houses a withering mind, 

and a soul that festers

 

In wide and poorly lit corridors

politicians jostle around

with their over -size vocabulary

their obese ambitions and hypertrophied egos

undeterred by their under size self-knowledge

atrophied and stunted consciences

feed and are fed upon by that hunger

that always eats up the entrails,

never abating, the spiritual bankruptcy

despite fat bank accounts

the social void, the empty vision

the oedema of the malnourished conscience

condemned to always seep of a sop, 

that creates more thirst,

forces more drinking to forever drink and know no satiation

and drunk and drowned in that soggy sop that empties

and drowns the voice of reason and compassion

slowly making a victim of the misguided assumed victor

while the sad world rolls on

the loud voice of size

drowns the persistent appeals of sense,

of quality and eternal values

**** I wrote this song some time back as I worried over the situation in my country where greed and materialism had almost succeeded in snuffing out all sane values.

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.