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by Odimegwu Onwumere | |
Published on: Apr 8, 2007 | |
Topic: | |
Type: Poetry | |
https://www.tigweb.org/express/panorama/article.html?ContentID=12363 | |
Odimegwu Onwumere's concept: One thing about writers, they do not realise that history, events, circulation, truth, time etc. are entrusted into their hand. Though, I may not have liked Audu Ogbe, but for having shown the hap qualities found in the corridors of power, I was compelled to add this poem to up-grade his valour, which is hazardous. But writers' conscience always lives. The Saint from the Broad-Road The tortoise carried by the kite The villagers gathered in dismay A strange thing has happened In the land What shall be done for panacea? Another story, The news was hushed by the villagers Preventing it from becoming a public knowledge They tried unsuccessfully like a hummingbird When a man stood to halloo the event Avoiding ricochet of doom before dusk They said he should be hounded from the village For saying the truth for the posterity of the unborn? For not allowing strange things be habitual in the land? For not continuing havering unconventional things Detested even by Man and Nature? And they said he is also a dissident ! A dissident, like death Is sometimes for cosmic good Like Abacha, Doe died And drums were tom-tomed Some infidels are for progress Like Soyinka was quoded, to breach war Like Saro-Wiwa was hanged, for Ogoni betterment Like Audu Ogbe said the truth That People Debase People should stop Treasure 'base' of the nation, is halve! First, the ones whose wealth are the treasure of the populace. Second, those whose tears are today, are the cause of the looters' The blessed people became the blasphemed people. Rage, Cannibals exalts on daily basis travelling abroad, with their loots, our anguish became their culture Culture in the community of writers' So Paul's epistle to the Romans: 'Now if I do that which I would not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwells in me.' Which a writer is a prophet! Democracy is not fake, And that in our land in not fake? None existing. Wonder, It is only in the Church and Mosque That people think moral life could be found, But if half of them could incline ears To writers' writs, like His This place would be a sanctified place Vampires have turned men; Sucking of bloods and confusion, they hunger Prayers and Morals are pinned to the ground Seeming unworkable because, supplicants are killed Quest for power, many men sell Value Enveloped with egoistic aura, shamefull ! Seven scores, man is meant to die---- Would eight, nine and ten scores in despotic behaviours exalt man, after death? They said of Reformations Who's saying? Who's hearing? Who's reforming? When Plutocracy is their major aim, Which yields higgledy-piggledy situations ill-Love household's holds And the unborn child has known And is even afraid to incarnate To this Tittular-Opulence-Niger-Area Like this it is that lettered men are If an unwritten constitution is practiced This place would have been sold, even without a receipt,by the Gorgon? The demock-crazy in our Polity Has become an incarnation of Ecomog imposed to make peace, But became an opportunity for the Demock-Rats to mime their democracy Before the Millitary Fascists are left to die The truthsayer, He was persuasively made to dethrone. O, why this confusion! If the elected could see those who elected them As twaddle, because of power? They adjusts our constitution, for their usage So that abdication of power will be invalid; The fate of dictatorship is at glimpse In a demock-ratic state, Which difference is arms Nothing remaind as it is lucid Than to introduce Uniform in a civil rule; Rainbow of many colours show in one.... one sign, different dangers Love, he says, Love Love, O' Love The unity between Man & Almighty Who have not heard about it? A sheer word only peace brings A word that heals the land than killing A word that unites than money A word that clears the heart as hearth smelts the iron Love, O' Love Promiscuity, Lechery, philanderous here and there and strong headed are not the symbol of the Love! These leads to infidelity, disobedience, Disloyalty Without sin being free from the practitioner(s) We need you Love where agape is supreme Killing, assassination, Rigging, Looting, Conspiracy, Scandalous, Vilification are pinned to the ground. Our Mentors being Mature Our Conveners being not confusers Our ground being our Grace One thing hated by Love- Niger-Area Czar When people politically, economically An socially unite to meet On state issue against national peace? When peace keepers Die in wars, while their superiors Becomes their benefactors Than their next of kiths and Kins at home? Just for one man, Millions are spent, and energy also Just for one bullet? An assassin might not know his victim, But his contractor knows the victim Better than the death. Where is Love ? Love, O' Love Which is the truth! When a man rise with truth Against some evil, Some men pursue him with evil Against the truth but, With Love, fences are amended. Who listens to this call ! The Truth Men of God are many, But true men of Christ are rare As even my grand Pa Was an eligible Man-of-God Than some of these messengers Who should be politic But self crown they wear That we derail for lack of 'good' example And a truthful life; where are the seers? The truth, We are not fools And our leaders are not making Efforts to teach us, than confusion. The patriots showcase confusions Walking as if working for the populace Rather are there ruining the Economy of the populace The Truthsayer, May have learnt virtue from polygamous descent Challenging the odds of the Czar-less That at the wake of doom, No one could be a saint, But they said his Witticism, is buffoonery? But he saved his conscience, like the Ogoni Marxist To be hounded out of the sin-full caliphate. Soyinka, Osundare, Achebe Voices the inhumane disadvantageous govt But they're not heard; But upon the givings of politics He, the Truthsayer, couldn't compromise the evils Than to say , a word, in writing, Peace For sanctification of writer's conscience So covetous to be free from evil That this governance is of crack-pot To avoid conflict in the stake Upon that voice came up from the broad-road, Which leads to destruction He is now walking on the narrow-road, which is so dank to trail on. The kite still fly with the tortoise A strange thing in the land, When the doom will wake the saint will be save from doom's reward, But is it easy talking when devil is talking? Who is next to say the truth To the untrained millionaire farmer Who feels proud with lack of knowledge? The army General engineer Now learning oratory skill without the evolving of diphtongue Rigging election he had PhD Travelling from states to countries without learning knowledge The ones he learn Are those of false advisers Can the day be without sun? The man ask the villagers Who mop the kite carry the tortoise The villagers gathered in dismay while kite fly not far from their seeing Is this not challenging? Copyright 2005 Odimegwu Onwumere « return. |