Biography of Orike Didi
Orike Ben Didi, PhD was born in Ogbogu Town in Ogba/Egbema/Ndoni Local Government Area of Rivers State, Nigeria. He is a realist poet and writes more from the heart. His imagery and diction are taken from elements of his African world.
Orike Didi's Works:
1. The Niger Delta Crisis, the Ogba People and the Future
2. Stonewalls (A collection of Poems)
3. Comrade Che at 80 - Tributes
4. Images (A Collection of Poems)
Orike Didi Poems
the triangle- canons; clowns and all
If I must fight a battle it must be one I should were accolades from the mind of the wounded.
The sin of yesterday has become the evil of today, the drummers of yore are still the dancers of now,
an egyptian king arises, his foot becomes the metre; statues, statuettes fall shadows bend into oblivion.
Of rodents, cockroaches and pests (V)
As darkness begins to illuminate light They begin to run in concentric circles Of lies and strange debates- Parliaments of vileness
Across Fallen Walls (3)
We are all bugs Running around the globe With words as weapons.
Watching the waters (for Clyde Tooman)
We watch the waters go past Distilled by waves And dance to an unknown song From the constellations-
I shall dip my tongue in the sea and wave farewell to freedom; it is not far from mile stone-cold.
Eventually, I speak for the limping and the dead for I, dead too
The heart of love
I shivered and stopped to see where 24 bullets ripped through the heart of love,
I will soon become a song
I come with my verses, I come with my debts. Accept me like the earth does the sea Not minding her depths.
A lost song
I don’t stand out famous Like Mandela’s cell Or Soyinka’s cloud head Or obj’s false faces.
The tree from the past (For Edith)
Like roots we dug deep, like roots We dug into the depth of her soul. Her flesh had quaked with fever in a long drawn battle with herbs, Her stride slowed like the coming pain of her children,
I am one with the trees I
Let it be today That I am one with the trees. I commune with the earth, rooted
The sin of yesterday
has become the evil of today,
the drummers of yore
are still the dancers of now,
and who will dare stop the long laughter
in the short poem.
The murderers then
are the official hangmen of today,