I'M At It Again-2 Poem by Victor Okey Nwatu

If there’s anything I’ve missed a lot;
It’s mostly one thing – being me.
To stare at the stars, I’ve missed a lot.
Same with being at peace with the calm sea.

I’ve missed my usual melancholic solo ride;
And the its fruit of labour, many a rhyme.
I’ve lost all my creative, poetic pride.
No thanks to that singular element, time.

Pardon my cliché, had to make both ends meet,
Had to 9-to-5 daily like a cop on his beat.
For my daily bread, I toiled total tenacity.
After all, that’s why I left the village, for the city.

But with it came a cycle, in nature, vicious
Dried up the drive that has once been luscious;
It was wake up, sleep, wake up, toil, eat, sleep.
And my boss was my alarm – it’s maniacal beep.

Whatever happened to those serene contemplations?
Whatever happened to those classic artistic creations?
Whatever happened to the tag team of my pen and myself?
Has it deserted me like a Santa with no elf?

Since the year one thousand and ninety-nine;
when barrister Nwoye nudged me to pen my first line;
‘ve never slipped and slid into this state unprolific;
‘ve always dropped even though no pin-point specific.

Then like the sun that first shimmers in time of cold,
A reprieve came that’s never been told.
I reached out, grabbed the hour glass, flipped it, held on.
Suddenly had elusive time in my hands – game on!

Hour glass given to me by my boss – they’re two;
So that my first professional journey would have a part two.
But not until they layered the importance of that part;
many times over, like Enya’s part, and I took it to heart.

Should I take about the flight? It’s all same old.
What of the airports runs and all? Still same old.
Never pride myself in making my stories stale.
Should find a more deserving part of the tale.

It was like a current from the furnace, a blast –
the first rush of air that got me and passed.
Right from the airport to where I’ll be a guest to their hosting;
I felt like I’m in an oven, felt like I’m roasting.

It was like the sun was on my head, not the sky;
For temperature was off the scale, sky-high.
It did hit triple digits, breaking no sweat.
And was ready to break and set records, sure bet.

“That’s the way we roll at this time of the year, ”
“the heat is not something that you cannot bear, ”
That’s the words of the folks of the wild country,
Welcoming me to their state, their heritage, their country.

I had to bear the burger, added to the heat.
Managed the steak and some occasional lean meat.
Gulped, without any hesistation a lot of unhealthy soda.
Poisonous as the element lead that existed in soft solder.

But I had no option but to acquiesce to all that,
Willfully fell into those traps – a blind bat.
In doing these, only one thing propelled me –
going back to my beloved Enugu clad in leaf of an olive tree.

Would love to ace this training that’s make or mar.
Would love to do my real best, to raise the bar.
Would love to justify my boss’s trust and investment.
Would love to achieve a positive return on investment.

It’s two weeks gone, many things seen;
many more, countless actually, remain to be seen.
Is everything going according to design?
Am I losing my initial lethargy, am I falling in line?

These and other posers, I would not try to immediately attempt.
Lest I be guilty of pride, presumption and contempt.
It’s just a matter of the falling of hour-glass sand grains – time;
I’ll be content at this point with my drab, couplet rhyme.

So, a lot of things I willfully decide to leave unsaid;
Still a lot of time for them to be in black-and-white, blue-and-red.
I’m just happy that my poetic drought is over, there’s rain…
And I’m at it (writing poetry i.e.) , again.


(Aug 2011)