(In remembrance of Chinua Achebe)
I split the Obi in the appraisal of the hero,
that spat on the soil and hid himself in the cloud away from sorrow.
I saw thy camouflage in the cloud via the showers of rain dropping like an arrow.
Thou squeeze life away from a rotten mango to defines thy inspiration
If thou had known, euphoria from Unoka's flute might have cast the lot with emotions in explosion.
Roar of lion that echoes and bargain the chirp of cricket
So, so saddling safaris with its safe sabre as thy sobriquet.
The dawn fades to dusk in the time of tales,
Of how the weak rejuvenate boldness with thy inkful hues.
Thy memoirs wash the darkness away from the iris and places thy images with mirth.
Thy memoirs are the heat from the eyes of sun, through the skin human felt.
But the truth about 'African are made of black' must be reveal to nations
And inherit wisdoms from a tortoise that gathers ideas for foundations.
I wonderwhy the birds sing 'things fall apart' with anxieties.
And those steps from the sugarcane bringforth thy fame from the early sixties
Those years, banana' stalks filled the yards from zero
I bang the 'Dundun' its beats are meant for the hero.
Gbengar emmarnuel arcuute
arcuute inspirational pen
Topic(s) of this poem: memories