And the realm fled
When the fouled air rent odium
Hunted by the ghost of mortal asininity
For four days the gates of Tikrit were sealed
Even the grasses would fight
but the last man had stronger veins.
No power in black Africa can subdue Biafra
But starvation did!
Glue thy kiss to mother earth
That thy whole being may bow fully
To the noose of violence;
That hungry state maggots
And on Dele’s laps it exploded
Where angels sat, rested and played.
He fell, his legs dangled
Trailed only by his own blood.
Oh humanity, that you should behave thus
At this of all our difficult times.
As we bleed in battle to maintain our rights
We’re buried alive in our defenseless homes
Rivers on which I shall peacefully sail
To wreck the carnal fangs of blackmail;
The brooded fallows of ebbing trail
That, in times ahead shall avail.
Tell me fresh green grass where you grow
as fresh and green on yonder barren deserts,
or rain floods disinfect drought irrigated canals.
I woke up one morning listening
From the street mourner’s dossier
I slipped through; trotting, hopping
but steadily cruising home;
till I came by a bewildered lonely girl,
I hail from a little cosy village
Sitting statutely on a little plain
North East of the River Niger.
Umuoji, I hail thee
Love is seeing angels dancing in your eyes
as your voice rings the jingle bells.
It is like seeing a butterfly
perch softly on your keen lips