IN THE LONG RUN

In the long run we would live to tell our tales
About how we thrived on despite many woes
About how we comfortably hid our trying times
And let the world see only what we willed it to see.
In the long run we would sit and ponder
How far we have come
How hope kept us strong.
In the long run we would cry about those yester years
Not with sadness this time
But with relief and respite.

In the long run, with our tender ones on our laps
We would sing songs of remembrance
And teach God's unending love and grace
Our tender ones no doubt will do same
As the cyclical nature of life will take no new form.
In the long run all our sorrows will be turned into dust
And our joys gladden the heart of days.
In the long run we would know it's been Him
Leading me, you, us through this long
Wearisome tough walk.

Then our hopes and dreams would be made day and no more night
Then we would know He was molding us perfectly for glory.
Then we would know we cannot appreciate
The good times when they do come
If we do not know the tellings of the bad.
I know this with great certainty
For there is a heaven I believe
And God inhabits there in.

Chinonye Anyichie

Dead Men Tell No Tales

DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES

There, I sat, pruning weeds off his grave.

A great story teller he was,

Recounting his youthful deeds with great vigor;

He had not a match in sight.

Just as I would sit beside him listening in awe

With the raffia handfan working silently not to interrupt,

Today, I sat by his grave, quiet, 

Remembering his tales

Of long ago moments told with elderly insight,

About great sunny deeds told now with a longing sigh; 

O how the old envy the youth!

The Man is no more now, 

But his stories hold on,

Each passing day births a new detail,

Thinking I have heard it all,

I learn anew; in the Half Sun War, he was a soldier.

Why was this sealed in his lips I wonder?

"Why tell sordid tales of war

When there are sunny stories to go around?"

I hear him answer. 

But would he have thought differently 

If he had remembered that 

Dead men tell no tales?

Dona Curtis King

The Man who Lived

The Soldier Who Was

(1947-2010).

Born with a Plastic Spoon

Long Walk To Freedom

                                      

                                        LONG WALK TO FREEDOM

It's a long walk to freedom

I must keep on going no backward glance 

I only pause to bring back those who had no help over the blow freedom dealt
Though my legs wobble under the weight of persistence 

I remember the fetters, the shackles of yesterday

Thoughts of the yesteryears push me on to the future

For back there I no longer belong

It's a long walk to freedom 

Those who started out with me are no more

Agboola walked beside me

All calm and hopeful, taking everything in his stride 

I look beside me again and he is no more

Perhaps to him, laying down to freedom was better than standing to shake its hands.

Ebuka trode silently with a select few

As though he knew his walk was short

Offering his hand, I reach out

Grasping nothing but air. 

The day he stopped his walk

Those who didn't see him stride 

Noticed his absence.

Perhaps life gave him a short cut to freedom.

Ezenagu wanted nothing but greatness

To be the head and have nothing rule him; 

On this road we walked,

He was always first

His head towering above all walkers

Often I would look up for him

To know how far I still had to go

Hard walk led me beside him

Triumphantly I turn to look him in the eye

But him I see no longer

Perhaps to him also, laying down to freedom was better than standing to shake its hand. 

It's a long walk to freedom

We started out in the morning 

Now the scorching afternoon sun

Leave some weary and sitting by the road side 

Hoping for Iya Bodija's akara by the evening. 

I should stop, sit and wait with them

But the changing times leaves me discouraged

I may not have my round before it grows cold.

It's a long walk to freedom 

But walk on I must

A great distance I have covered 

I cannot put to waste now.

I walk on 

To tell tales about those who walked with me but walk no more 

About those who forsook the struggle 

For a minute's savouring. 

Hope urges me on

As I know I must teach 

That even though the journey be tough

It is one we all must strive to make.

*Agboola- Olumide Agboola. A fellow member of Platoon6. We lost him to Jaundice. NYSC.

*Ezenagu- Chinelo Ezenagu. A female. Strong willed. My classmate in Junior Secondary. She would cry whenever she came second. She wanted to be first always. One day she slept and never woke up. 

*Ebuka- Eze Ebuka Donatus. My course mate in the University. Introverted. He died on Love's day (February 14).

*Iya Bodija- A bean-cake seller I patronize almost every evening.

WAITING

WAITING

The only faithful companions I have ever had
In this whole world and wide I came to add
Are my leaf and pen.
They have endured my endless probing 
And consoled my painful writing and sobbing
What is my course in this world then?
I ask; Waiting. Endless and hopeful waiting 
Waiting and going on, hurting and hiding.
Yes, although I wait for the goal 
Can't I be consoled awhile to the roots of my soul?
Who would give comfort and answers to this turmoil in my being?
My companions, although faithful as I have owned
Cannot help me wait for a fate I do not know.

-Nonye Anyichie 

QUESTIONS

Where do the dead go? 

I hear stories of the Afterlife

Is it a truety or does life end in the hole?

All life's sojourn end with the shutting of the eye

All that is left is a story

And the vibrant life becomes a memory.

Oblivion is man's greatest fear 

We do not want to leave this world we know for the one we do not know

The latter may be better perhaps

But those who have been cannot be back to tell us

Would the thought of death be better to bear 

If we knew really what lies thereafter?

Where is heaven?

Where is hell?

Enough with the description of high above and low below

Enough with the stories of stately glory and languished sorrow

What is their actual state?

How plausible are the stories in the Book?

Do not kneel to redeem my soul when you ponder this

I am far from lost

I need to know.

True knowledge is hidden from man

So that he cannot know what has been from the beginning to the end

True knowledge comes in death 

What use is it then if it cannot help those living?

Nothing makes meaning

All meaning is lost

Knowledge is nothing 

We live seeking it; it eludes us

We die hoarding it.

Is seeking answers then a waste?

Would our dead loved ones

When they converge together 

Still think themselves family?

Do they have thoughts?

What thoughts do they have of the living?

Do they have powers?

Or are they just fallen embers?

We grapple for knowledge over our existence 

What we cannot know we speculate 

The answers lead to more questions

And leave the mind much aggrieved with confusions 

Why are we brought here so 

If this is how we go?

FORLORN

FORLORN 

Every time it comes and grips me

I do not know what's in it for me

No one knows or care about how I fare

They only ask to be seen as fair

Yet I alone recognize this ache I feel

It never leaves till its had its fill

Three times I have stumbled and fallen

Three times I have gotten up all sullen

This is not a song of hope and waiting

This I write upon my bed strong but crying

What's in all these for me?

I see no rays of sunny hope

All I see is darkness covering my face like a shod

The waiting hope has turned to ashes in my mouth.

Nonye Anyichie