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.