October - December 2017 •
The Lion King
• 69
POETRY & ARTS
‘Ojuelegba’ by Nduka Omeife (Water colour)
With a tiny speck of life desirable
And a fate petrifying-ly unknown
I will rise like stag!
For a memento, I will brand my arms
With the shards of the relics of
Pompeii
I will sit in the dirty water of Sarnus,
Wash my face in resolute defiance,
and
I will raise a monument!
CALICO
By Efe Ogufere
I keep one distinct memory of her,
throat scratching smell of camphor
on old fabric, coarse hands,
stretched skin
and a voice-
devoid of fire and fight.
I have a picture of her,
young, vibrant and full of life.
wonder woman
but as I sit here trying to marry past
and present
I slowly begin to peel open the layers
of a notion
Age or rather life, humbles you
hanging on her walls are memorabilia
of her conquests, a time when she
walked with
a spring in her step and her voice was
silk.
not this image of a slow crawling limp
and-
broken body, walking gingerly
towards her pensive.
an old box, where sediments of time
sit idly by,
where she folds all her memories
between fabric.
wrapped in that first cloth is a
memory of a mother
breaking her own pensive as a gift to
her daughter.
SOMEBODY
By Jane Ofori
Once told me the world was gonna
roll me
Am somehow confronted with a
decision to excel
In delighting the dominant and
constant factor
Which requires so many qualified
variables
To get tuned and glued to that
somebody’s side
Do I have the sharpest tool in the
shed to handle Somebody?
Contemporary times are facing me in
the face
To quickly acquaint myself with the
sharpest tool
As it works with a QR Code
To respond quickly to that SOMEBODY
Who means so much to me and my
business
To strengthen that relationship for a
better tomorrow.
And for that SOMEBODY be my better
EMPLOYER for life.
THE BIRTH
By Adejuwon Adegboyega
As travails in palaces
Where blue bloods course
Meandering their way
In arterial rails
Of prized dynasties
Amidst choicest midwifery
The artistry of medicine
The best, gold can buy
With fealty due only the regal
And physicians supralunar
Almost comparable to
Aclepius himself
Till neonatal care
To the gene monarchically sired:
A cynosure of eyes!
Like the son of Zeus
Among gods on Olympus –
Mount of corporal feats
In all pomp and pageantry
So travails in slums
With the lowest of serfs
In rabble’s rubble
Where rags are used
As swaddling cloths
And straws padded
To use as crib
Herbs cook
In clayey pots
Incensed by wood
On rustic stoves
Potions concocted
To be fed and bathed in
The sight of which
Bile could puke
But inoculating it is
Against natal ails
As one, so the other
Bleeding red when incised
Breathing air to survive
Though life unfair may seem
Still an evener it always is
With silver spoon in mouth birthed?
Or mere spittle – and lots of such?
Family heirloom falls to one?
Or providence sweetly smiles upon?
Diligence yielding fine premiums?
Or indigence not relaxing a tightened
grip?
For all it’s worth, in nudity we’re born
And in death, fated to surrender the
soul
Life, someday, to all will happen
No matter how much the stall
Birth, neither inferior nor superior
For as the heir, so is the serf!
