Friday, 26 April 2013


 Now at the precipice of our struggle
Through the slender eye
Of the season lion-ing by,
From the boisterous main
To the solemn desert
Of existence;our cassava-stemmed
Upward-gazing lay,termite-eaten
And clay-masked,forlorn
On a soil bereft
Of Earth's fecundity promises...

If,perchance,from the precipice
Into an involuntary sleep,we drop,
Tell those to come
That 'twas a few books of alien
Sorcery,of chameleon pages
In lambish coats;
A succession of alien enchantment,
And a troop of soul-pulverizing bamboos
That desecrated the libations
With which the gods fueled
The sun of our ancient fore-wombs;
Conquered their fireplaces and arrows,
And made beasts of labour
Of their able-bodied seeds.
Our sacred cockerels
Dangle,upside-down,on some
Shelves in foreign markets.

Tell those to come
Of our press-hard struggle
To restore the ancient
Illumination to our dispensation,
And to their sky also,
But had met wet woods.
Tell those to come
That,thus,we passed our days
Under a dark cloud
Without the milky downpours
Of our folkways and lore.
Tell them we could not lit
The quenched sun
For ourselves and unto our sights
Since no one offered
Himself as the oil.
Tell them the sun
Was not with us and our struggle;
Darkness rode,
Across the sky,
On the back of our struggle.
The cloud became worn-out
So that her breast shrinked
And bowed in despair,
Blank of the elixir
Milk of existence.
Tell those to come
That we were slave to a static Darkness;
Confined in its cell,
With falsified illumination.

Before another set of lovers
Get caught up in the rapturous
Winding of the pottery-wheel,
Forming the clay;
Tell those to come,
Through a gong-ing voice,
Their warmth dark is brighter
Than our sinister dark;
Hence they may choose to remain
There if it,so, pleases them.
But should they dare to come,
Tell them to come with their lanterns
And trace where we bungled
Our struggle to lit
The sun in the sky.
For one, truly, is blind
When one's eyes
Are neither diurnal nor nocturnal.
Tell them to continue
From our last footprints,
But never in our footsteps.
Tell them to give us
Eyes through their flames,
And to revere our recreant.

By: Goodness Chibueze,Mgbememere.
Phone number: 07034691299.

I hail from Okohia in Isiala-Mbano,in Imo State.I was born in March
1992,as a twin (male and female),by Mr. & Mrs. Anthony I. Mgbemere.I
am the sixth child,and the fourth son in a family of nine(parents
I am currently an auxiliary teacher in a grass-roots primary school in
Aba,Abia State,where i reside with my family.
Most of my poems are published on POEMHUNTER.COM (by the name,Goodness
Tchibueze),NATURE'S CHILDREN,and GRISTIAN BAY (by the name,Tony

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the written permission of the publishers.

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