The sky cries
The earth shakes,
The pen dries,
The paper sicks,
The idea shivers
The reader feeble,
The giants' hearts palpable.
The day dark,
the sun hot,
The moon cool,
The oceans dry
It's queer, yet it comes
It's appalling, yet it tears,
It's a hero fall, falling of hope,
To some, and to other, its demise.
The titanic, unsinkable is sunk.
The unbeaten, the cat, beaten.
The failure for all, and to none.
The lenient lead, at the end,
Our lament is death, dead-end.
No longer at ease, untrimmed
March 21st remains indelible
No longer at ease,
The arrow of God thrown;
The man of the people exiles,
To a square hole, no return.
The hole surface, a replica of
Anthills of the Savanna,
The image of Africa ceases.
Racism ends, not only in Conrad's mind,
But in the world the magical poet leaves.
The pillar which withholds the colonist.
The caterpillar which crushes the prison walls.
Marriage is a private affair,
the dead tells story
When he writes with undying pen.
Dead men' path, a nostalgia to lose.
The sacrifice egg for all to taste.
Civil peace the creed he stands for.
Girls at war, ruinous anecdote.
Vengeful creditor, a mystery.
The voter, in his circle, scraps honor.
Beware soul-brother, your soil is wrecked.
Christmas at Biafra is at ebb,
Don't let him die, he tips off,
Christopher Okigbo reiterates.
Today is another Africa, unpredictable.
The refugee mother and child.
The vultures descend to grab,
The left-over treasures left,
Bitterness denies the grab.
The novelist as teacher, surpasses.
Though hopes and impediments exist,
History never forgets its builders,
It's unlike ingrate, shadow,
disappearing when moved,
Morning yet on the creation day,
Creates creative soul, doubting
Over the arts, that Africa bears,
Alas! Losing one side of the coin.
The morning eclipses.
The boss, disburses
the trouble with Nigeria,
The failures in leading,
a nation failing
In peoples' policies as leaders';
Home and exile, an alternative.
The best recipe, as learned
Education of a British protected child
To some, success, to others, failure.
The appreciable legacy left for children
Unforgettable, a reminiscence,
to my childhood
Chike and the river,
enchanting shore scene
From thereon, the poor personae retells
How the leopard got his claws.
He now gets the flute and the drum,
which he flutes
To sing the song of art,
time and more.
Today the days are gone,
Leaving us in mourning
The pain of the great loss,
Will forever remain,
In our hearts and pens
The hero is no more.
When the fate befalls,
When the familiarity befriends,
When the death descends,
When the mightier falls,
Then dearth prevails,
And patience follows,
Then the world tells the bitter yarn:
There was a country
And there was a writer!
(Composed by Huzaifa Sani Ilyas)
1:10 a.m. 23rd March, 2013
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN