Three Poems
Amaka Blossom Chime
LOCKDOWN IN BIAFRA
When silence echoes loudly
lips droop in shame
words are afraid to perch
eyelids battle the unseen
ears become an open garbage heap
that stink from gossip
lies spread-eagled their legs
the unborn is fated to live
in the womb of maggots and
chemistry
let me wallow in silence
covered with akwete
its whiteness hide my coal-skin
I must chew the cud
and vomit a forest of nostalgia
coal lights a fire that burns
in regiments
I search for truth in between your testicles
clawing my white nails
frozen by years of rejection
my body is a temple
naked and desirable
to beckon the wanderer to explain
why do my roots sag on both sides
why did the ofo tree in an embrace
with me uncover my past?
I am made of more. pure
bronze and fired clay
kola and the aftertaste of bitter-leaf
I am the dot, the locus
of a circle
the mother of pain and joy
boxed into the center of cowards
hiding behind bandits, herds, and men
I am Igbo, the land of
of oracles and thunder
the beginning of the passage
the yearning for the caves and hills
the incantations of the flute
the struggle of rivers flowing ceaselessly
in the veins of the earth to our roots
and fronds dripping blood
give me freedom like a wrapper
without strings
loose at both ends.
THE PRISON DOOR
I know your name
but can’t remember
why the oxen fit not the yoke
nor the chariot its rider
Shall I call you a country
when oceans run into streams
Elephants battle trees for space.
The trees fall. Grasses die from
too many rain-tears. The eyes are worn out
like moth-eaten clothes
Shall I call thee a country
in nets and traps. Eagles
migrate to higher rocks
ravished by endless yearning for crumbs
from the master’s table.
I shall call thee an anthill
spread across the savannah
trampled by beasts in uniforms
on their collar reads:
‘let’s turn blood to wine’
KYPHOSIS
Our mother moves in timeless toil
carrying her angry rebellious children
their noses smell water
their tongues poke accusations
charging against their cradle of origin
there is more space in outer space
our mother’s breast has no milk
the fetus has iron teeth
the womb is ruptured
the trees render an apology
the rainbow bursts open
with a trail of foul smoke
and the creeks hold no weed
Oh mother mother!
Where is my voice?
Echo the silence
cords run from both ears to
the left pocket
they flow like the Nile.
My days are dry, with stripes
dusty roads and gasping tongues
why we do ache and break
Where is the waterfall that leads to my mother’s hut?
My days ate the moon
Our urine turned black like the sun
the cobbler mends hearts too
the heart of a woman is in different places
find the one near our placenta
the one with seven rivers
hide in the water that keeps us calm
till her soul like the music of the Niger
flows earthbound.
She may begin her flow eastward
while her children tired from wandering
in suits fall back into her arms,
now our mother
like the milking cow
pours blood from her teats.