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Alba Iulia
Saturday, February 27, 2021

Food comes first, and other poems

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Poetry is Art, an Art for Life

Food comes first

by Obinna Chilekezi 

Under the twinkle of his wifely burst
Till truth became for him the sun of anger
And of present hunger.

Hunger befriends the land
The land befriends hunger
Our President,
What months and power wasted.

Change was what he promised.
And change the people expected.

He thought he could change
The matter of the nation
Ridden by corruption to
Simultaneous Development
Only with this elixir chant
shanji! shanji! shanji!!!

Like a mad sailor on a horse
Fight corruption! corruption!
Our largest GDP contributor.

Change the matter of nation
But with food on our tables.


Not just this change

by Obinna Chilekezi

Mumbo-jumbo is believing
a superstition for change.
We are a confused people with a confused president.

We wanted change and got shallow, swallow appearances.
Hunger has swallowed our land whole
Where altercation thumps her drumming
Out of the domestic Aso house
Heckling itself hoarse in that hot sun.

We want change, even Madam too.
We are confused and our president too.
And hunger bestrides the land
All’s but pollen polemic.

Contradictions in flight from country to country
In search of foreign shadows.

We want change, and Madam too.
Not that glittering with conflict
as of diamond.

How uneconomical the whole thing’s been.
We want positive change, not just this change.


The second coming of change

by Obinna Chilekezi

The dawn has
stayed long to break.

Promised daylight
nowhere to be found.

A pinch of salt, a drop of tea, we wait; a little mercy,
long nights of hunger blinding its blinding insanity of hope lost.

We want change, we want hope, we want a new beginning
And the mercy of change.

A wasted smile

by Obinna Chilekezi

And there, up and near, to behold
distinct on the horizon, the
cyclical smiles of the moon at dawn

Many still tied to bed
the smiles beam
and beam impressively, to behold
a kinder face.

And our village still busy
mourning our youths slaughtered for dreaming a Trump Biafran dream.

He who holds my hands,
Come, can you see the light of dawn?
another dawn, a new day’s born.

And I step out, smiles in my pocket
For He holds tomorrow, holds my hand.

Come off it, forget the night, and
forget the worries, the hunger and life’s troubles.

For He who holds the sky, holds our lives.
For we are His people, He our Blessed Love.

(17/10/18, Ikeji-Arakeji)



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