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Mrs. Chuks Ogbonna(1)


In The Eyes Of My Heart
Pearls live forever like shining stars
Like my love for you is like indelible scars,
Each time I am kissed by day light
Without you by my side all through the night,
My soul searches for your gossamer in the sky.
That is how my care for you will never fly.
I always hold you tight in tarmac of my thoughts,
As the memory of you gives me caring shots
Planting joy and peace in my life.
You are no doubt my unforgettable wife.
In the streams of everlasting joy
My heart is always caring like a baby with a toy.
But you are a jewel of inestimable value.
By your spiritual presence, I never lack any due.

Copyright: Austin Chuks Ogbonna
(Tomorrow will make it one year you left me
and your four children, therefore I dedicate this
little poem to my late ever green wife and
beloved treasure). Austin Chuks Ogbonna is a staff of The UNION Newspaper


I wonder what those days were
when goats dears and cows
where not ‘ries’ in the market.

Fields and farms were riches then
whilst barter and
buying were exchange then.

Recent men market the square
in these years many went.

Before then ‘ries’ when the Cows reach
and wear charming chains round their necks.

But today the ‘ries’ ripped by coins;
the sounding realm read the cost.

Today money does say the difference
between the rich and poor.

It is like a defense
to those who stand before the judge.

Today money is the root of evil
but not evil for it good.

Only that many fools do crook
and turn it to evil use.

If it is ‘good’ why did YESU give Caesar too?
Was it not ‘bad’ in that they ruined the fish mouth?
Now is it not bad if you too
would pick the knife, climb the house and rob at night?

Then why does ‘HE’ wish you wise
to work in times
if it is as bad as the sin of witchcraft?

Copyright: Ebi Robert

Nemo Dat Quod Non Habet
And I say, Hauwa, Habiba and Yauwa
are shinning golds refined by the smith
of the fire of hope, to be
the pillars of the Black man’s home.

I heard Habiba say,
‘We will write physics tomorrow’
and with it I will build the black-man home.

But in sleep I was burnt out;
awakened by the sound of a shot.
Wake up, move on, western Fools.
Here you sleep, snoring in our title.

We were beaten on the soil of our sons,
pushed to the trucks, bundled like the farmer’s bunch of woods.

Hauwa held Habiba in hope
as they say ‘Goodbye to tomorrow’.
And as we rolled through the leaves of Sambisa
Amidst mountains, hills and lakes
I wonder if I could ever see Africa
with her loamy earth, suns and graves.

Shall we ever see her wondrous face?
Of thy youth, age and embrace?

Shall we ever hear the gongs of Botswana
sound the sweet songs of our Gumba gumba?
Shall we ever hear the sound in the morning
calling and passing notes of the Igbo town crier?

Or ever listen at all to the stories of Shaka Zulu
and the battles fought by King Koko?

We need to hear Mama tell the tales of
how he fought and gave hope to Africa.
And more tales of great Opopo’ Jaja
and the modern Diba of the black man

But still, as we run far from Chibok
I heard a voice talk’
‘Open to the Book of the Black’
and read from chapter one, verse five’

It says ‘Bring back our girl’.
Bring back the daughters of Africa!
Bring back our girls,
for they are to build Africa!

Do not dare to trade them
for ‘Nemo dat quod non Habet’
For if you do not bring back our girls
Africa shall bring them back with your head’

Copyright: Ebi Robert

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