Treasure Island

Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu

(16 January 1968 / Umuahia, Nigeria)

A Threnody for Obi


The dark stars loom on frontiers,
Dewed and muggy, grey and sodden to the comfort
Of the lashes.

We wave black banners, spirited with the
Toils of tears, cusping the edges that once
Bore beveled points.

So, where do we go from here?
With what luminous entity shall we light our footpath,
Seeing how dark and bedraggled,

How somnolent, how diseased the hermitage
Has become?
Enmeshed in this reticulation of loss,

We should choose candles to lie ahead of us.
Such flare, wind-tossed, blink us to the
Direction of where we seek;

Where we should gather on wet heaths,
Speak in one patois of grief, composing dirges
In loosened tongues, and with pastels

That paint russets of tears.
Let us lament sotto voce, picking words to
Build woes in conflations.

At about the third hour,
When the dour components of groggy eyes
Belittle our senses, let us all, in one

Orgy of parrhesia,
Bullyrag Death's ingress at odd hours,
Rebuking strongly, its petulant arrogance of eternal filth.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Edited: Friday, February 14, 2014
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  • Gerwine Bayo-martins (2/26/2013 9:25:00 PM)

    The unspeakable has been voiced here.
    The worst in life we can never understand and always face helplessly whenever we meet it.
    Reading these lines we are drawn into the stream of emotions emanating.
    Rest in peace now, is all we can say at the loss.
    Then turn away, our bodies heavy with inexpressible grief. We hold hands for strength walking ahead on our momentary path of life.

    Thank you, Nkwachukwu, for voicing what we are unable to voice. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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