By Prof Victor Uzodinma Chukwuma
5. At the Point
The people will fumble,
And there will be tempest,
Then the gods will fumble,
And there will be fire; not just fire but fire.
This is the point,
Reality steps thrown,
Then the soul’s threshold yields,
The flesh rips off the bone, then the effervescent fog.
Our shadows will take another posture between echoes,
This is the maiden death of body and soul.
And before the lingering land,
Gods and people will share the blame.
6. Tempest
If am told to look,
I will not look again.
Throngs of blood
Rainbow the tempest clouds.
Rain, hot rain from
Clouds of blood
Set to cascade not far
Onto the torn mid-day; up there they wait.
I won’t look again
The eyes will be dripped blind
By molten steel
From Beelzebub’s hearths;
The water that will
Cool these,
Stakes in vain its soul.
I mourn;
Sack cloths and morning cries,
Hearts of now-causalities
Are the sirens of the dawning end.
