Poems by Ngozi Olivia Osuoha

Poems by Ngozi Olivia Osuoha

 

THE GUTS MUST BE CRAZY

There he lies, bleeding
Gasping for air, rolling
Unconscious, far from reality
But there you are, recording
The guts must be crazy.

A dream struggling to survive
Vibrating speedily
Fighting to win
But there you are, videoing
Helping fate to conquer,
A conspiracy of silence
The guts must be crazy.

Riches left scattered
Wealth home and abroad
But here lies he accidentally
Head bruised, jaw broken
Fractured legs, internal wounds
Yet, you are standing
Taking photographs, making fun
Forgetting that the rich also cry.

The other is over there naked
Stripped, to take a walk of shame
Flogged, stoned, dehumanized
You were so cool with the scene
Because things have fallen apart.

Look over there, the poor is hungry
He is begging for alms
But your camera rolls
Because you have the audacity of hope.

About the starving girl
Hawking on the streets
Your quest is her skirt
So you filmed your conquest
And for her, since then
Things were no longer at ease.

The old woman standing in the bus
Old, haggard and worn out
Pale, sick and lean
You pulled a stunt
And have it stored,
Because the dreams of our father died,
The guts must be crazy.

Doing drugs, thuggery
Ganging, hanging
Stealing, defrauding
Abusing, polluting
Yet recording, videoing, storing, sharing
Because the society is becoming,
The guts must be crazy.

You could help dying victims
But no more conscience
Emergency patients, needing care
Yes, you can save them
I mean no one but you,
The guts must be crazy.

People fight and strip themselves
People gather to strip someone,
They burn, kill and murder
Even innocent people fall victims
But you will be there
Snapping, photographing, posting
Because you want to unleash the arrow of god,
The guts must be crazy.

Dead bodies, corpses, burning humans
Ugly sights, ungodly acts
Barbaric beliefs, jungle Justice
You laud them with silence
And aid all with pictures and videos,
The guts must be crazy.

WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram, blogs
Newspapers, all the media
Instead of socializing
We debase humanity
And commonize the santity of life
Because we need a long walk to freedom,
The guts must be crazy.

How we lost it, I do not know
That accident victims would be lying helplessly
While we take photos of their helplessness,
Secrets, sacred and consecrated matters make headlines
Because our values are gone and eroded our norms
No wonder, the nightfall in Soweto.

Drop the phone, close the camera
Help victims, save lives
Life is a journey
What goes around, comes around
Even half of a yellow sun.

A purple hibiscus
Can light the twelfth night,
The concubine
Can save the mistress
Stay awake at the watchtower
Because there was a country,
The guts must be crazy.

Cry, the beloved country
The gods must be crazy
Because no retreat, no surrender
So think and grow rich,
The guts must be crazy.

The guts of insane men
And the gods of weird women
All, push my pen
In this crazy world.

We are humans not animals
Accident victims are not sightseeing
Let us not make them movies,
Save, rescue, help
Anybody can be a victim.

The gods must be crazy
When are no longer at ease.

When we are no longer at ease
The guts must be crazy.

 

SPARE AFRICA

They sell us for gold
So we are on hold,
They exchange us for oil
So we are the soil,
They traffic us for sex
We are the climax,
Spare us, Oh cyclone.

We are the laboratory
Our organs are rare,
It is mandatory
Because we are bare,
They buy us for labour
Because we are strong,
Please spare Africa, hurricane.

Our skulls are in museums
And our skeletons in galleries
Our heritage is pain
And their inheritance, gain
Spare Africa, oh disaster.

Leaders, lead themselves
Followers, follow one another,
Politicians, pound
Religionists, reprimand
Academicians, abolish
The society is in disarray,
Please you have to spare Africa.

Hunger thrives, thirst survives
Starvation learns, humiliation yearns
Exploitation sustains, violation maintains
Lack, want, need, poverty, all boom
Hope fasts, faith waits
Cyclone, cyclone, if you have sense,
You would spare Africa.

Choices are lean, options are same
Alternatives linger, compromise is deadly
Songs come from wrong gong
Cries, from angelic voices
Rhythms, harp against future
Melodies lambastes harmonies
Cyclone, you don’t have to torture Africa.

Well of blood, blood in wells
Oil boiling, boiling oil
Minerals for funerals
Funerals for minerals
Sacrifices against talents,
Rituals fighting gifts
Spare Africa, whatever cyclone.

If you have eyes
You will see the African cyclones
Cyclone birth, cyclone survival
Cyclone school, cyclone job
Cyclone living, cyclone growth
Cyclone life, cyclone death
Enough of the cyclones,
Spare Africa, spare Africa.

No interest, no eagerness
No passion, no patriotism
No selflessness, no service
No love, no nationalism
No knowledge, no oneness
No values, moral decadence
No steadfastness, no peace
War, war, and violence
Abuse, abuse, and misuse
Looting, looting and loots
Corruption, hate, bigotry
Backwardness, unemployment
Greed, chameleonism
Dirtiness, ungodliness
Africa already has enough cyclones.

If you have sense, spare Africa
If you had sense, you would spare Africa
If you have no sense, still spare Africa
Listen, cyclone, cyclone, Africa must be spared!

 

THE APOSTOLIC CLEANSER

Mighty broom of wondrous men
Mounted with millions,
Site for local tourists
Exciting fanatics.

Oh apostolic cleanser
You got tired too early
And your weariness, boundless.

Oh almighty broom
You could not tarry for long,
An inconclusive sweeping.

Lo, corruption splintered
Change, very changeful.

Stand up, your integrity scatters
Bundle your sticks
Change them to the next level
Rig this broom, almighty cleanser.

Credibility is free
Fairness is inconclusive.

On a bloody foundation
The land cannot be green,
Four, four and eight
Boxed democracy
Apartheid, xenophobia, tribalism
Religion, terrorism, herdsmen,
Almighty broom
Rise, sweep this land.

Weighty land, dirty land
Scary people, inconclusive hope
Almighty broom,
Do not be weary.

Rise up, focus
Sweep corruption, you are free
Retain your integrity, you are credible.

This land will be neat
Almighty broom, apostolic cleanser
The sweeping Messiah
Sweep, sweep, this land is dirty.

Dear apostolic cleanser,
You got tired so soon
How come we are stronger than you?

The millions for education, health
The energy for innovations, developments
The time for unity, peace, progress
The zeal for erections and statues
The dedication to insignificance
The commitment to negligence
The mission about incompetence,
All and many more shall not be in vain.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s