The Nation Newspaper

Category: Niyi Osundare

  • Remember Rwanda (1)

    Remember Rwanda (1)

    The journey from hate to holocaust

          is perilously short. . . .*

    In the national ballot just concluded:

    Many voted their tribe

         Many, their tongue

    Many saw nothing holier than

         Crosses and Crescents

    In the polling booth

         Utterly mesmerized by

    The poisonous correspondence

         Of region and religion

    Many dug up skeletal skirmishes

         From the nation’s graveyard

    Many were already glowing  from

         The flames of fires yet unborn

    War of words

         Words foretelling wars

    About who owns the land

         And who is owned by the land

    Bilious boasts, un-tethered tantrums

         Shameful shibboleths once again

    At the seething gates: blind swords from

         The armoury of the mouth

    The nation’s memory is under assault

         From marinated murmurs and slanderous slurs

    The journey from hate to holocaust

         Indeed is perilously short

    * From “Ode to Hate”, Pages from the Book of the Sun: New & Selected Poems, 2002

    (Continued next week)

  • SNAPSONG 184

    SNAPSONG 184

    • Miscellaneous Mementos

    Those who shun the beauty of Virtue

         Pave the way for the emboldenment of vice

    The night lingers much longer for those

         Who deride the possibility of the day

                      *

    They set free the message

         And set the messenger on fire

    Words drop from the courier’s mouth

         Like a hail of live coals

                      *

    The world is still learning

         How to make a half-man whole

    Little drops of rain

         Will make a mighty river

                      *

    Let’s talk now

         About the scar

    Which survives the wound

         Then, the wound which foretells the scar   

                      *

    Raging fire in

         In the smoker’s throat

    Swollen laughter

         On the orator’s lips

                     *

    I will never stub my tongue

         On the outcrop of a stubborn word

    Who doesn’t know the proverb

         Is the paragon of inexhaustible wisdom?

  • PELE

    PELE

    (For Edson Arantes do Nascimento)

    He wrote soccer history

    With the tip of his toes

    Dribbled the round object

    With the flair and finesse

    Of a sprintly majestic maestro.

    Lateral symphony, horizontal surge

    The sway and swagger of samba thrusts

    Dazzling like a Rio gala

    Magical body movement

    Lyrical legend of the lob

    Those scissor shots which cut through

    The craft of the ablest defence

    So early began his inimitable wonder

    So quick his conquest of the wondering world

                   *

    Offspring of a dusty destiny whose

    Early practice began with balled-up rags

    He rose, flint-footed, through the haze

    Till his ‘Black Pearl’ outshone the blaze

    Of a million stars. Neither fame nor flair

    Separated him from his Human being-ness

    For he never forgot the pain

    Of the lean and shoeless boy

    When Death came at last

    It met a practiced athlete

    Whose swift, yellow shirt

    Now hangs in the nation’s wardrobe

    Whose name rides the roar

    Of the beautiful game

  • SNAPSONG 183

    SNAPSONG 183

    • Ode to the Ex-King

    Too many times he has forgotten

         He is no longer the King

    He still struts around with a phantom crown

         And bloats his “I” into the royal ”We”

    He still parades a scepter

         Of tinsel gold and fancies

    A throng of fawning subjects

         Bowing to his inordinate commands

    No leaf must move now in

         The nation’s forest without his knowledge

    No star dare blink in the sky

         Without his express permit

    Lacking modest memory,

         But numb with nostalgia

    He gallops on vanished horses

         And barks out orders from absent thrones

    Self-righteous scion of Narcissus

         He plagues the national platform

    With compulsive epistles of an ex-King

          Who craves the bow of reigning monarchs

    Doom’s prophet, conceited emperor

         Wish some kind, discerning soul

    Would tell His Ex-cellency

         “Alas, your time is long past and gone”

  • SNAPSONG 182

    SNAPSONG 182

    And the People Voted

    They did all they could
    To bar the way to the polls

    They hired rainmakers
    To drown the day in pestilential flood
    They paid the harmattan
    To harm the streets with blinding dust

    They confiscated our money
    And forced the banks
    To padlock their gates
    So “cashless” pockets menaced our lives

    They pumped flammable chaos
    Into the petrol tank
    With orchestrated scarcity
    In our engines and silenced factories

    Serpentine cash lines
    Crisscrossed petrol queues
    As our streets became an angry hell
    Of premeditated pain and hunger

    But We the People
    Refused to take the bait
    On the duly appointed day
    We trooped out to cast our votes

    They did all they could
    To block the road
    But our wisdom found a way
    Around their plot

  • Snapsong 181

    Snapsong 181

    Not a poet by accident   

    Overheard one morning from a soulful exchange)

    You are no poet by accident

         For you didn’t wake up one morning

    To a medley of songs beneath your pillow

         Begging for a place between your lips

    You are no poet by accident

         For no riffs rushed down your rafter

    With you scampering around the room

         Knowing not what to do with

    A sudden barrage of blessings

         While a strange wind walloped the walls

    As the door creaked between its posts

         Like a sentry with a half-open mouth

    You are no poet by accident

         For the sun stood sky-centre

    The day you were born

         The light which peeped between the curtains

    Was soft and blissfully bright.

         Lyrical hands bathed you in singing water

    The household was one happy chorus

         Of the anthem of your melodious arrival

    Calm clay cushioned your toddling steps

         Gentle rains nurtured your tuneful leaps

    Your lullaby was love and lilting lilies

         Ebony-born, with a song for every season.

  • SNAPSONG 180

    SNAPSONG 180

    • Nigeria: A Harvest of Horrors (Part 3)

    Pepeye, nigba too m’owe

    Ki lo be l’udo se?*

    Incompetence weds Corruption

         And a dark, unruly tragedy is born

    As the Nation thrashes about

         Like a snake without a head

    Now Bandits stoke our fears

         An oil-drenched Nation lacks

    The brain to power its progress

         A mindless paint-over of a battered currency

    Has thrown the nation’s debt-drained economy into a tailspin

         The ‘cashless’ country dreamed up by

    Emefailure, Chief Witchdoctor of the National Vault,

         Has turned Nigeria into the saddest joke of the Universe

    From the rocky seat of power

         It has been silence, empty, disdainful silence

    But why did Luku fight so hard for this Crown

         When he knew it was too heavy for his head?   

    Unspeakable hardships harass our being

         Untimely deaths depletes our ranks

    There is not a single corner in this land

         Untouched by this plague from our mindless Pharaoh

    Unhappy the land where rulers cannot THINK

         And/or are too haughty to know

    The world asks with most the impatient consternation:

         Why is Lukuland such a Netherworld of Fools?

    Ignorance kills a Nation

         Our own is already close to a disgraceful grave

    What do you do with/to a Nation

         Which so conscientiously disables the able?

    ———————-

    * Oh Duck, why your frantic craving for the river

    When you knew you lacked the power to swim?

    ** For more on Meritocracy and Competence, see Nigeria and I: Getting Politics Right to Make Nigeria Work, by Ladipo Adamolekun                

  • SNAPSONG 179

    SNAPSONG 179

    Nigeria: A Harvest of Horrors  (Part 2

    Pepeye, nigba too m’owe

    Ki lo be l’udo se?

    Incompetence weds Corruption

         And a dark, unruly tragedy is born

    As the Nation thrashes about

         Like a snake without a head

    Lukurumusu wrested our Golden Crown

         And headed straight for the putrid mud

    His mouth stuffed with the corpses

         Of assassinated oaths

    Fierce and frequent was

         His quest for that Crown

    He crawled, caviled cajoled, cried in countless bids

         Till a mongrel coalition rewarded his frenzy

    Now up in the saddle

         And finding, so fast, the Crown

    Too big for his middling head

         As an unraveling Nation rues its fatal choice

    The Nation bleeds from all pores

         Old separatist animosities re-draw the map

    As Luku retreats into a conclave of clan and cronies

         Merit and Good Judgement his prime disposable virtues

    Clan over competence, tribe above truth

         Square pegs in round holes

    And the Nation grabs the reverse gear

         And speeds, break-neck, into medieval darkness

    ———————

    * Oh Duck, why your frantic craving for the river

    When you knew you lacked the power to swim?

    ** For more on Meritocracy and Competence, see Nigeria and I: Getting Politics Right to Make Nigeria Work, by Ladipo Adamolekun

  • Snapsong 178

    Snapsong 178

    Nigeria: A Harvest of Horrors (Part 1)

    Pepeye, nigba too m’owe
    Ki lo be l’udo se?

    Incompetence weds Corruption**
    And a dark, unruly tragedy is born
    As the Nation thrashes about
    Like a snake without a head

    Do you really wonder
    Why so much power
    Should be thrust upon
    Those with so little sense

    Do you wonder why
    Those with no eyes
    Have forced their way
    To the fore front of our chase?

    They who have no heads
    Have stolen our caps
    Those with no legs
    Have taken over the daintiest of our trousers

    Toasting the talisman of tribe and tongue
    Invoking the charisma of creed and class
    They sneak their serpents
    Into the quietest corner of our garden

    Jumble up the geography
    Of our bearings
    And exploit the sorrowful saga
    Of our grand un-remembrances

    Always, the wrong foot forward
    Then our tales of incessant woes
    How can a land so lavishly endowed
    Be so medievally misruled?

    The mindless clique who rule our pack
    Have killed our soul and frittered our faith
    Those incapable of thinking

    Have now turned our Leaders of Thought

    • Oh Duck, why your frantic craving for the river
      When you knew you lacked the power to swim?
      ** For more on Meritocracy and Competence, see Nigeria and I: Getting Politics Right to Make Nigeria Work, by Ladipo Adamolekun
  • SNAPSONG 177

    SNAPSONG 177

    Yeyeremo

    You are my Yeyeremo

         My feathery fan

    In December’s voluminous sky

         Fly far, then near

    Bring me a boon

         From the capering clouds

    Now when the harmattan creeps between the sheets

         With its quickening touch

    I woke up this morning

         With songs beneath my pillow

    I never knew my dreams were so fertile

         My vacant hours so wakeful with magic moments

    Are you the stirring stanza

         In my unborn song

    Your smile that storm

         In my sea of sighs

    “Obey your laughter”,

         Commanded your silence

    “Gauge my gaze

         Unfurl my frown”

    Sky-high, earth-bound

         Care-free, countless pilgrims 

    Your end-year ditty

         Is the alpha of my endless song

    Small high-flying birds once common around the Christmas period in the southwestern part of Nigeria; awe-inspiring in the largeness of their numbers.