We May Have Lost It

We May Have Lost It

By George Amadi

 

There was a time

Lads roped hands

Down the lane

Without a care

In the world skipped

 

There was a time

They wore rags

Down the path

Without a care

In the world tilled

 

There was a time

They wove traps

Down the slope

Without a care

In the world fished

 

There was a time

They dug holes

Down the line

Without a care

In the world hunted

 

But in today’s world

Where lucre only counts

Growing children

A place of value

In the scheme

Of things

Occupy not

 

Watching a poor child

Drown at sea

On television

Following rejection

From nation

To nation

A thought wild

At my mind gnaws:

Have we

At last lost it?

 

Lagos, Sept. 11, 2015

 

End-Of-Year Outing

End-Of-Year Outing

By George Amadi

Low-sugar frothy malt drink

In recycled can chilled

Right beside a chicken

Pie set before me

Sat, a straw, long

Like a radio aerial,

Sticking out from it

My vantage-view table

At a popular eatery

Monitored, as

It were, uninvited

Flies to a meal

Kept at bay

It seemed.

Yet, two on the lunch buzzed,

In utter disregard

To health concerns

Of this customer,

Whilst the pipe,

Like an enforcer

Standing by,

Into an observer,

As harmless as ever

Got transformed when

It mattered most.

But without hesitation,

Not one to be finicky,

Into a juicy pie

Worth its name

I dug my teeth,

Happy to waste time,

Relieved, watching

Closing-hour

Traffic

Build up.

End-of-year marking, pupils           

Of a private school,

In a uniform hat

All decked,

A common bow-tie

To boot,

From their luxury bus

In twos alighted,

The joint stormed,

Every bit of food

Then, snapped up.

Not long after making

Good their exit

Than did

The absent-minded

Rich boys

Return, only

To ask after

IPhones, Tablets,

Automobile-keys,

Lizard-skin wallets,

Among other

Costly belongings,

In a hurry left behind. 

Lagos, Dec. 7, 2014

Agony Untold

Agony Untold

By George Amadi

At the end of an enervating year

In this tropical clime, humid at

Best of times, a dry, dust-laden

Wind, catarrh to big and small

Blows, no clouds in the sky float.

Heavy breeze the ground sweeps,

Uncombed, my hair with sand fills;

Dry lips of mine at will torments

No end. Harmattan in December

Begins, howling silly till February.

But far from inclement weather,

Hidden from probing human eyes,

Agony untold at the heart-strings

Thug, teasing, cajoling, confusing,

Asking where stands now my faith.

As Christmas Day to us draws near,

Minute by minute, every second

Counting, my memory, try as hard

As it may, no punches pulled, yet,

A painful past needs to vamoose.

Lagos, Dec. 24, 2014

   

Village Square

Village Square

By George Amadi

No longer of nocturnal howls

Stands in awe; of masquerade,

Still looking for the right word,

In admiration stands no end.

Gone are those days of trifles

When his bed-wetting smells

Parents and elders overlooked,

With fondness a child petted.

Gone are those days of trifles

When with pebbles, a catapult,

Gangling archer a dozen birds

Felled, away stashed in the kitty.

Gone are those days of trifles

When out of a sherry tree fell

Teen-aged hunter who, all night

Long, after a rub-down, groaned.

All grown, before a village excited,

Stands a man by hard work, virtue

Tempered; able, ready a family to

Raise vows, eliciting joy and praise.

His peers in an age-grade mature

Classed, their manhood in valour

Clothed; they with the elders palm-

Wine at the village square shared.

Lagos, Oct. 19, 2014

Domestic Violence

Domestic Violence

By George Amadi

Little known, a fair-weather woman’s

War-chest, in marriage, by whims and

Caprices, without guilt pains, inundated,

By bullets, fusillade horrendous, no less,

At domestic violence build-up targeted,

Not a few husbands naive, indeed, fools.

Little known also, and to be noted, writ

Large, the manipulative ways of many a

Castle’s governess who no prisoner take;

Their divide-and-rule tactics’ pole upon

Which stands hoisted an invisible flag of

Deception, route to polygamy may lead.

At the feet of any who as bread-winner

Emerges, does each to worship hearken,

Not at all minding if such person happens

To be a dirty, household’s low-esteemed

Servant; so long as her needs are served,

Honour, pride, dignity for nothing stand.

Lagos, Dec. 23, 2014