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Harmattan
with us
Chidozie Chukwubuike
Imo State, Nigeria
dozieobowu@yahoo.com
Sunday, March 16, 2008
We are in harmattan
the season of drying
pens.
We are in harmattan
the season of wilting
plants.
We are in harmattan,
when broken lips shrink
from love kisses;
flowing rivers of friendship evaporate
and oases of love dry up.
This harmattan,
trees stand nude;
having surrendered their clothes
to menacing harmattan wind.
And at home in Owerri,
the breast milk of Igbo culture,
the city of Ahiajoku,
the home of Odenigbo,
Cradle of Mbari civilization;
Scribes have made daggers their pens.
And, like Sickle cell anaemia patients,
The blood in the veins of the pens is clotting
And at home in Owerri,
our house faces a tempest.
This house standing on sand dunes!
No, this heap of sand
masquerading as a house
and we swing dangerously
to a rhythm of disaster
orchestrated by collective default;
the myopia of the builders,
the gluttony of the landlord,
the fickleness of the tenants.
Harmattan is here with us
sweeping up red dust to
damage already reddened eyes;
the once creative eyes of pen-men.
In this harmattan,
mouths spit smoke
and cries are taken up by spirits of repetition.
Harmattan hugs us around the hearth.
Harmattan forces us under mattresses.
Harmattan is the prodigal child,
whose brigandage throws a family into panic.
But when this raging
harmattan calms down;
Will our pens sing love song again?
Will the trees wear new clothes again?
And when our wounds begin to heal,
what shall be the colour of its scar.
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Chidozie
Chukwubuike is a teacher at Calvary International Secondary School,
Orji-Owerri, Imo State, Nigeria.
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