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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">This Poem is Not an Elegy</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">This poem is not an elegy,<br>let the dead not rest in peace<br>as we always pray at funerals,<br>for the wicked<br>to have the last laugh<br><br>but return as heavy as<br>a raging hurricane storm, <br>as a haunting nightmare<br>with indignation and fire<br>in his belly, for justice!<br><br>This poem is not an elegy,<br>let the dead not go to sleep<br>in the cruel matchbox<br>they hurriedly stuffed him<br>away like a reproach, <br>to bury their bad conscience;<br><br>when the brood of vultures<br>bask in the nourishing<br>warmth of the morning sun;<br>savour the lastest luxuries<br>and hit the night-clubs at<br>weekends, free as a bird ...<br><br>but return like an Abiku,<br>from a place of indignation;<br>with as many bullets<br>for each bloody wolf hiding<br>in plain sight like ghosts<br>from the slumbering eyes of justice.<br><br>This poem is not an elegy,<br>let the dead not rest in peace<br>for the vultures to throw parties<br>at the expense<br>of our collective peace,<br>I am tired of mourning! </pre>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">The News</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">The news like a vampire,<br>always has blood dribbling<br>profusely from its stories... <br>like a serial killer, is never<br>free of blood on its hands. <br>There are always reports<br>of bloodshed lying here<br>and there in the pages<br>of the dailies; horrendous<br>stories of carnage slashed <br>by well over three quarters<br>of a dozen, to be news worthy. <br>Stories of gruesome murders;<br>of genocides, pogroms<br>and kindred in diverse places, <br>perennially claiming outrageous <br>taxes of human lives here<br>and there in their hundreds.<br>The stories grow gorier<br>and scarier by the day in their<br>numbers without a breather;<br>daily drawing closer to home,<br>and one is left to wonder<br>without the benefit of doubt,<br>amidst haunting fears of<br>safety crippling the heart, <br>where the next bomb<br>is scheduled to go off<br>and who the victims<br>of the madness would be? <br>And so, we wallow in perpetual<br>paranoia like a tarsier;<br>sleep with either eye wide<br>awake on the look out like<br>the dolphin, wary of everything. </pre>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">My People</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">And what will my people<br>not do to see you "humble?"<br>To drill you into a sheep<br>acquiescing to status quo. <br>To refine you into a puppet<br>they can string here and there<br>like an acoustic guitar. <br>They keep slapping you<br>on one cheek, expecting you<br>to turn the other, in faith's name. <br>Then brand you a heathen<br>and send you to Coventry<br>when you reach your rope's end<br>and repudiate the bridle. <br>When you turn out a "dissident"<br>and move to break the cycle.</pre>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">Perfectionist</h2>



<pre class="wp-block-verse">I keep writing each verse<br>(poem after poem)<br>over and over again<br>like a playful, sloppy school <br>child in kindergarten, who<br>can't scribble his English<br>alphabets correctly ... <br>changing each time, a phrase<br>or two my "perfection-is-<br>the-mark" editor-in-chief<br>would not let go in—<br>rules out of the picture. <br>Or better still, I should say<br>does not pass the bar. <br>I admit the latter is the case<br>and quite exhausting at that, <br>so much so that the flames<br>die out, burn to cinders<br>before the yam is halfway<br>ready to be roasted.<br>So poems that may have rode<br>the sunrise, may have turned<br>out little gems, never make<br>it pass the pruning shears, <br>never gets completed, <br>because they must go through<br>the eye of the needle! <br>because they must touch the sun! <br>They die off flower after <br>flower from neglect, unfulfilled.<br></pre>



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<p class="has-text-align-right">Emmanuel Karibi Obuala is a budding Nigerian poet, writer and thinker from Bayelsa State. He is a literary enthusiast with a penchant for the art of poetry, especially African poetry. His works have appeared on a few literary platforms. Emmanuel plays Scrabble and video games for leisure. He is @EObuala on X.com and can be reached by email at obualaemmanuelkaribi@gmail.com.</p>
 
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‘THIS POEM IS NOT AN ELEGY’ / ‘THE NEWS’ / ‘MY PEOPLE’ / ‘PERFECTIONIST’ | four poems by Emmanuel Karibi Obuala
Photo by Oladimeji Ajegbile | pexels.com