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Chime Justice Ndubuisi

And Blame Myself for the Lost

I do not want to look at the mirror
Hanging on the wall of my little room
It makes me naked; naked to myself
I do not want to look at the mirror
Hanging all around in the open street
It makes me old; wrinkled and rough
They are my mirror; the people I see
The old people I see ever day
You are my mirror. Come close, stand by me
I do not want the mirror to torture me
I want to use it and melt the sun
And blame myself for the lost
I fail to exist without it
All night I pursue my lost self
Mirror is everywhere, but useless
I do not need it for anything
Not for looking at myself
I want to use it and dry the ocean
And blame myself for the lost.
I do not need the mirror, it's transparent.

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The Crystal River

Slowly, slowly, slowly the crystal river flow,
Moving down the slope of rocks below.
The water were warm since harmattan's due
And frogs croak as they usually do.
But the river has something we never knew:
Deep down, it can make sick ones anew.
Because, there resides the sea-kind and his queen;
To enlarge their empire they were keen
And once they mated and had a son,
But the son offended the sun.
Heaven became angry, including the moon
The river started drying up too soon.
So our crystal river ceased to flow
And relocated to somewhere we'll never know.
And up and down the people go
Searching where the crystal river used to flow
Down the slope of rocks below,
Where now littl little grasses do grow.

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Illuminate

My dearly beloved shadow of light;  
My light when the day is dead
Receive and keep me in your brazier,
Receive me your resident lost.

The gorgeous light that illuminate earth evermore,
Like a wide open, sleepless eye forever
The light whose breath is fire;
 
Oh, master over the ever darkening night,
Sometimes, I reach to touch you;
Will I burn, or be bright as day?
With your light other lights illuminate
And returns to their first position
Like triangular stars before the fall
 
Like the light that extinguishes thenight;
Smooth as a king's way,
Riding in your chariot ever shinning;
With your light I am blest.

[...] Read more

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A Mawkish Poem

1
When we laugh, we laugh
For the benefit of the dead
When we cry, we cry
For the benefit of the living

When we cough, we cough
To purge our souls, to get rid
Of waste and decay
We desire to make a living.
2
When we travel, we travel
On the road of the dead
When we live, we live
Because we know we will die

None to save us from the devil
Or launch us into another world
Or take away our believe
In life and death, or break the tie.

[...] Read more

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Retrieved Poetry

Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
          Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
          Some have said.
          But the inspiration keeps coming,
          But the memory keeps living.
          Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;

[...] Read more

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