The Story Of Your Life

Monday, March 05, 2007

The Story Of Your Life

What you are about to read is neither a song
Nor the musings of a madman all day long
You might want to call it a poem
Or use it to clear your throat of phlegm
Your sighs say they are the rantings of a drunkard
Maybe the confused chants of a retard
Aware of these; i will continue to write
And like drowsy ants to sugar, loony coots i invite
These words i want to be; like probes
Prying into your phyches, itchings in your celebral lobes
No, this is not an exercise in braggadocio
Nor the vain blabbings of an act of fellatio
It can rehabilitate your warped thought processes
Or send you down hell's inner recesses
What you make of it i dont care
' cos it about to expose- your secrets laid bare
Yes! desperation rattles your heart; you are going extinct
The message you see is now becoming distinct
Ding-dong-ding time as you know it flies
Like a bird of prey, it feeds on your lies
Is this poetry? Your terrified soul ask
The answer you want comes; a lazy man's task
Still here it comes, the genesis of your story
That of a twisted life steeped in allegory
But it must be told to heal you of this lethargy
I'll rather let your mouth spurn it
This is the story of your life, tell it bit by bit.

c Endi
Port HarcourtNigeria.

D: To all those who had done something "real weird" in their lives.C'mon, tell it and sell it!

Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.
-Joseph Roux, priest and writer

And then darkness...

Friday, January 05, 2007


'Twas a hushed tale
Of a commonwealth flowing home
We've gone to stake a claim
A search for light before dusk was due

On an empty stomach rumbling with greed
We came; with diverse vessels
Seeking a path through our poverty
A fare for a seasonal ritual

In the grassland; a carcassland
Of torn engines and the living dead
Our fate hung on a light
Around this tempting pool of darkness

Our eyes had sought the Rocks light
Hoping it will make us light
From the yolk of a penuric existence
It came though; with it a scorching comfort

And it came, a light came
Through nowhere, like a spirit
And it dawned on us
That dawn's come, then 'twas darkness again

Port Harcourt

Westward Shadows: Death of a Spirit

Wednesday, December 20, 2006


Its just a few days now
Before I bid thee farewell
Don’t want to get stuck in traffic
That I may find a space there
Weep for me now—weep
Then after tomorrow let your tears cease
Your best and your worst do
‘cos its just a few days now
For me don’t lay wreaths
Or bake bounties of wheat
These sad sad memories keep
Memories of a death keep not
For life’s better than death
But death; death’s more pungent
Like the can of urine
Under late Grandma’s bed

Its just days now
Since I came on cue
Some say acted well too
You never clapped or did you?
You only cheered and jeered
When I put the wrong foot right
You were right there
You were the audience
Never helping me unto solid ground
No! Don’t keep me in thoughts
Or in sullen depressing memories
Memories are also pungent
Like deaths; like memories

Its just days now
Before change comes
You will let Nkemdinma weep
But never let Nwoye, never
In these days they’ll talk
But I won’t be here anymore
This demise I foresaw—plotted
That I will be free to soar
A driver of his destiny
And purveyor of this truth
The truth this spirit concealed

Its days now—nay seconds
You will hold you blink and witness
This moment of transfiguration
For a spirit gasping for new life
Seeking to transcend beyond a future uncertain
You won’t shut your eyes
To the fading era of tarnishing ills
Keep your expensive wreaths
The dew will ruin them
Keep your songs; your wails
Sing for me no requiem
For I prefer the birds’
Keep them for those to come
Me, I will come at dawn
Sparkling and refreshingly new
Like the birds song and the dew

Its just seconds now
Forgive me if I mourn this spirit
It’s to set afloat an inner man
That I may gain the assurance
Of being right there
That place of the long westward shadows
Right there at the centre
Basking in the radiance of the Daystar

Port Harcourt, Nigeria
August 2006

Love: In Memoriam


Why do time never "flies"
When love dies
When hearts still numb and sore
Crave for affection no more
Reticent, arrogant time becomes stagnant
And life itself repugnant
Its lofty values and dreams
Now overbloated burst at its seams

Rains never cease now in once blue sky
And thoughts remain shrouded in soliloqy high
And pallete hole posing as hearts
Paint pitiless pictures as despicable as warts
Shards of images eternally shattered in time
Now live as severed sinew of pain, rhythm and rhyme

Port Harcourt, Nigeria
February 2006
Dedicated to Mimi*



These enemies of me are me, the dozy me
Foes say, its stupid me they see
Fingers pointed like pistols at me
Its you! its you! eveybody says with glee

I know its me, dont they say its me?
I feel so horrible, i want to pee
My own voice --"traitor voice" says "me"
My friends, they too joined in the melee

The cowrd me, screamed "why me"?
I ran away, afraid of what i forsee
He begged me to change my name, not be me
i declined, refusing to be in me, a refugee

In a voice as cool as menthol, said me
"Lay! dont be nobody's employee"
My bones became weak, my eyes dopey;Oh lazy me
I lay and let the wide world fill me with ennui

If came now, told me if i could be me
If only i could make "If" flee
I could be a better me, be all i could be
Make money and go on a spree

I have great mind, says the real me
Use it and you will be free
I finally got here, overtaking the enemy me
And said,nothing better than being the real me

Port Harcourt

Footfalls In the Dark


On feet unsure we wobbled
To the shrine making progress steady
Familiar insects sighed; bored
At the sounds of our hearts palpitation
Our thoughts reveled in skullduggery
Pervading in our senses skull and crossbones
Living ancestors turn away in disgust
And spit on our would be graves
As we sought a ritual we know
Was prompted by the sound
Of the gong of scheming juju priests
Beating for the third; three times
Told will bring reproach untold
We hurried away, plucking the leaves
As we went, desecrating covens
Daring minions speak, our talc speaking
No one came this way, just we
The storm brewed, chilly wind blew
Baba urged us on, the course he knew
We ignored the sounds of our silence
Their silence too; hearing only
Those of our footfalls in the dark
Thud! Thud! in the dark uncertain night
On a mission the oracles cursed

© Endi
Port Harcourt,Nigeria

A Boy and an Akara Ball


The rhythm of his heart stops
Eyes darting in Cartesian fashion
Settles on man clad in black before him
The cool evening breeze
Makes him sweat and carries with it
An avalanche of smells, some of-
The pool of amber urine at his feet
And the inviting boli and akara balls
His stomach growls with fury
Reminding him of his mission; inviting
Wrapping and eating him up
Eyeball darts again; left-right-right-left
Like ball drama in a ping pong game
Tongue in mouth, saliva gone
Farting fat lady shoves him out of the way
And cursing chewing stick hawker into it
Both invoke memories of his father
And sometimes Mama too
Flurries of thoughts swell the space
Inside his head as anger builds
Choking him and setting the tear free
The hate, the cynicism, the knocks, his fate
His stomach churns the pain increasing
The hunger makes his head swool
Pushes him across the muddy road
A chasm between life and death
Leg in gutter, he made for the balls
Reality hits; cacophony of shouts
Woman wielding stiletto; men in black
Market women all in chase
The voice in his ears sings
“Eat before you die”
He bit off a chunk and ate
Hit by a bullion van, driver fleeing
He died food still in throat
Hands, some akimbo, some wiping tears
Glared at the spasmic body
Of a lonely and homeless boy
None could tell the tale of him
The tale of a boy we knew

© Endi
Port Harcourt,
Dec. 2005

Leader's Labour

Hells breaking loose
Tensions rising, not sparing the goose
Mouths agape, feeble feet running
Children crying, nose runny, pickpockets cunning

State of Head corpulent, fingers manicured
Cozy bedroom, insanity yet uncured
Lights, acrid sweat, camera, hustling people
Yet another bout of “fellow country people”

Men upon podium, hands in thump
These generations of leaders we must dump
Rollicking in the midst of our penury
At the faintest snicker dragging us to their jury

Stare pallid, “put off that set “, roared he
These urchins are getting on my nerves – see
Crawling under my skin with irritating palaver
Scream! Get that idiot before I get “madder”

Lets do this for the good of us you know
Rescind or never will I kow tow
Attack with words inveigh, offers spurn
This country will I lead, strikes will I churn

Words still
Bring him some tea to ease the strain
Maybe that will do, just in from the rain
Finnish coffee? Get me some sugar
Now lets dialogue- “said my terms vulgar?”

More words
A scratch to the head, a scrotum tug
Lets have the envelope he said with a shrug
Greasy fingers, meaty sweaty palms
For me, huh? I have no qualms

Labour leader out, smile factious
People sold for a gulp by the unctuous
Insensate politician, façade of concern
Masses effusive, unable to discern

© Endi
June, 2004.

Akammam's Cue


Like a brute set free
But with a countenance contrite and pleading
As calm as the dimples on a infants cheek
It makes an esteemed outing
Silently gliding down the line
Greenness glittering with the radiance
Of the hot noonday sun
It came still demanding welcome
Nibbling at the seams of our fragile hearts
Attempting to tear open its sacs of emotions
Evoking fear and stirring adherents
Into a nasty awakening
What’s the message this time?
Ignoring our brewing tears and questions

Aka! Harbinger of a mores of deities
Heirloom of Mmam
Still sleek and lithe, innocent
Moves- sliding beneath curtains
Peeping into the keyholes of our awe struck minds
Its messages lashes out
Reaffirming norms, shredding evil stereotypes
And leaves in its wake uneaten sacrifices

Its raises its tiny head
As if in search of a dissenter
Demanding obeisance and reverence
From spittle dripping, gourd -bellied children
And arthritic old coots
Everyone stood, transfixed
Trying to decipher the mystique
In its glistening cold eyes
And the slow peristaltic movement
Of its slender throat
As it swallows Grandma’s yam balls

Starting with a rhythmic pulsation
Its forked tongue flicks in farewell
In symphony with
The frantic beats of our own hearts
As it went the way it came
Down the paths of the spirits
Leaving us to ponder
The message in Akammam’s cue


Port Harcourt,

May, 2004.