TO THE LADY WHO IS SLOW TO LOVE

"I want you my dear." I said to her the first day she visited me. Holding her hands and gently stroking the fingers with mine. There is something about the caress of hands that has always fascinated me. The gentle tracing of the contours of the palm, the soft touch of the finger tip, the locking of our little fingers as we talked. "I have always wanted you," I continued, "From the first day I set eyes on you on the cab. Please be mine." No, she said - flat and straight. There was no mistaken the sting of that word. But her eyes lied, her heart beat faster and her lips wavered. I could tell she liked me, I felt it in the way she touched me, I felt it in the warmth of her gaze upon me, how she smiled at my silly jokes, yet she would not set herself free and love me.

INSIDE NIGERIA: Nigerians are not Cowards

The major problem is that Nigerians do not yet see themselves as Nigerians still. Majority of Nigerians do not feel like they are a part of a collective federation, as a part of a nation. This same issue is very much prevalent in all sub-Saharan Africa. Nations that are more or less an agglomeration of diverse tribes and tongues, cultures and beliefs lobbed together by the barrel of a colonial gun, cemented by native leaders who have little or no interest in resolving the many issues thrown up by this unsolicited and non-mutually agreed marriage. I believe that Nigerians (and in general Africans) will rise up and fight for their right if the issue is one threatening their tribal survival. Yes, over a hundred years of nationhood we still see ourselves as individual tribes, like a nepholoid layer - fluids of different densities coming together, flowing side by side but never ever mixing up to become one fluid.

A MILE FROM HOME (Poetry)

by Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo Okoye A mile from home, potholes and red earth A little gravel mixed with enough frustration To keep me moving. Billboards and expressionless faces Cast shadows upon my path, and the road thins away from me Like the world is diminishing from where I stand.

THE JOURNEY OF THE SOUL (PRELUDE)

by Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo Okoye Earth is a hell and not a home. Paradise; - a place yet unknown. Where I'm going, I go untold, A pilgrim on a lonely road.

INSIDE NIGERIA: On the Wrong Use of the Word “Manage” (My Personal Experience)

The word “Manage” has so been skewed on the average Nigerian that it has not only lost its meaning, but has become the only way to live. In my country, “To Manage” has become a compulsory ritual that the lower class must daily perform else their day would never be complete. It has now become a norm to see people living in half-collapsed mud houses adjacent a limestone mine. it is a norm to see people fetching firewood a few kilometres from an oil well, or people making use of candle and lantern in a region hosting a power plant.

ALL ABOUT COWS

by Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo Okoye There was a time when I was afraid of cows I used to think that there was nothing more monstrous Nothing more dreadful than a herd of cows on the loose. I would run to the other end of road, Or hide among the trees and watch them pass For I...

INSIDE NIGERIA: When Beauty is worth more than Good Behaviour (A Satire)

by Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo Okoye Good character is the beauty of a woman. --An (expired) Igbo adage My grandmother used to tell us (her grandchildren when we were but little); there is nothing more valuable than a good name. Not even power, not even wealth can make up for a good reputation. Sitting on her cane...

LINES WRITTEN ON ALL SOUL’S DAY (Poetry)

by Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo Okoye Today my soul rises from within my being And my heart glows at every sound. The wind blowing across the cliff Has stolen me from myself; And I must go down to those paths Whose hearts are cold And whose eyes are dead...

I AM (Poetry)

by Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo Okoye Am I not a heathen, an idol Worshipper; Poor soul from a different time? Lost, Wandering, Searching, For the ancient portal That will take me home To where the earth is green And men are greener still.

ON THE MEANDERING PATHWAY OF LIFE (Poetry)

by Okoye Chukwudi Ezeamalukwuo I’m just a simple man in simple shoes, With my simple shirt tucked in simple shorts. My heart in my hand, my hand on my head, I walk through meandering pathways of life. A simple soul striding in simple steps, Journeying equal miles in equal breathe, Equal grass in equal grace, drifting still...