Christmas Party or The Fire-setter in Search of Fresh Vegetables
Lord, wipe away this dust clouding
for rain in the last tomb,
the grave-rats hate moody clouds, and
there is little to water in this
season. It is harvest: the leaves
are old, the cornfield now beg for fire,
they are now feasting their balloons;
wearing ribbons for the Son of Peace,
awaiting his birth. The birth will bring
many seasons for rain-clouds;
We will then water all places hottened by
landmines, and licensed gunpowders,
Aleppo and her sister homes; all lands
manured by broken humans will now sprout fresh
vegetables, vine-trees for requiem Masses and Consecration,
neem trees for all sun fevers in the north,
genome-formatted grasses to suck up
disvirgined waters in Ogoni, turn all
suffocated fishes into fresh manures.
Life will start afresh. No one will die in
a way we will not like.
Everyone will come and go accordingly.
We will cook and feast and feast;
cook goose-egg stones for all feeble minds,
feed frozen waters into arid hearts,
and host a big party for the whole world.
What We Mean When We Speak of Bones
When the earth turns to bones,
the toads normally escape from rust in
the holes in the sand deserted by rodents for
want of grasses; they begin to
ply the earth, picking up small ants,
taking many colours of the sand,
wearing the clothes of dry leaves to
wait for the rain:
the rain that makes the earth thirsty.
On the coming of the rain,
the termites revolt in their anthills,
speaking of freedom;
they swear to speak it to all nations.
They have love in their wings.
They fall in love with the sun.
And just as quickly, the sun bores blue eyes
through their wings in order to light the earth;
and their wings can no longer hold the air.
They fall on the sand, tracing the same holes that
have been deserted; many times,
they hide their heads in the holes
that have stopped halfway.
At other times, they end the rain feast there because
they have traced paths in the sand,
like the sloughs of black mamba.
And the paths lead back to the place where
they were first begun.
Ejiofor Ugwu is the author of the chapbook, The Book of God, APBF/Akashic, 2017. He lives and writes in Nsukka, Nigeria.