Chiedu Ezeanah


 A Service Of Songs
 (For Frank & Ify Ilaboya, who lost three children to the Sosoliso air crash)
 Song lures life on in disparate myths and tenor:
 No end, there is none, the end of song is song.

 Lament sweeps the strings of green Time
 In heavy strains that sing the unripe stars.


 Seeds that I have held, seeds that I have lost,
 Seeds that out-grow, like earth, my fingers that plant.

 The tabloids tell the news and sell the grief.
 The tabloids serve the dead as hot dish...

 Pathetic concepts swirl around life's hard nuts;
 What have they suffered? What have they planted?
 Dark-songs trap the glow of surly worlds:

 Who would not chant the rosary for the charred bright seeds?

 Song sleeps and wakes with me, song.
 Song, I know nothing heals better than song...

The Window-shopper


 Forever passing glances at the tempting things so dear,

 They are all laughing back at him with flirtatious cheers.


 The thrill and torment of peeking made all windows one.


 He browsed Life's arrayed, tantalising shop-window;

 He plumbed in vain, the dreamy mind's humble window.


 Without desire no life can happen: so he surfed and wooed;

 He pimped through the dot-com window to find a way out.


 The lovely and the plain; the ugly and the bored:

 They wired dollars from distant lands to be loved.


 A season in heaven squandered like stolen Sterling;

 The dance floor is empty, the party is over on a flop.


 The trans-atlantic sweetheart sulks, a cute broken darling;

 The playboy is back to his void on a high decibel of hip-hop.



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Sentinel Poetry (Online) #43  - June 2006. ISSN 1479-425X

The International Journal of Poetry & Graphics...since 2002. Editor: Amatoritsero Ede

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