Idzia Ahmad (Izzia), one of Nigeria's finest poetic voices danced off the stage even as his story yet worked its way through the heartbeats of exposition. If only he had been patient, through the complication and through the climax, perhaps the denouement would not leave his friends standing shocked on the quivering lips of a frightened world, jaws down, bent heads asway - side to side in disbelief, singing songs without music, contemplating precarious mortalities.

If only he had stayed until the end of the show, somebody like me would have gone beyond knowing him simply by name, reputation, and beyond some of his words read in the past. I would have had the honour of shaking his hand. I would have said "Thank you, Izzia, for the pristine poetry." and since I do enjoy a good chat over beer and meat, as testimonies of his closer friends show he too did, perhaps, we too might have enjoyed one such evening.

Why do I mourn a man I never met? I do so because of what he did. He wrote great poetry. I first came across his works during poetry nights at the Anthill, Nsukka in 1989 and wished to meet the person who wrote them. I never will. May his soul rest in peace.

Nnorom Azuonye
London

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