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ABOUT
AUGUSTINE C. OHANWE
Augustine
C. Ohanwe is a Nigerian. He is a researcher. He holds a PhD in international politics. He posits that
"it is poetry, not alcohol that catapults one to a state of exaltation. Poetry has power and poets, in my candid opinion, are indispensable. They heal the wounds of the society. They lay bare, and sometimes clothe their awareness in a poetic toga of truth; highlighting to their readers not only their own personal experiences but also social ills and other types of cankerworms that have bedevilled the society. Poets’ approaches to personal and global issues are always holistic."
SEE
HIS POEMS BELOW
War
War, that lucrative business involving bloodshed.
It becomes politics when it seeks geopolitical
Or geostrategic foothold for a perceived national interest,
As political sociology when it seeks to carve out a people
Of the same cultural and linguistic affinity for self-determination.
Evolution of war starts in the mind in form of mental radicalization
Before it transforms into overt act.
And when the battle line is drawn, bullets whistle, jets dominate
The sky, mortar bombs sing, casualties and fatalities mount
Transforming the battlefield into a human abattoir
Displaying distasteful disaster pornography.
While sons bury their fathers in times of peace
Fathers bury their sons in times of war.
But in a war of indiscriminate killing
Survivors bury their dead.
As wars continue to be lucrative enterprise
Enduring peace continues to be an illusion
He died of …
He passed away in his prime
And left his mother paralyzed with grief.
Her mother, who suffered birth pain at his birth.
Weeks after his body was interred
Circumstantial rumour about the cause
Of his death started to circulate
Around the community where he once lived.
A renowned coroner took the centre stage
And ordered for an inquest to be held
To unravel the circumstances surrounding his death.
The young man’s remain was exhumed
And an autopsy was performed.
It startled the community
When the pathologist disclosed
That the man died of overdose of pride,
Envy, rage and a tremendous reservoir of hatred
He had harboured in his system for long.
Friendship (Exchange of friendly missile)
Dear Ure, going by the rule
Friendship should not blossom
Only when the pot boils.
No, generally such friend is not
Necessarily the best one can have.
A true friend is one who had been tested and tried.
When fate is unkind and spirit is weak
A bosom friend becomes a friend in deed.
When the pendulum of fortune swings
Bosom friends gather to rejoice.
The key and the padlock
Constitute one mechanism,
The violin and the bow as one instrument.
The two illustrations of two-in-one entities
Represent the way our friendship should be.
Spatial distance cannot separate true friendship
Because a bosom friend afar brings a distant land near.
As armies can reach others regardless
Of bad weather, rugged terrain and thousands of miles
That separate them
Friends have to show that
They are just as independent
From spatial distance as enemies.
Let true friendship blossom and exchange
Of friendly missile renew.
Walking in the Wood
What will a walk in the wood mean
When one does not hear
The voiceless language of the tree
And feel the ethereal current in the wood?
What will a walk in the wood mean
When the aroma of therapeutic herbs
Does not soothe many days
Of overheated mind and troubled heart?
What will a walk in the wood mean
When one does not observe the different communities
In the wood – the community of worms in their burrows
Where they relax in peace.
What will a walk in the wood mean
When you cannot admire the beautiful architectures
Of ants housing their queens, soldiers and workers
Parading along a well-ordered line of duty,
What will a walk in the wood mean
When you cannot admire the merrily singing birds,
The hexagonal-shaped cells where bees store honey –
A structure affirmed by mathematicians as most economical for this purpose.
What will a walk in the wood mean
When one does not observe the intricate webs
Woven by spiders,
A creature with no experience as a model.
What will a walk in the wood mean
When one does not observe flies mating on green leaves,
Squirrels playing hide and seek,
Butterflies sucking nectars and pollinating along their ways.
What will a walk in the wood mean
When you do not know
That the communities in the wood
Feel your presence and know when you leave.
What will a walk in the wood mean
When you cannot pause to ponder over
For a while
How all reveal the infinite?
Axiomatic Truth
Man, the synthesis of forms made up of subtle and gross.
He has his falls and rises his morning, noon, evening
And the night of his life as the sun has its sunrise’
Its noon of great intensity and its sunset
And the moon Its waxing and waning.
Ants are not sluggards for they establish for themselves
A well-ordered society. Though birds sing merrily
But no bird sings when cold. or in pain
Neither the canary nor the swallow nor yet the hoopoe
Which are said to tune the lyre of sorrow
A swallow returns from its winter south to its place of birth
In the north and the homing pigeons crosses hundreds
Of miles of foreign sky to regain its loft with no knowledge
Of geography or compass
No one should expect fruits from a corn
Planted on a rocky surface.
Neither a gelding nor a eunuch
Can be fruitful.
Compassion has no seat to sit in the heart of a sadist.
Sadism has made his heart a home
And nourishes it with sadistic acts,
Acts that offer him fascination and joy,
Joy that leads him to sadistic orgasm.
The Strange Man I met
The conference was over after many hours
Of hostile arguments and finger wagging.
A breathing space for me to attend to other
Matters on the day’s agenda
To the downtown post office I walked
Via a less crowded pedestrian lane.
At the post office I took my place in queue
And waited patiently for my turn to be served
And lo and behold a man stepped out
Of his queue and paced towards me.
His eyes fixed at me like a lion
To a potential victim.
A lot of animal signature adorned his physiognomy –
A cunning face akin to faces from the fox academy
But concealed under priestly demeanor
A bullish neck and pugnacious jaw
Blended with a liberal wide mouth
Which formed an attractive deformity.
Standing in front of me, an angle
Of elevation was formed.
In a well-crafted tone he introduced himself
As a member of the sacred church of oxygen
And assured me how pleased he would be
Should I could accept his invitation to attend their
Annual convention in a downtown hotel.
I decline his invitation with an excuse
And left quickly after my transaction
With my tail tucked between my legs
Like a frightened dog.
Order of things
Man, see how the immutable
Law of nature affects all things.
Consider the season of autumn
When leaves turn orange, yellow,
Or brown – their time is up!
Winds are sent whirl and whip them down
And Mother Nature watches
As they make fluttering dance
Until they detach from the residing stalks
Spiraling twirling and sliding in the air
Till they carpet the earth
Forming an exquisite beauty of mosaic hues
Trees once clothed are left bare
Waiting to be re-clothed with green and glossy ones
By the spring god.
YOUTH
Ever spoken to the youth?
Yes, any constructive suggestions offered them percolates into one
Ear and out the other without registering any impression on their brain.
Youth, that biological stage that intoxicates
More than liquor; that stage when we become
Happy in the forest of ignorance, that is,
When ignorance is bliss; when shadow
Is taken for the real; when infatuation kills
Reason and all seing; when love is defined
As a delicious insanity and when the cart is placed before the horse.
Sweet sixteens, they think they know better but those
Who have witnessed many harmattans
Know that they do not know.
The errors of our youth revisit us during the evening of our lives which
Is why we say during that period of our lives: ”I should have known better”.
Uzi Shrine
The path
To Uzi Shrine is long, rock-strewn, and eerie,
Decorated with anthills and caves for refuge and respite.
Bare-footed, I walked alone along the path at night.
The moon is high and bright, the breeze is gentle and caressing.
The smell of dark tropical soil and pleasant aroma
Of shrubs perfume the ether around the wood.
Intermittent hoot of owls, shrill of birds and chirping
Sound of crickets disturb the tranquil atmosphere of the wood.
Crossroad
Is reached, a big cobra emerges from the left with a cup
Of honey to quench my hunger, I refuse the offer and continued my trek.
Uzi Shrine is still far away and my footsore still gaping with tears.
Long and arduous trek, my fortitude feels overtaxed, but the stars
Twinkle faster than usual as if urging my dwindled spirit to keep going.
Girdle is tightened and fortitude rekindled to continue the journey.
The Iroko tree
Holds the compass to the Shrine location, and lo!
There it stands in an imposing splendour hiding
The Uzi Shrine and her mysterious priestess, Lolo Uwema.
There, She stands motionless inside the Shrine, with a fixed
Penetrating look and a long, yellow, flowing gown that dazzles in the dark
A marriage of the mind between us gave birth to a whirlwind that silenced
The hooting owls and the shrilling birds.
TALKING TO MY SOUL
And darkness more than night fell
And the visibility of my eye balls
Was dwarfed by the inky darkness
As I sat in a desert without oasis.
And I opened up a communication with my soul:
”How come”, I asked ”roses are beautiful and sweet scented
But they have thorns”? He answered, ”no thorns no crown and
Silence fell upon the darkness except a trail of light from his His speech.
As hours passed by, time stood still and the inky darkness remains still.
His indulgence I sought to pose more questions and a green light appeared
And I asked: ”how come that the thorny path is a gate way to the crown”? And
He answered: ”as the blacksmith
Hammers a red hot iron into a desired
Shape such is required of individuals
Walking on the thorny path; for the thorny
Path is the path of crucible test which seeks
To separate the serious and the sincere students
Of the world university from the group of dilettantes,
And silence fell again upon the inky darkness
Of the vast, remote desert without any oasis.
As my finite mind digests His word in the
Midst of the inky darkness, a stormy weather fell
Upon the desert and He said: “May your path
Be rough”, and into His mansion, He withdrew.
LAS RAMBLERS IN SUMMER
They consist of tourists from assorted countries
And they stream in droves chatting gaily
Along Las Ramblers.
Their cameras hanging loosely on their necks and their passports
And wallets well protected from the preying eyes of pickpockets.
Souvenir traders display their wares for the
Passing tourists to patronize while senior citizens
Sit on the side benches and balconies enjoying
Ocular diet by watching young lovers holding hands and laughing.
I heard one elder citizen say. ”Chica guapa”.
But the guapa did not react to his compliment
And he sat back on his bench with nostalgia.
I read his lips saying: ”if wishes were horses…”
But wishes and horses are far apart!
I adjourned my observation of the crowd and sat beside his bench,
”Hola Senior”, I greeted him and opened up and informal talks
With intent to divine the working of his mindset and he regaled
Me with the story of his adventurous, amorous past which
According to him the ever ticking biological clock has laid to rest.
Evocation of his memory bank is the only sphere he leans at ease;
The sphere where he wallows in the nadir of his glorious, adventurous youth.
Nature, to him is a sly fox; what it makes real today becomes obsolete tomorrow.
Las Ramblers, a lovely, cosmopolitan place pulsating with live and activities.
PHILOSOPHICAL ALGEBRA
Deep pits and complex obstacles
Across my path, I clearly observed.
A thought about how to cross the
Narrow path I deeply contemplated.
Should I retreat or continue my
Journey, I thoughtfully questioned.
Wavering between these two lines
Of thoughts for long, I profoundly dwelled.
Obstacles are the goldsmith of live,
I vividly remembered
Retreat is a sign of cowardice,
I soberly concluded.
The more obstacles we surmount,
The more our will is strengthened.
Upon this premise, an attack
Is quickly designed.
The centre of the energy within me
I speedily summoned.
Armed with dogged fortitude
All obstacles are vanquished.
The leering and lurking obstacles
Across the path are defeated.
Where once stood palls of
Dark cloud is now cleared.
The beckoning light at the end
Of the tunnel is clearly sighted.
After the torrential rain,
The magnificent sun is witnessed.
SLEEP
Sleep is a temporary death
Through which nature acquaints us
With the inevitable permanent sleep.
Death is a final sleep when the material
Disintegrates and the immaterial vacates
And soars to the province of the immaterial
From where it descends when time is ripe to be
Dressed with a new garment of living and learning.
SHE (My secondary school chum)
I must travel through the memory lane
To recapture how it all started
Enugu was the place and
The day was
Cloudy and thundering and she visited.
She sat down straight and her legs crossed demurely
And her willowy hands resting on her laps
And she beamed and heavens stood still.
A lady of remarkable beauty, delicately
Chiselled by Nature and loaded with
Oomph and allure
Nature’s signature on her physiognomy written
Her big heart, a tremendous reservoir
Of love divine.
Her sparkling eye balls, wonderful apparatus
That can discern the bottom of human heart.
Her presence banishes clouds and glooms forever
And inaugurates a limitless sea of happiness,
Her smiles generate the sunshine that makes
The flowers grow.
Her velvet touch is like a caressing evening breeze,
It inspires every atom in your being to thrill with joy.
The sweet nonsense she whispered into my left ear I would never reveal.
She, a lady amongst ladies.
Happy is the man who she wears his ring.
THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS
Diana, the epitome of love and compassion whose
Smiles generate rays of magnetic healing current.
Diana, whose minglings raised and inspired many
Dwindled spirits
Diana, who mothered many motherless babies.
Diana, who healed the sick by her tender touch
And the touching looks in her eyes.
Diana, who built bridges across nations, regardless
Of divergent cultures and faiths.
Diana, who is loved by the young and old
As well as the rich and the poor
Diana, who passed away tragically in Paris
On Sunday morning.
Diana, who is gone but still lives on in people’s hearts.
Diana is the Queen of Hearts.
Published in the West Africa magazine, (London) 6-12 October 1997, p.1605.
WIDOWED SOUL
Bestowed with all the luxuries science and technology
Have produced, except happiness and peace of mind.
Having lost the golden key to his heart,
He clings unto strong liquor for solace.
Drinking House is his sacred shrine,
Where he consults the oracle of the divine bottle.
He drinks not for merry but to drown his sorrows,
Gulping down one pint in one straight draught,
Creating rooms for amusement and no space for the inner peace.
As the evening tolls the bell of the setting sun, and the shades of
Twilight blanket the day, he leaves the Drinking House for home.
With frail and trembling gait, homewards he staggers on.
Though, his house is near but far to reach, a touch going journey.
Having abdicated from the sphere of reason,
He dances boogie woogie along the lane
To the tune of the most wretched melody
Emanating from his mind.
He murmurs incoherent statements as if composing his own obituary.
Having staggered home, unto his bed he slumped.
His pillow witnesses his frail and pale demeanour,
Resembling a flower without water; he heaves a sigh and stretches
His legs to reborn his weakened muscles.
Having modulated his voice to a conspiratorial volume,
He initiates a funny dialogue with the silent bedroom walls that never respond.
He sleeps not to rest but forget his sorrows.
Day in, day out, he continues with his daily ritual,
Searching for peace of mind in bottles of strong liquor.
Liquor has become his inseparable companion.
Methinks he only exits but
Not living, loving and learning
His Cain has killed the Abel of his being.
Widowed soul in a tattered garment of life,
Trapped in a burning shrine with no exit door,
Road are many and he has chosen his choice.
ATOMIC GOD
Science is our religion
And I am proud to be one of
It’s congregations
Physicists are our infallible high priests and.
Proton, neutron and electron,
Our archangels.
Atomic theory is our sacred dogma
And holy mantra through which our high priests
Ascend to atomic nirvana
To harness atomic energy for the
Future well-being of human race,
Ecosystem and world peace.
The type of peace that visited Hiroshima
And Nagasaki, and will eventually
Visit the people of Ugwuland.
Our atomic god must destroy in order to recreate;
In keeping with our law of reincarnation.
THE STRANGE MAN I MET
The conference was over after hour of arguments
And finger waggings and I had a breathing space
To attend to other matters on the day’s agenda.
To the downtown post office I walked
Via a less crowded pedestrian lane.
At the post office I took my place in the queue
And waited patiently for my turn to be served.
A man stepped out of his own queue and paced towards me
With eyes fixed at me like a lion to a potential victim.
And the man in question has animal signatures written on
His physiognomy – a cunning face akin to faces from the
Fox Academy, but concealed under priestly demeanour;
A bullish neck and a pugnacious jaw blended with a liberal wide mouth.
Standing in front me, an angle of elevation was formed,
And with a well crafted tone he introduced himself as a member
Of the Sacred Church of Oxygen and informed me how pleased
He would be should I accept his invitation card to attend
The annual convention of his church in a downtown hotel.
I declined his invitation with an excuse and left quickly
After my transaction, with my tail tucked between my legs.
ETERNAL ROMANCE
Clad in a transparent blue garment, the Sky visited
The virgin Earth for the sacrament of matrimony,
But the Earth turned down the overture with a frown
And pleaded to be left alone in her virgin state.
Overwhelmed by fraustrated expectation the Sky withdrew to his
Distant abode to craft a strategy for his future come-back.
On a Friday morning, before the sun rears up its majestic face
From the Oriental flank, the Sky re-visited the Earth to inform
Her that in the natural scheme of things both of them are for each other made.
And the Sky’s honey-coated love poem to the Earth resulted in her
Self surrender and the sacrament of matrimony was sealed with a
Prolonged kiss and hug that lasted for days, and a love treaty of twosome was signed.
And it came to pass during a prolonged caressing and kissing that accompanied
Their honeymoon, the Sky released a love tear which fell upon the body of the
Virgin Earth and impregnated her and she brought forth many offspring and
The virgin earth metamorphosed into Mother Earth.
SATAN
From time immemorial
That is, from the aeons of time
And from century to century
In all cultures and faiths,
Humankind has always defined
Satan as a being that exists outside
The frame of human being.
They call him the prince of hell
Who resides in the epicentre
Of the ever burning fire.
Sometimes, depicted as a being with two horns.
To their opinions, they may hold tight.
But for their concept of satan I beg to differ.
To me, both the Christ and satan inside us they reside.
And through our free will we surrender ourselves to one or the other
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