Tochukwu Ezebube is a passionate poet and founder of Poem Collections. With a deep love for African verse and a commitment to sharing diverse poetic voices, Tochukwu curates a rich tapestry of poems that celebrate the beauty of words from Africa and around the world. Join him on this poetic journey at Poem Collections, where the magic of language unfolds.
Surprising how feelings depend on blood pressure. Electricity in my body prevents me from staying put. And, still, I force myself not to move. Fingers are nervously running across the keyboard. Then the uneven verses turn into day dreams. Your text messages follow me in my steps. I do not wish to keep silent, but…
The mirror hanging on the wall, where I sometimes see myself in passing… is a dead pond brought into the house. Corpse of a pond is the mirror: Still, rigid water containing in itself remnants of color, remembrances of the sun, of shadow—movable edges of the horizon burning, passing by in circles, returning, never burning…
I doubt these just words To bring you a smile as I’d like To see your face wreathed with a smile On such a special day in your life, Though I have tried to adorn them With love, but hopefully I do. Having someone as nice as you, Is close to impossible, I must tell…
I GIVE YOU THANKS MY GODI give you thanks my God for having created me blackFor having made of meThe total of all sorrows,and set upon my head5 the World.I wear the livery of the CentaurAnd I carry the World since the first morning. White is a colour improvised for an occasionBlack, the colour of…
Coming and going these several seasons, Do stay out on the baobab tree, Follow where you please your kindred spirits If indoors it is not enough for you. True, it leaks through the thatch When floods brim the banks, And the bats and the owls Often tear in at night through the eaves, And at…
I approach, and I withdraw:who but I could findabsence in the eyes,presence in what’s far? From the scorn of Phyllis,now, alas, I must depart.One is indeed unhappywho misses even scorn! So caring is my lovethat my present distressminds hard-heartedness lessthan the thought of its loss. Leaving, I lose morethan what is merely mine:in Phyllis, never…
