BEFORE YOU, mother Idoto,
Naked I stand;
Before your weary presence,
a prodigal
Leaning on an oilbean,
Lost in your legend
Under your power wait I on barefoot
Watchman for the watchword at
Heavensgate;
Out of the depth my cry:
Give ear and hearken…
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.
Even now the forefathers still liveThey are not overcome by the power of the whirlwind.The day that sealed their eyes that did not conquer them.Even the tall boulder that stands over themCasts only a humble shadow over their resting placeThey are the great voice that carries the epics The Ancestors have come to listen to…
Tuvalu, Tuvalu – Our home and friend Our birth place – And end We love you There comes a time when we need to call When the world must come together one and all. To save people dying It’s time to lend a hand And everyone should take a stand We can’t go on pretending…
The Fulani Creation Story At the beginning there was a huge drop of milk.Then Doondari came and he created the stone:Then the stone created iron,And iron created fire,And fire created water,And water created air.Then Doondari descended the second time,And he took the five elementsAnd he shaped them into man.But man was proud:Then Doondari created blindness, and blindness defeated man.But…
People of the City by Cyprian Ekwensi narrates the city life of Amusa Sango who doubles as a crime reporter for West African Sensation and leader of the band music players. He plays at the All Language Club where he thrills the hearts of many women with his music. His stay in the city is…
That there’s no danger, that the word stays intact outside the person, by their side. That there’s no need to confuse one person with another, either one’s a social being – or a brute, the rest will leave the stage, it was a long night devoid of dragonflies and clouds, black – the other person,…
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…
