We have come to the cross roads
And I must either leave or come with you.
I lingered over the choice
But in the darkness of my doubts
You lifted the lamp of love
And I saw in your face
The road that I should take.
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.
Oh when will autumn moon and spring flowers end?How many past events I’ve known.The east wind buffeted my room again last night,I cannot bear to remember the bright moon of the old country.The marble steps and carved balustrades must still be there,The people’s rosy cheeks are all that’s changed.How much sorrow can one man have…
New Year’s greetings with a plum branch in hand the sky draws near such a bright sunrise New Year’s Day New Year’s Day has come — quiet streets The year begins on New Year’s day our life is Now the stars vanished and then — five-colored New Year’s mist
The wind howls, the trees sway,The loose house tops sheets clatter and clang,The open window shuts with a bang,And the sky makes night of day Helter-skelter the parents runPressed with a thousand minor cares,‘Hey you there! Pack the household waresAnd where on earth’s my son?’ Home skip the little children.‘Where have you been you naughty…
Background of the poet Oswald Mbuyiseni Mtshali, (born 1940, Vryheid, Natal, South Africa), South African poet who wrote in English and Zulu and whose work drew deeply upon the immediate experience of life in the Johannesburg township of Soweto. Mtshali worked as a messenger before his first collection of poems, Sounds of a Cowhide Drum (1971), won the Olive…
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 starved eye devours the seascape for the morsel Of a sail. The horizon threads it infinitely. Action breeds frenzy. I lie, Sailing the ribbed shadow of a palm, Afraid lest my own footprint multiply. Blowing sand thin as smoke, Bored shifts its dunes. The surf tires of its castles like a child. The salt…
