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Onyeka George Nwelue


Lagos, Nigeria

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Midnight Songs


Onyeka George Nwelue

The song that thralls the night
with stings and courage, flows
over my thought with moan and rumbles.

I sat to listen to the sonorous voices
of the midnight children
ravish the air with their unnameable songs

singing from ‘tin-ni-ni-ta-na-na’
to ‘biko-Obi-lota-‘, making me look more awry
as the birds glide above the skies.

They sing these songs with one light-voice
crippling my legs with a bounteous dance
‘Ah!’ I wanted to dance, but this could be the song
of the evil children, I mean the midnight ones-

Are they singing to return again and again?
‘I want them to know that their devilments have come to a finis’
They are still singing:

‘Tin-ni-ni-ta-na-na, biko Obi lota’

aha! The Obi could be with that deserted woman
in the gutters of shame? Ah! Thrice, Obi came
and thickly, he went in bold-three.

I grossly weep for the hut in which
he has been returning to, and unmistakably wish that he
comes there no more.

Ah! Their songs still the night and make the morning
birds glide into the tunnels of death
under the straits of an undeniable sources of death-row
they sing away the beauties of motherhood-

Of Flowers and Lovers


Onyeka George Nwelue

I stand watching her from the balcony as she strolls down the garden
with a basket of flowers for planting
shaking her bottom like the quavering wills of a lily
her legs look pale and sweet and bloom of an ivory
the green grasses smoothen her slippers with the dews
and she walks like a Lily of the Night

I run down to abase her and feel her talc smells of a perfume
and she bursts into a hysterical laughter: what is this?
I ask myself and start to ponder what my presence could have caused
I look into her eyes and found the deep traits of love
and mumble deeply to grab them

she backs away and laughs at me uproariously
I become shy as she stretches her hands towards me and I fall in
I feel the depth of a sutured river, ravening beyond the treasures
of my inevitable cascades and the beauties of a woman
who eggs my heart and I continue to whisper

things into her ears, as our lips come together
I feel I am in heaven; feel I am touching the skies;
feel I am clubbing Mama’s breasts to suck them
and feel like an Angel is whispering things into mine ears

as my tongue gets into her mouth, down to her throat
she swallows it and we fall, fall into the basket
and the flowers rumple: what is love?
I ask my innermost recess and there is no answer

She pushes me away, and says: funny boy
as she stands and walks away with the basket,
shaking her bottom again and again and I watch
as my trouser rises, with that between my legs rising like a whale