The Last Epistle Of Saro-Wiwa - Poems by Karo Umukoro
- By Karo Umukoro
- Published June 11, 2005
- Poems
- Unrated
Karo Umukoro
My father is a published poet and once a member of ANA, Kaduna chapter. Also my eldest brother, Mr. Samuel Umukoro, is an author and a journalist for the Vanguard. Last year, he published his first book (a compilation of short stories) entitled, Once upon a Monday. My infant steps begun in a small town known as Kawo, in Kaduna State, Nigeria. I grew up with the cows and fulanis. Wherein I was enchanted by the undefiled beauty of nature: beholding the green green graze, ears of legume dancing in the wind and gazing at the sun sailing on the bosom of River Kaduna every noon, also the small hills that crouched around. When I was barely eight years old, I was stolen from my love. Because my father had to move over to buzzing Lagos state, to better his lot. I saw Lagos as a dame whose maiden beauty has wilted. My romance with poetry started when I left high school. Though while in high school, I offered literature, but the yearning to write grew in my heart when I finished. And the Bible is my greatest source of inspiration, from it I learn to appreciate poetry and literature as a whole. Because I saw that even the Bible contains the three forms of literature: poetry, prose and drama. Currently, I work as an elementary Maths/English coach. Lastly, my soul's sole dream, is to weave a unique style into the poetic art, perhaps step into the wide sandals of Professor Wole Soyinka, Niyi Osundare and the host of others.
View all Entries by Karo UmukoroSTILL VOICE IN THE NIGHT
If tonight is I lie
The cow-hide drums in my heart
stops beating in tune with the rhythms of life,
And the pulse of my wrists
stops rhyming in harmony with the ticks of time,
and the rivers swimming in the pipes of my veins
dry up as the lake in the arid desert,
and the lids of my eyes close tight
as the flower's petals at twilight,
and the sweet voices of my family
voiceless and still as a cemetery,
and the night's zephyr only pipes the voices
of my ancestors who bid me come
from the white cloud to my weak ears,
Then the inner eyes of my imaginations
turn blurry and dark as fog,
Suddenly, my mortal clay grows cold
and stony to stir...
Leaving death's chest to rest on me
Where shall I go from there?
NAKED
Naked
As the celestial spirits gliding round the Ethiopian moon,
Naked
As the fire goddess shining from the Egyptian sun,
Naked
As the thunder god crying in the Nigerian sky,
Naked
As the royal mummies entombed in the ancient pyramids,
Naked
As the ashen zephyr of the driest harmattan,
Naked
As the forgotten martyrs of the Zulu dynasty,
Naked
As the barren cisterns of the
Naked
As the infertile earth of the
Naked
As the labyrinth of
Naked
Is the child of mother
Inspired by:
...the destitute state, the lack of assurance, comfort and certainties the African child experiences day to day.
BEYOND YOUR PERSPECTIVE
Someday like vapour, the sun would rise
out of the endless sea of night's skies
and shine like golden orbs again
to dissolve the gripping gloomy pain
that makes your heart cold as ice...