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 UmukoroTHE LAST EPISTLE OF SARO-WIWA
I've ridden the two-wheeled chariot of time
round the tortuous face of messily meshed earth,
I've swam through the endless depths
of the seventeen green seas of life's strife,
I've flown on the weak wings of humanity
across the enshrouded carmine skies of mortality.
Now I sail in whitewashed clouds as fluffy
as cottons in the ethereal skies of immortality
to the eternal cosy bosom of paradise.
Nevertheless, I remember you Ogoni, a million times
you forever remain my birth, origin and pride,
See how sweet green memories stream through my soul
like the therapeutic rhythms and melodies of music
showering solace to the broken depths of my heart!
…as I remember the divine morn I was born
the world shone bright like the moon's cosmic lights,
I remember how the sun in her virgin beauty
arises to kiss your glorious shores every dawn,
I remember that you, my mother nurtured me
with the milk of your supple breasts through infancy,
I remember your youthful mahogany maidens
who blossomed before enchanted eyes like Cana-lilies
and are swaddled in the luscious radiance of a goddess,
I remember your valiant men who grew wild
in virility and heart like ferocious lions
and stood unflinching against the pangs of tyranny
like the mammoth mountains of Jos,
I remember squatting under the shade of moonlight
listening to ageless folklores of my ancestral myths
as my ancestors eyes twinkled in the twilight skies
urging me never to allow my ancient cradle break,
I remember that day I bathed in the quiet depths
of your silver River Niger, feeling her nakedness
with the creamy-skinned mermaids floating beside me-
when noon's sun stood on golden hills to dance.
I remember the evergreen fertility of your rich soil
wherein swim an endless sea of pure dark oil
which caught the lustful eyes of egregious exploiters.
Nay! For the cause to shield you from cruelty
and injustice, I shed my blood with eight others
who gallantly wore the weighty armour of truth
and despised the demented dictate of our anarchical khaki lords!
Alas! What a pity, men have allowed coal clouds
of foul greed to engulf the blazing sun of justice.
How I remember that November misty night
which was laden with brimming mysteries of the unknown
when my fluttering candlelight finally died down
after those barbaric and undemocratic tribunals decreed obnoxiously.
...also I remember the screaming tears and grief
that raucously racked my woman's and blood's souls
when I kissed them a sorrowful goodbye
and pleaded with them in anguish not to cry.
Now I go to wine and dine with my ancestors
but I forget you not my fragile ancient cradle,
for in the destitute of tomorrow's certainties
you rocked me with motherly comfort and assurance.
Mother Ogoni, accept the libations of homage
I pour herein in obeisance and remembrance of you.
Though my mortal clay's turned ashes, my spirit lives
as my dreams of seeing you liberated from economic shackles!
This poem was written to the heart-breaking memories of Ken Saro-Wiwa and those who died in the fight against the horrors of the military regime.
