Toga of the Bold (Poetry)

Maiden Image2

Toga of the Bold 

By Veronica Nkwocha

Today,
I am wearing the toga of the bold
The beautiful and the sassy
I am vibrant,
I am feisty
And I am unbreakable.
Where is the wind to make me turn my gaze?
Where is the hate that will make me hide in shame?
Where are you O brass to tame my shine?
For I am gold,
Pure and invaluable;
I am a gem of intricate proportions
Fashioned after my maker
In the similitude of a palace

The Tides of Time (Poetry)

This poem was written by my brother when he was seventeen, reproduced here with his permission.

The Tides of Time

By Joseph Anuga

The tides of time
Has washed past me
And your absence is all I have

The tides of time
Has washed past me
And your presence is still at large

The tides of time has done its job
And all things around
Have changed a lot

The tides of time
Has lost its battle
To tear from my heart
Your undying frame

The tides of time
Shall soon be settled
And my mental torture
Caused by your absence
Shall come to an end

For the tides of time
Shall bring you to me
Clench us together
And we shall never part again

Iyeji and Ikinabo (An Adaptation of an old Idoma Folk Tale)

Tortoise

Iyeji and Ikinabo (An Adaptation)

By Veronica Nkwocha

 

“Grandpa, Grandpa, tell us a story! Tell us a story please?” the chirpy group of children yelled out all at once.

Grandpa Ediga was tired but it was a cool evening and the gentle breeze grazed against his moustache tickling him into a genial mood. He was curved against his Ukonobo, the curved elongated chair made out of polished dark wood old men relaxed in. He toyed with the chewing stick almost permanently attached to his mouth; he only removed it when he was talking or eating. He smiled beckoning the happy group and a few of them called out to the others who were not around. Then they sat in a neat half circle at his feet on mats spread out, the older ones cradled the toddlers who were being lulled to sleep after the evening meal. The full moon sat high up the sky lending some light to the otherwise dark village, candles and lanterns dotting the area, their pale tongues flickering here and there. The evening meal was over and the compound was nice and tidy in readiness for another day. Older women lay sated on mats here and there tired from carrying out the day’s chores and content at having some time to themselves.

Grandpa began the story as he always had and they all listened intently.

“Once Upon a Time, a very long time ago, Iyeji, the hare and Ikinabo, the tortoise were on one of their many fabled long journeys once again. Ikinabo had been promised a feast like never before in the village of his in-laws; mountainous white and fluffy pounded yam, Ohupi garnished with delicious spicy abahi and chunks of the goat meat fattened on the choicest and freshest grass. The never ending flow of fresh palm wine was a given and Iyeji massaged (more…)

Ribbons of Hope

Ribbons of Hope 

By Veronica Nkwocha

Listening to Zahara’s Loliwe inspired this post. I love her sound and its distinct South African vibe.

Welcome to the 21st Century, she teased me. My friend, much younger than me but one with whom I shared lots of laughter and affection. It was 2008 and she was shocked I was only just joining Facebook. After our fits of laughter, I spent inordinate amounts of time tracking old friends, some I had last seen at University in the early 90s. There were joyful reunions and happy tears, finding new wrinkles, bald patches and widening waistlines from having babies or may be eating a bit too much!

I typed a friend’s name and because it was quite common in South Africa, I couldn’t tell which of the many search results was him until I typed same against our university and it returned a tribute page to him; he had passed away in the years we had lost touch. I thought to myself how sometimes, life doesn’t give one any more chances, no chance (more…)