POETRY IS A WOMAN

Posted in poems with tags , , , , on January 8, 2016 by Charles Bernard

blackdancers

One of those lonely nights
When warm arms is greatly desired
The cold so harsh my skin cracks
In desperation I took to poetry
To ease my every pain
Nothing formed in my imagination
So I drifted off into an illusion
Soon my pen hit the floor
Around some dark corner
A guitar stood against the wall
Sorrowfully I pulled at the strings
Melody in harmony with my soul
Around me I saw beautiful maidens
Slowly we sang my song
Tears filled their eyes
In their sorrow I captured my pain
In their eyes my being reflected
No words could describe
The perfect picture painted
Here was poetry written in a maze
I was dazed by the warmth
Conjugal bliss without a touch
Enchanted by the magic of the moment
An aura of woman hood
I drifted back with a smile on me
A blank sheet staring back

Nigeria: when will the shameful image of the police force change?

Posted in Articles, random with tags , , , , , , on January 7, 2016 by Charles Bernard

newcityhubWelcome to Nigeria where the police harass indiscriminately the very people they were paid to protect. It is so common an occurrence that most people try to avoid any confrontation with these force men even when necessary for crime to be averted. The profession of police in this end has become a money hunting venture where every crime including no crime has a price once the police apprehend you.

If you happen to report a case to the police station you will be charged a fee before action is taken regarding your case, you pay according to the weight of your case.

If your vehicle is stopped on the road and one of your document is missing “that is when they decide to check” you pay according to your status. If by chance every paper is intact still the smiling cop won’t relent till you part with a small bill. Numerous cases of bus drivers shot because they refused to part with as little as 20 naira has been swept under the carpet. Such action is even viewed upon as norm in our country and the families are left to bear the blunt.

The primary objectives of the police in this country has at no time received adequate attention from the men in uniform, in fact there were many cases of police aided crimes during the era of high way robbery. Thank God for the improved banking systems and transportation so that traders no longer have to travel with huge sums under risky conditions.

The several efforts of past administrations to reform the Nigeria police have woefully failed as our police has remained the same crime infested organization. So long as the thousands of little check points remain around every nook and cranny of this country harassing free moving citizens, exhorting them this shameful image of the police will remain.

N.B. we must not the fail to commend the efforts of few police men who have served the nation diligently. Men who have sacrificed their life so that the law could be upheld and human life protected, it is people like them that give us hope for a better police force in the future.

The policemen and the bus driver

Posted in poems with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2016 by Charles Bernard

They live on this particular street Just further down after a junction One big family of boggling belle men Clothed in black and strapped with rusty guns Here they make separate laws Every passerby must pay tax Through same route the bus driver Ply his trade, seeking daily bread With his bundle of painted metals That threaten to always fall apart With all his might and strength, he hustles Struggling all the way to make ends meet Each time the bus driver passes, he pays Without checking papers and luggage The men in black wave him on Happy and contented with their loot The driver mumbles as he drives away Wondering what he had paid for? Over the years, the looting became a norm Norm the men in black took serious Come what may (Condemnations and counter laws) They fend off the other man’s meager income Yet leave him at the mercy of real criminals A duty, duly paid for. . One day the bus driver had nothing to give He begged and begged, but the other men refused Hardhearted and in-movable they stood Angry, the bus driver turned on his ignition Angry the men in black cocked their rusty guns He shifted gears, they pulled their triggers

They live on this particular street
Just further down after a junction
One big family of boggling belle men
Clothed in black and strapped with rusty guns
Here they make separate laws
Every passerby must pay tax

Through same route the bus driver
Ply his trade, seeking daily bread
With his bundle of painted metals
That threaten to always fall apart
With all his might and strength, he hustles
Struggling all the way to make ends meet

Each time the bus driver passes, he pays
Without checking papers and luggage
The men in black wave him on
Happy and contented with their loot
The driver mumbles as he drives away
Wondering what he had paid for?

Over the years, the looting became a norm
Norm the men in black took serious
Come what may (Condemnations and counter laws)
They fend off the other man’s meager income
Yet leave him at the mercy of real criminals
A duty, duly paid for. .

One day the bus driver had nothing to give
He begged and begged, but the other men refused
Hardhearted and in-movable they stood
Angry, the bus driver turned on his ignition
Angry the men in black cocked their rusty guns
He shifted gears, they pulled their triggers

Little Kid

Posted in poems with tags on November 13, 2015 by Charles Bernard

images

Dear little kid,
What are your thoughts?
I see you roll around
Those eyes, impatiently

With awe and Wonder
You observe funny adults
Admiring and envying
Their seemly carefree world

But time will pass soon
All your funny wishes
Will come like rain in August
Then you will be drenched

It will keep raining

Heavy showers after another
Till you are drown
Or the rainbow see

Down the Aisle

Posted in poems with tags on November 12, 2015 by Charles Bernard

stock-footage-happy-family-with-the-child-in-mother-s-arms-on-sea-coast-silhouettes-sunset

Let’s walk this path

With love and hope

With honesty and dreams

Forever united together

 

Years would pass by

The world would change us

Difficulties would bend us

I hope we won’t snap

 

Every new day

I open my eyes

And before I sleep

To behold your face

 

Together we will sing

Life’s sweet bitter songs

Side by side as friends

Withering every storm

TRAPPED III

Posted in Trapped ( drafts of my novel ) with tags on November 12, 2015 by Charles Bernard

TRAPPED II

The night Arch. B.M Okorie died, in his house two women sat with his wife. They were in her bedroom consoling her.
Mama Chinyere her closest friend and Adure, her husband’s brother wife had remained behind after others had said their sorry and gone back to their homes.
Adanne watched her mother with helpless eyes; she looked like a shadow of her former self. Her scarf was hanging loosely around her neck while her braided hair was scattered around her shoulder. Even though her mother no longer wept the sound of her wails still echoed in her mind and head.
When she went to hug her mother good night Adanne smelt the scent of her mother’s deodorant which she had used earlier that morning. It occurred her mother had not had a bath since they arrived from the hospital.
She and her siblings were ordered by their mother to wash themselves clean when they had arrived from the hospital. But mother had not been strong enough to do same.
“Would she have to shave her head like her great aunty whose husband died a year ago” Adanne began to wonder, she begin to imagine her mother bald and her stomach turned making a sound only her seem to have noticed.
As they broke embrace and Adanne was about to leave, her mother started lamenting again with a more sorrowful voice this time. “They sent us home without my husband, is there a home without a husband?” She asked no one in particular lifting her both hands to the air. Earlier she had insisted on staying at the hospital with her husband or let them allow her take the corpse. The commander had told her to go home as the necessary arrangements would be made soon. “How will I cope without my husband (she said in a coarse voice so scratched from wailing) I am finished o! I am finished!” She kept saying throwing both hands on her head now.
“Nne go and sleep” Mama Chinyere said to Adanne motioning her to the door. When Adanne closed the door behind her she didn’t walk to her room immediately. She leaned on the door and listened to the sound of her mother choking back tears.
“Why are you wailing like a hopeless person eh?” Mama Chinyere said in tone Adanne thought was too harsh. “See your children Obidiya, If you grief yourself to death who will take care of them? Even I your friend can’t because I have my own children to look after.”
Obidiya was Adanne’s mother nick name that her close friends and family called her. It was a significance of the love she shared with her husband.
In the past, the name which meant “her husband’s heart” lifted her spirit but today she felt a sharp pang of pain at the mention.
“You have your husband to hold you every night, where is mine?” She intercepted mama Chinyere.
“Anywhere yours is he won’t want you to leave these children alone; he would want you to take very good care of them.” Her friend replied her. “What has happened have happened my husband’s wife” Adure added.
As Adanne walked back to her room she stopped by her brothers’ door contemplating whether to go in or not. The staunch darkness she met when she opened the door slightly screamed off zone.
She wondered whether they were sleeping or awake, she wanted to call out to her twin brother but let it alone.
Heavy with her own grief Adanne walked towards her room.
She literally crashed into her bed lifting herself a few inches high before landing on the soft mattress with a “thud” sound. She placed her face between her palms feeling the tiny drops of sweat that had gathered on her forehead.
Closing her eyes she tried to recollect the day’s event, from the moment her sleep was cut short by the align sound of a bomb that tore the church by the junction into half and later her computer lesson abruptly stopped by the same monstrous sound that claimed her father’s life.
She couldn’t just make out a dead image of him, images of him while he was alive kept appearing on her mind. Plenty bubbling images of him, his wide smiles lightening the images, he was telling them jokes after the family’s Sunday lunch.
Mostly they were about his childhood days back in the village. Only she, her mother and Alex were conversant with places he talked about because each of them had spent some little time in the village.
The youngest in the family was left to his imaginations as the rest of the family roared to laughter at the end of each joke. There would be no more jokes after lunch on Sundays and perhaps laughter too.
A knock on the door startled her and brought her back to reality. ‘Nne would you like to have something for dinner” her mother’s best friend Mama Chieyere asked without opening the door.
“No Ma” Adanne managed to say feeling the sharps pangs of hunger pulling at her intestines. She ignored the pains with a determined bitterness.
She had no right to feel hungry let alone eat tonight. How can she eat at the same table she had shared with her father this morning? Thinking about it broke her heart once more and hot tears started to run again freely down her cheeks.
Only if she had a chance to re-live today, her father won’t have to die.
They would leave for the village before sunrise. For it was in the village they felt safest from all the problems of the world.
No fear of bomb blasts or flying bullets. Nor fear of their Muslim neighbors. Laden with grief she let her mind wander as she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning there was no movement as twenty four “24” hour curfew was imposed upon the city.
Adanne’s mother fruitlessly, begged the commander in charge to let her have her husband’s corpse for burial. She wanted him to enjoy eternal peace not lay around in some morgue.
“The government will take care of it in a couple of day, Mrs. Okorie” he replied adamantly over the phone.
“I don’t want the government and media feasting upon my family’s misfortune.” She had fiercely replied.
“I am sorry but it is a direct order from his Excellency.” He replied before hanging up.
Adanne was beside her all the time.
Her Mother’s phone rang continuously that day, so many friends and relatives called from all over the world.
Once after an unexpected call she exclaimed to Adanne “I don’t know how this news spread so fast overnight?”
Beyond the walls of their house it was so quiet as though nobody lived several miles away.
Only occasionally did they hear a car pass by “it must be the patrol team of police or soldiers.” Alex will say.
They all sat under the orange tree in the small compound. The only tree in the compound, of the three their father had planted only this one had survived.
Late in the evening after the sun had gone down and the melodious voice of the imam was heard. He called out to Muslim faithful with his sonorous voice to come and worship Allah.
After the prayers which Ada knew by following the chants over the speaker, when they were younger she had recited them with Alex till they knew every word but not what it meant.
Halima, one of her class mates and close friends called her on the phone.
“I am sorry about your Dad dear” She said after they had said their hellos. Adanne’s voice was faint when she answered.
“Thank you”
She could hear her friend choke as she struggled with tears.
“I hope you are going to be alright and your mother she is holding on fine dear?” Halima said in low voice after a moment of silence.
Adanne couldn’t tell her friend how her mother had wailed even though she wanted to, the very thought of talking about it depressed her.
She could hear Halima sobbing quietly but more audible over the phone, lost for words they said bye to each other and hung up.
From her bedside stool she took a framed picture of her and Halima. She ran her fingers over their young smiling faces.
It was same one they took in Obudu cattle ranch during Halima’s birthday holiday trip. She started to miss the company of her friend who was soon leaving to India to continue her studies.
Feeling the emptiness of her world tears began to stream down Adanne’s cheeks once more. She buried her face in the pillow and wept some more.
To be continued…..

‪#‎Greendiarynotes‬

DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES

Posted in random with tags , , , , , on October 31, 2015 by Charles Bernard

6166895857_3418444bfc_b

I know these streets well
Every route running through
Ones with stinking refuse
Those adorned with flowers
Where the crooks hide
Where men rabble about God

I have seen the struggles
The fight to survive
The many shades of failure
Tiny glimpses of success
Hope of many dead men
Their dreams buried with them

I know the painful scourge
The sensation of the sun
Burning the neck
The sweat soaking the shirts
The smell that followed
The beggar beneath it all

I am neither here or there
I am a man in motion
Caught between dreams and nightmares
Living my everyday
Between both extremes
I am too tough to snap

I have seen miracles
I have witnessed karma
I have heard prophesies
Also I have seen,
Nightmares become dreams
And dreams become reality

%d bloggers like this: