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SWALE LIFE > POETRY
Ochuko
by
Hannah Edeki
If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory
Anne
Bronte
They
said that England would change you,
turn
you into a white-collar chameleon
Savile
Row suit, Paul Smith shoes and a briefcase
full
of Im too busy, things are hard.
You
would leave us in a moment, stranded,
with
arid
palms, with grains of ochre earth
and
with photographs bearing your perfect face
before
you grew silent - and as always
the
silence would mock us in gossip, in jests,
in
idle heads that turned like periscopes at sea,
where
shafts of
saffron light burnt holes the size
of
pennies into capsized boats and sunken ships.
With
Anglo-Saxon names found on vintage
postcards - almost as if God had heard our cry,
the
rain would fall from its dwelling place
on
Sundays, during mass, to testify of our void
like
fishermen with empty nets.
Somehow
we
would learn to loathe the rare pockets
of
hope, shuffle through life with the odd pause,
to
reflect, release and realise there were some requests
that
God freely bestowed
and
others, like you
Ochuko
God clearly discarded by the wayside.
Poem
"This
Land is not a Land of Terror" by Nnorom Azuonye
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