Jonathan Ukah
—Poetry by Jonathan Ukah, London, England, UK
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
SEPARATION
I can see your tears now,
My everlasting mirror,
Clear from the shores of the blasting sea,
I can see your wet eyes,
Is this the promised end,
When we shall smile,
When we shall hug and kiss each other,
Giggling happily?
Across this raging sea,
We wave with slight agitation,
Waving to see each other again,
Smiling sadly, wearily.
This gulf shall be our bed,
Upon which we lay our head,
Our pillow the tears we shed,
Against our separation.
Do not weep, my love,
We shall sail the blast,
We shall embrace and kiss again,
Laughing deeply, happily.
I can see your tears now,
My everlasting mirror,
Clear from the shores of the blasting sea,
I can see your wet eyes,
Is this the promised end,
When we shall smile,
When we shall hug and kiss each other,
Giggling happily?
Across this raging sea,
We wave with slight agitation,
Waving to see each other again,
Smiling sadly, wearily.
This gulf shall be our bed,
Upon which we lay our head,
Our pillow the tears we shed,
Against our separation.
Do not weep, my love,
We shall sail the blast,
We shall embrace and kiss again,
Laughing deeply, happily.
WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR HAPPINESS?
What happened to our happiness
Which we bought at the price of our freedom,
In those days when birds crawled in the day
Among the hybrids of chickens and snakes,
When our guava trees hung low to the ground
Heavy with bunches of delicious orange fruits
Till they dropped at the stroke of wind and rain.
You came to our house; I visited your mother,
Who taught me that paradise was on her farm
Where the sun sprayed beauty from its shafts.
Ever since I knew I no longer have the strength
To hold down the speed of things with my mind
I have learnt to scratch off this seething rage
That things have run out of our control;
Although my body has moved with the times,
Separating itself from the rigours of the moment,
A desert of life seems to lie in wait for us
Where our happiness erupted like wild lilies.
A brief illness, you say, that will soon heal,
A shattering bloom like a cocktail of bombs.
That was my comfort, dear brother and friend,
This soothing pill against my cracking bones,
Until I saw your face on Instagram and Facebook,
And heard about your Twitter rants a while ago.
My heart sank into its deepest depth of sadness
As you are the last bastion of our generation,
The sage to whip back the hand of the time,
To that glorious age full of laughter and fun;
I, only I am left to moan in the trebled night,
Like Elijah crying against a receding faith.
You promised me things would never change
Between you and me as we fold into age,
Eternity was like a scroll of Hieroglyphics, you said,
Read with wisdom by the aged and the ageless
And that would never fade like the morning sun.
I know I would be haunted by all these things
Which I have refused to accept in all my years,
Preferring to hide under the shade of fear and pain;
Though I watch my skin succumb to dust
I ask myself what has happened to all of us.
What happened to our happiness
Which we bought at the price of our freedom,
In those days when birds crawled in the day
Among the hybrids of chickens and snakes,
When our guava trees hung low to the ground
Heavy with bunches of delicious orange fruits
Till they dropped at the stroke of wind and rain.
You came to our house; I visited your mother,
Who taught me that paradise was on her farm
Where the sun sprayed beauty from its shafts.
Ever since I knew I no longer have the strength
To hold down the speed of things with my mind
I have learnt to scratch off this seething rage
That things have run out of our control;
Although my body has moved with the times,
Separating itself from the rigours of the moment,
A desert of life seems to lie in wait for us
Where our happiness erupted like wild lilies.
A brief illness, you say, that will soon heal,
A shattering bloom like a cocktail of bombs.
That was my comfort, dear brother and friend,
This soothing pill against my cracking bones,
Until I saw your face on Instagram and Facebook,
And heard about your Twitter rants a while ago.
My heart sank into its deepest depth of sadness
As you are the last bastion of our generation,
The sage to whip back the hand of the time,
To that glorious age full of laughter and fun;
I, only I am left to moan in the trebled night,
Like Elijah crying against a receding faith.
You promised me things would never change
Between you and me as we fold into age,
Eternity was like a scroll of Hieroglyphics, you said,
Read with wisdom by the aged and the ageless
And that would never fade like the morning sun.
I know I would be haunted by all these things
Which I have refused to accept in all my years,
Preferring to hide under the shade of fear and pain;
Though I watch my skin succumb to dust
I ask myself what has happened to all of us.
WHAT IF?
What if this is the end of the world,
That this deadly whorl of wasting death
Will no more cease than the dimmed moon
Should pull off its shimmering rays of the sun,
And the light of the day will be withdrawn?
That rains should cease to fall on the ground,
Or the rude, ugly faces of the night unmasked;
See, no man would dare walk this murky road,
Nor be accompanied by his brother or friend,
No dog, no cat and no bird flutter about,
Until the dance of silence flattens the earth.
Beauty had never been so abandoned
To culpa in stillness and to disintegrate,
When time after time its owners fail to return,
Silenced in their youths, muted in their teens.
Mansions crumble at noon; palaces shut at night,
Cities and nations lie in ruins in the morning,
When the floodgates of love are bolted forever,
What if this is the end of the world,
With bloated bodies littering our sinking streets?
Come, my brother, let us change our ways,
Stop our drinking, philandering, gluttony,
Perhaps kiss the earth in deep recompense
For all things our ignorance committed.
Maybe we will escape this blast of death,
Or save the world from dying too young;
We will bring down the Heaven with our tears,
Or tear down the mask of the sky in prayer.
When the Lord peeps to see our agony,
Perhaps He will halt this slaughtering spree.
What if this is the end of the world,
That this deadly whorl of wasting death
Will no more cease than the dimmed moon
Should pull off its shimmering rays of the sun,
And the light of the day will be withdrawn?
That rains should cease to fall on the ground,
Or the rude, ugly faces of the night unmasked;
See, no man would dare walk this murky road,
Nor be accompanied by his brother or friend,
No dog, no cat and no bird flutter about,
Until the dance of silence flattens the earth.
Beauty had never been so abandoned
To culpa in stillness and to disintegrate,
When time after time its owners fail to return,
Silenced in their youths, muted in their teens.
Mansions crumble at noon; palaces shut at night,
Cities and nations lie in ruins in the morning,
When the floodgates of love are bolted forever,
What if this is the end of the world,
With bloated bodies littering our sinking streets?
Come, my brother, let us change our ways,
Stop our drinking, philandering, gluttony,
Perhaps kiss the earth in deep recompense
For all things our ignorance committed.
Maybe we will escape this blast of death,
Or save the world from dying too young;
We will bring down the Heaven with our tears,
Or tear down the mask of the sky in prayer.
When the Lord peeps to see our agony,
Perhaps He will halt this slaughtering spree.
IF YOU MARRY ME
If you marry me I would become poor;
My wealth would not be eroded,
Though your eyes make me ordinary.
If You marry me I would become ugly,
My beauty would not peel away,
Though your eyes render me ordinary;
If You marry me I would become weak,
My strength would not slacken,
Though you dump me in Samson's shade.
Will you love me when I’m poor, ugly and weak,
Crawling on our terrace with my hoary stick,
My ankles cracking up a tumult in your ears?
When I crash on my back on the escalator,
My head reeling with advanced vertigo,
While I die slowly, steadily?
For in truth, my love, I own nothing,
Not even a shred of that sapped rag
Lying careless on our mouldy floor.
If you are strong enough to die of hope,
Or lacerate your heart in search of happiness,
Come, my love, come and marry me.
Heaven knows I try to warn you
Against a measure too treacherous to make
Though what will be will ultimately be.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.
—Robert Frost
_______________________
Another new voice in the Kitchen today, this one also from over the sea! Jonathan Ukah writes: “I am a graduate of English from the University of Nigeria, but a resident of London, UK. One of my poems, ‘Something Else 2’, has appeared on the Pandemic program of Ohio State University, Department of English project, ‘Dwelling During the Pandemic in July 2021.’” Welcome to the Kitchen, Jonathan, and come back soon!
_______________________
—Medusa
If you marry me I would become poor;
My wealth would not be eroded,
Though your eyes make me ordinary.
If You marry me I would become ugly,
My beauty would not peel away,
Though your eyes render me ordinary;
If You marry me I would become weak,
My strength would not slacken,
Though you dump me in Samson's shade.
Will you love me when I’m poor, ugly and weak,
Crawling on our terrace with my hoary stick,
My ankles cracking up a tumult in your ears?
When I crash on my back on the escalator,
My head reeling with advanced vertigo,
While I die slowly, steadily?
For in truth, my love, I own nothing,
Not even a shred of that sapped rag
Lying careless on our mouldy floor.
If you are strong enough to die of hope,
Or lacerate your heart in search of happiness,
Come, my love, come and marry me.
Heaven knows I try to warn you
Against a measure too treacherous to make
Though what will be will ultimately be.
_______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.
—Robert Frost
_______________________
Another new voice in the Kitchen today, this one also from over the sea! Jonathan Ukah writes: “I am a graduate of English from the University of Nigeria, but a resident of London, UK. One of my poems, ‘Something Else 2’, has appeared on the Pandemic program of Ohio State University, Department of English project, ‘Dwelling During the Pandemic in July 2021.’” Welcome to the Kitchen, Jonathan, and come back soon!
_______________________
—Medusa
"...our happiness erupted like water lilies."
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
