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THE NECROPOLIS

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CHAPTER TWENTY Mazi Ofodile stretched on his bed and released a loud yawn, then he squinted at the sharp rays of the morning sun that sifted into his room through the numerous tiny holes on the aluminium roofing sheet. He made a mental note to get a carpenter patch those holes before the rains came. He got out of the bed and stretched some more, then shuffled his old bones towards the door. Then he paused. He remembered that he had a funny dream in the night. Yes, a funny dream about a woman who came from Lagos claiming to work for his dead son Nwanna. He allowed himself a shaky smile; the exit of Nwanna was something he was starting to get over, albeit very lately. He shook his head slowly, these dreams were simply a sign of senility. He walked out of the room and into the compound. His grandchildren were sweeping the compound and they stopped to greet him. He acknowledged their greeting with a wave and walked slowly to his obi. His son Ikemdi had made mention of another wife to him
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haircut

A haircut just a haircut? Share Friday, January 23, 2009 at 5:13am | Edit Note | Delete Yesterday, i had a haircut. For those of you out there who know me or have seen me, you understand , don't you? For a long time, i noticed that my mother wasn't particularly happy with my afro hairstyle, not that she was openly hostile to me on the matter or has she even openly told me to cut it(was it because she knew what the answer would be?), but there was a slight nuance on her part in our usually jovial relationship which could be detected by me alone. So yesterday, i calmly walked into"Kutz Kreations"( the only barbing salon on my street that has the repute of leaving limited after-shave rashes) and demanded a hair cut. After the preliminary brush-ups and clipper adjustments, the barber was ready to earn his leaving. It was then that i glanced at the mirror to take one last look at my hair. Never had a hair looked so black, shiny and beautiful. To me at that moment, i was a
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Little Equiano

Little Equiano, boy of discord played trick on teachers at boards set up pins for the master to sit and sprays of sand for the eyes of little boys Little Equiano,a truant was he kept on searching and hunting for bees that he would unleash on the school yard keeper just to watch him run like the clappers Little Equiano got bitten at the hive which almost cost him his life promised mum never to be rude and haughty but came back to school so showy and haughty Little Equiano formed pirates at school and they bullied little boys like bulls but when arithmetic was marked that trimester Equiano and friends couldn't help scoring the dreaded cipher
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Sleep is a harlot

Like a depraved woman of the street she comes at night Though sometimes she may come in the day She cajoles, she beckons Making you abandon your projects To go to bed with her You succumb, you have no will power to overcome her lusty flirtations All night you lie with her responding to her gentle ministrations But come daylight, she's gone leaving you high, dry and looking harried You fret, you fume But she's somewhere regarding you, a smug smile on her lips 'Cos she knows that come tonight You'll crave for her once again
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Eternal trance

Jagged peaks , craters venting volcanic ash Stumps and logs scattered everywhere Representing what had once been magnificent trees Rubbles, both and new Remains of what had once been a civilization Wait a second! Is that a man I see? Yes it is! naked as the day he was born A man sits on the rubble of what He had once called home Cheek in hand,thoughts far away To a place, a time, we can neither see nor tell His disposition, depicting disillusionment and melancholy Hush! Don’t try to disturb him; he’s dead to the world And I’m afraid to say, will remain thus forever
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Birds in a den

I sat down In a valley near a mountain It was sunset, I could hear The chirping of birds returning to their nests To me, the nest was like a lion’s den And I felt I was even a lion But it took me a while Just a little while To discover I was a special bird A bird that lives in a lion’s den A pride, a flock Of distinguished birds Set aside from the rest To be the best
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For Isdore

'i wonder, i ponder i wonder and ponder about this little wonder who dwells yonder who makes my heart thunder and i wonder can this little be true i still ponder'
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