By
Echezonachukwu Nduka
A Day after Your Graduation
i
You smile to dreamland assured that your
clock’s alarm would wake you at dawn.
You rush to class everyday to see your world start with Dr. Anne’s
first marker stroke on the board and a homework that kills your sleep.
You say no to all party calls and make the library
a second home. Those books must bear your burdens; or vice versa.
Someday, you would write yours and have people read your thoughts
and save them in their minds and shelves too…
You detest wine and beers.
Best brains are never preserved in alcohol, you would argue
and take your leave; tucking in your shirts and flying your ego.
You lose weight during exams and giggle at the A’s
that grace your score sheet. You make a first class!
The world must awake and await your arrival.
ii
A day after your graduation,
you would stand before a panel whose countenances
inform you that the world awaits nobody.
The impressive paper that has become your
dream will lose its glamour and like a film,
the world would splash before your eyes; leaving them wet.
A day after your graduation,
you would dress the part to meet a man in suit that soothes his stress.
He would look at your paper, nodding steadily like a lizard.
‘You are quite brilliant and impressive’, he would say while
handing your paper back to you. Afterwards, excuses would
flow like a river and carry you back whence you came.
The next day, you would taste a drink or two,
And perhaps, light a cigarette too.
The shame must go with its smoke.
A day after your graduation,
you would walk twenty miles in your
shoes until the soles are gone with the pride in your hands.
A day after your graduation,
you would walk away, backing the world you once knew
and finding your path to your own new world.
Louisa-Louisa
When my pen gathered dust
And blank pages mocked my desk-
You sang a song that pleased my muse.
Louisa-Louisa
Bring with you your guitar and poems
Here sits a bard with tender emotions
Turning pages of torn memories
That made his muse a god on exile.
Your song is medicine for the gods.
Louisa-Louisa
Carry with you that portrait of forests
Where quotes are written on leaves and shrubs
Pointing in the direction of lone pathways
Where lights are hung on the pathway towers.
Your painting is the road to bliss.
Louisa-Louisa
Bring with you the book of stories
Where dead folks speak of signs and sufferings
That blinds the eyes of visionary men
Who lose their wit to magicians’ charms.
Your stories are conquered crusades.
Louisa-Louisa
Tap those rhythms that make you dance
And bring with you your dancing shoes
There’s one more dance left in my room
Where rhythms are hidden in my drums’ skin.
Your steps are made in Panama.
Louisa-Louisa
Is there a new art hiding on your hairs?
Take my quests with you, O Louisa.
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