Godwin Inyang's Blog

D ecember draws the year to a close. E veryone's ears seem to stand on tiptoes C hecking the airwaves for awesome news. E ngaging in blows or forging truce M ainly because of clothes and food would B e partners in every neighbourhood. E nvy and strife would turn harlot R oaming homes and shops to bite a lot.

N ow, like jest the year draws to a close. O ne might just wonder if all along you doze. V exation might eat you up if in your task E very now and then you’ve failed or you’d just bask M ightily if in it you do excel. B ut should we place our worth in the one-year scale? E mphasize being and doing your best daily; R ace always with a winning mentality.

O odles of dreams, hopes and despair C ertainly litter every calendar. T he paramount thing is don't fear O r relent to perform better. B eing bold is the best way to go; E nthusiasm you must borrow; R esolve contentment too to know.

S o the ‘ember’ months so soon are back? E veryone everywhere seems to remember P romises made – are they on or off track? T o those whose goals have been realized, E xcitement beckons as they ride M agnificently the tail end of the year B ut for those not sure, they’re gripped with fear. E nter the last phase with great caution; R ace to win but within regulation.

  A ll your great dreams – have they come to fruition? U nclear still is the path of your vision? G rab your thinking cap (it’s not late) and re-dream. U nless you move, you’d get stuck and without a beam. S earch hard to see what you could haul in with your net. T ake time to explore, exploit and update.

J ust keep praying and working to be the best; U tilize all chances more in you to invest; L essen frivolities that'd steal from your nest; Y our hard work and prudence dictate your harvest.

Before the arrival of The Cross and Crescent, Bards want to ram down My throat, we all were saints. But I'm seeing something Across my hedge: The lizards and chickens Who haven't read a letter In any of the tomes, Filled with incredible rage Jumping around to scratch Their eyes out; bitter And whipping to skin One another. Honestly, bards, I'm lost in ponder. Did the strangers Brainwashed them too? Would we for once learn To grapple with what's true? Just like the cock hungry For a harem, our greed Is what is killing us; The rotten and bitter seed Long ago sowed to grab The spoils of power Has fructified and hence This brutal hours; Those we armed with All the tribal lies Having tasted the lusciousness Of stolen goods now disguise As feudal zealots To elevate their tribe And we come here and recite A face-saving hype? Chickens chase lizards, Lizards chase insects - Even the insects have

Some think life should be lived on the fast lane: Racing cars, disco light, fast food and jet plane; Some think living is best in the countryside: In the flora and fauna they find their pride. Well, you make living an art with what suits you; A great art it is if the fallout none would rue.

If you miss God’s kingdom you’d cry; Try and skip Satan’s every lie. The true Messiah is the Christ; He came and died for you and I. Miss the New Heaven and Earth and cry; To every evil learn to say goodbye. Entry to paradise is your right; Miss it and land in hellish death and fry. POSTSCRIPT: If you worship that great car you ride on a tour, I salute ingenious humans who created it; And you turn to fetish nature for Materials sourced, I bless the God who created these.  

J olly well learn to rest and work at same time; U nclutter (or declutter) your life’s page and nicely punctuate it. N ever lose sight of your goal as anything else is a crime; E ndeavour, notwithstanding the hiccups, a great end to hit.

Choose to be shiny as a star And not grimy than the tar; Choose to stay sweeter than sugar And not bitter than vinegar. Choose NOT to tie your neck with the noose As your life you would stupidly lose.

Writing is like the sneeze; The condition is hard to freeze; You can only find release After episodes of the long hiss.

With the rains setting in, long-distance farming became a gamble. Eka Atim had a not-too-cheering outcome today. The sun dimmed, trees reeled and the wind whooshed through leaves. Across the sky, sturdier birds glided leisurely. The women called one another, carried their loads and hurried along the tracks to the village. Sad though Eka Atim was, a thrill ran through her body as she met a Jeep parked at the front of their mud-walled, iron-roofed house. She thought it could be Godsend. Ete Atim, her husband, was hesitant about educating their teenage daughter. He'd said educating girls was a sheer waste as they would end up as other men's possession or come home with unwanted pregnancies. He reserved his finances for his four sons. Though Eka Atim had great dreams for her only daughter, poverty worked against her. But she'd kept praying for that benevolent woman, who had been coming to pick children to train in the city, to find her way to her doorstep soon.

Tailor had owed until he was no longer creditworthy. Mama Pam’s conviviality had faded to a grimace and brief greeting – the only polite way she could hint payment for things bought on credit for weeks was long overdue. He understood, then curtailed his visits to the kiosk. Tailor suppressed the urge for a cigarette since morning but gradually the feeling was intensifying. He had jobs that were waiting to be collected, some of which had stayed with him for a year. If such money was forthcoming, then he could cross his name out of Mama Pam’s blacklist. Tailor wished too he had succeeded in keeping the resolution he’d made earlier in the year. But he felt restless not smoking for two weeks. Then he’d strolled to the kiosk, lit a cigarette, drew on it; and the madness had vanished. Tailor realized breaking a habit is like swimming upstream; not long you’d get tired and be swept away by the current. It’s better; he thought ruefully, you don’t get hooked to anything in the first plac

M ay we rest a bit and pray for decent rain A ll the seeds we’d sown to water and make them grow Y ielding in due time dividends to our greatest gain.

A ll around me, crops and trees richly bear fruits: P ears, corn, papayas, avocados and mangoes; R ain has returned to help water their roots; I n the farms, people work the ground with their hoes. L et’s learn from them – still time our dream seeds to sow.

  M arching gradually deep into the New Year: A ll resolutions kept or have you broken some? R ealign yourself if so but if a beam you wear C ause the right boot isn't on wrong foot worn - H old on tight and see your game this year is won.

I was ready to paint A sombre sky with rainbow But she spirited the brush away; I was ready to wet The drought-stricken land with rain But she steered the clouds off; I was ready to light The night with the moon But she blanketed it with her gloom. Beautiful bud, I'd waited this long for you To unfurl so I'd feast my eyes On your radiant petals And my nostrils on your scent But I just didn't know Flowers too have venom and fangs.

F all in, let us steer round to some robust economics: E very goal achieved has opportunity cost; B uilding empire means you'd take some dire risks; R ounding up time for something means time for others is lost. U nless you stop gallivanting, time would be scant; A dd discipline to yourself and every dream you'd realize; R aise the bar - shun things that to your goals aren't at a slant - Y eah, grabbing goals means to reckless fun you'd shut your eyes.

Whose majesty are the hefty trees Bowing to? No other but you, o wind! Elephant of space, You lift huge trees and throw them around Like seeds in a farmer’s palm. Jackhammer of God, You hit rocks and they tumble down. But when you come rummaging the jungle, Do not wreck our tent. Ah, we would be exposed, we’d be wet; Our treasure, mkpa uyo *, would be ruined! As for the bush-mango trees, Shake them like mother would shake a rag To get cockroaches out;   Shake them with your hefty arm, Shake them as if with a charm And do not let a fruit left on them For we’ve come miles upon miles, Abandoning the comforts of our homes For the harsh realities of a tent In the heart of the jungle Just for the treasure Buried in the bush mango’s core.   * MKPA UYO is bush-mango kernels extracted and cooked as delicacy in most parts of Nigeria. (The poem is taken from the collection, 'COLOURS OF LIFE, LOVE AND FAITH' which is available here

J ust hang on till your dream does click. A ttack it with all your mind and might. N urture it with passion and care U ntil it hatches into reality's chick. A ccept failure but change not the dream you bear; R esolve to carry your very dream to light. Y ou surely success' lollipop would lick.

Writer’s block (as defined by the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary) is ‘a problem that writers sometimes have when they cannot think of what to write and have no new ideas.’ A firm that had been producing goods for public consumption which brought income to maintain the factory and pay the employees is not doing that anymore because of lack of raw materials. It’s either management would desperately look for where to get these resources so production would continue to keep the firm afloat or there is an imminent threat of a shutdown and that means the employees and management might lose their jobs. A writer running out of ideas is like an industry going bankrupt and panic would grip most workers’ minds. But panicking isn’t the solution to smashing, I mean, curing a writer’s block. Like the industry, a writer must do his or her best to get the raw materials (new ideas and experiences) that would imbue him or her with zest to keep writing. I’d say that writer’s block does not

  001 Well, you know me, I'm a fabulous guy; From a young age, I like to play with my books Ignoring the girls though I wasn't that shy; Loved chasing birds and baiting fish with hooks. With my mates, we were fond of stoning fruits; Raced through the bush, tripping on stems and roots; We'd penetrate deep and start to make the hoots Just to see we go back safely to our neighbourhoods. But our teacher told the boys in his class: Girls don't bite - every lad should chat with a lass. 002 The naughty ones he'd give the cutlass, Take them out and place them in the field And give them portions of the grass To cut or sow seeds that fruits would yield. Our teacher wore a belt with clasp of brass; He was fond of wearing on each eye a glass. He had a great voice with a tone of bass; The music he loved I got to know was jazz. The young man bore a very funny name; He tried hard the wild side of us to tame. 003 He told us once

I resolved a long time ago and deep In my mind wrote it indelibly down And let it through my pores and skull to seep That unceasingly at my goals I’d pound Till you’d hear at a distance their crunch As they give in but still harder I’d punch; No respite, louder on them I’d munch; Like a starving man, goals to me are lunch. I’d greedily bite them till they beg I stop; I’d bite till the day to the grave I’d drop.

001 Harmattan on our village leaves its thick cover: Siblings cling to siblings, husbands to their wives But a robber of a thought my sleep seems to pilfer – An emotion recently gave me the gybes.   Where did love go that the media endlessly Would moan to us over it? Earnestly, In market squares and streets, it’s stridently Said love has gone into hiding so hopelessly   I’ve contemplated how probable is the fact That love could just vamoose from everyone’s heart   002 When it has a day we celebrate in a year; When most wear its symbols as necklaces and rings? Who did put dear love in reverse gear Or did we mix virtues together with sins?   When did gold start to submit to rust? Did guilty take the apparel of just? Who would help stop love smooching with lust? If love is gone, to what do we give our trust?   They say now show don’t tell – this means this preaching Quite sanctimonious folks are bored with hearing.   003 You don’t want to go there, I won’t go there too. Yes, we’re keepi