By Emmanuel Abagolu
Churned out of his mother belly
His birth no different to any
In spite of cheers his birth began
None would have fore told the man
Unified with that mightier than a sword
Achebe conquered beyond his world
Amongst men branded with half a yellow sun
Channelled light brighter than the fullest sun
Handed a wheel chair out of life’s misery box
Everywhere still and round the clock his works walks
Bruised egos of the high and mighty
Evoked controversies amongst plenty
Prof! The unapologetic one.
Prof! The uncompromising one.
Prof! The writing don
Prof! It’s you I mourn
I still remember every minute of it
Back rested with my phone on my sit
As my eyes hit the sorry news
Disbelief the option I did choose
But it was no rumour
And my face lost its colour
Turning my head to the side
A stranger’s gaze with mine tied
Chinua Achebe is Dead I did mutter
But to her it didn’t seem to matter
Perhaps consumed in her own world
My words to her no weight did hold
My head sagged to my chest
Like a flag at half mast
Indistinct images kidnapped my thought
Blurred pictures if any of life’s worth
Funny how fame’s centre he held at
With a book titled things fall apart
How birthed in a state that revolted albeit unsuccessful
He died in one that birthed a revolution with success still full
To a lot he is a hero
To some a tribalistic fellow
To all an inimitable story teller
To none was he a liar
I wish I had Soyinka’s lyrical grace
To stir hearts beyond my race
I wish I could conjure Adichie’s writing touch
To illuminate even more this national torch
Oh! Our sun is gone
Never to rise at dawn
Yes, the sun has set on a worthy son
And never again will he see it’s light on
But your works illuminates our path still
Your examples and deeds we still feel
In that assurance rest in peace
For your legacy will never cease
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