Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan

 

Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan
is an emerging writer from Ebonyi state, Nigeria. He’s a penultimate medical laboratory science student who explores medicine in the day and worships literature at night. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in several literary journals; both online and printed. He was the winner of 2018, FUNAI CREW Literary Contest.
 

The Cold Psalm of A Clueless Sailor

In this poem, I’m a lost sailor 
drowned by the violent tides of his tears.
If life is a journey proceeding through water,
I’m a boat sailing through a troubled ocean.
 
My body is so close to raging water bodies/ 
very prone to flood;
a muddy soil partying in a waterlogged horizon.
everyday breaks into a heavy downpour,
to contain these, 
my soul becomes a streamlined trunk — adaptation 
 
Or am I not floating upon this blue brine
with my legs & head camping at the top of a humidity 
beyond the sea level 
while my hands flip through the stratum/layers 
of this ocean in search of a firm grip?
 
My birth does not come with a compass.
to wedge these storms/skip these rocks 
& embrace a tranquil dock,
I must spread my worries into a map— spur
 
I don’t even know when(where) this journey 
will end— clueless,
but I know I’m a balloon pregnant with still air,
a leaf of cocoyam sitting upon this ocean,
I’ll not drown
I’ll float for long
I’ll end somewhere far from here.
 
 

Limbless Sun

 
Because the sun is limbless in Africa
its footmarks are shades gulping shadows
the same way a boy is a darkness swallowing
grief, I wish to lend time feet, to lend 
an arm to the sun & stretch these black tongues
into a gravid litany; the kind that lures mercy.
To these bare & blunt blades— our bodies,
may we stop exhibiting strength around dead animals, 
after we’re done stripping the tooth of time its scathe— the lips;
I fear what the rain will do to it
if we keep naming sunrise differently
according to the time each man wakes up.
 
 


Colourful Figurines on A Black Canvas

 
Yesterday, hell sniffed our bodies into its nose
as scents of tobacco.
Hades collected our salty tears as soured rain 
with a keg designed for holding
liquid bodies.
 
We’ll raise a monument of prayers.
We’ll rue such colourful figurines.
 
Today, another man is smearing the moon
with the blood from his daughter’s thighs;
transforming the vast center to a tapering tail,
like how a highway narrows towards its apparent end.
 
Tomorrow, a mother will fetch a pretty protea
with her baby’s umbilical cord;
trotting visions away without guilt 
like the hands of a clock moving.
 
They’ve drowned a monument of sanity.
They’ve ruined this colorful figurine.
 
Two days ago, a boy’s body became a pilgrimage center
where people visit, yet barely know; 
no one cared to know how his smiles 
toppled over his hidden tears.
 
Two days later, a girls heart became a cemetery
where venoms drifting from broken boys are buried;
we built a cemetery by adorning a chapel.
 
We’ll raise a monument of prayers.
We’ll rebuild this colourful figurines.
 
Last year, many tripped into slumber when the vodka of life
hurt their chests. 
 
This year, we’ll snub death by sipping more hope. 
We’ll paint our black bodies as pretty figurines. 
We’ll name it a beautiful nation.

7 thoughts on “Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan

  1. ‘Colourful figurines on a black canvas’…they present the boldest of expressions with every details !
    More ink to your bleeding pen chii.

    Like

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