Ndifreke George

Dad’s pocket always has it
What mum hates most
Few pieces of latex
The pastor had said
They belong to hell

Dad’s pocket always has it
What mum loves most
Few rumpled forgotten banknotes
That slipped out of dad’s slim budget
Mum hugged them with smiles

The reason mum stayed
She saw what she loves most
Inside dad’s pocket
The reason mum left
She saw what she hates most
Inside dad’s pocket

Mum and Dad and my role model
But not the way they kiss
As often as a leap year
With that sound of android snapshot
Like the sigh of a hopeless beggar
Sizzling in the heat of summer’s scourch

Mum and dad deserve a medal
Their love has grown white strands
Perhaps, they need a remembrance
That they are not bother and sister
But I and my siblings are
They should always wallow in a porch of romance

Mum and dad will die together
Everything they do together
Straight and choleric strict
Without the least romantic meander
They think they are couple—
Husband and wife related by blood


How could this be?
Cassandra and I ̶ so close
No better pair could ever be
We strutted through the verdant
of nature’s cool, green armpit
Climbed through the mountain to the moon
We sat dangling our feet down the earth
Whispered our dreams to the hopeful twinkling stars
right in our hands and let it fly
along with the butterfly of beautiful wishes ̶ our courier to heaven
We touched the future with our bare hands
showered it with please-come-true kisses
and enjoyed the coldness of the cloud
We sat hand-in-hand
talked heart-to-heart
And showed love mouth-to-mouth
What else could have missed?
Except a golden ring to say no more
But when she hurried away
with the wind to its nest in the east
I saw her gift beside me
A beautiful paper with red and pink
My heart throbbed and I melted
Like helpless paraffin wax before the judgment of hell
She had only come to invite me for her wedding
It was the bell clonk calling for the guests
That called her away
To her anxious husband
She’ll never be mine ̶ not at all

I am the coward
So ineffable and frail
My conscience won’t let me be
Everyone has a story
Mine are just stinging ears
Cos they steps to being a man
I’ve been stubborn to comply
They’ve abused those children
And get away unpunished
Leaving loads on their heads
And burdens in their hearts
Human terrorism on the rise
Uncontrollable multiplication
Sweetness swallows self-control
Result reported in red ink
Puppy begets puppies
Dogs will bark to death
Like the boys have grown into men
Calves have grown into cows
Cell the cells
A track on this menace
Time to chew the cud
A cry to stop-born-ness

Rain pours on every roof
The sun confirms this proof
But money falls on some
And denies others a huge sum

Some are born in pain
And from life, get no gain
Some enjoy generational ostentation
Some merry with crumbs of the nation

One meaningful life soon cut short
But the evil ones escape the shot
Evil climbs to rule from top
While goodness suffers a stop

The earth we inherited so free
Now warming from disappearing trees
Man’s desire for invention
Fighting against nature’s intention


Ndifreke George was born and bred in the ancient city of Calabar, Nigeria. A graduate of Geophysics but a prolific writer; his works have been published on Poems and Poetry, The Kalahari Review, The Praxis Magazine of Arts and literature, The Poet’s Community, Social justice poetry, Tuck Magazine and The Antartica Journal. He is also a Volunteer Literary Contributor with Bravearts Africa where he was first published. Presently based in Lagos, he is a fun-lover, dramatist and songwriter.