Poem By Ike Bismarck Oji
There they go, bearing him in tears;
another gift for termites and earthworms,
another place in history foregone.
Just humus to the soil for all his toil.
Had I known, the poor fellow cried,
a break from pursuit of wealth and health
I would have taken to make felt
my Name in the pages of history.
Jets, cars and chariots all shall fade.
Castles, plantations all shall be obscured
with time's demise but history salutes
those who march on it in inky lines.
They that add no lines to the living
library get dead alongside their texts.
Selfishly, they read and saw nothing to write.
Read by none, their texts are in the Dead Library.
Mazi Ikechukwu Bismarck Oji