If I Don’t Write A Great Poem Before I Die

If I don’t write a great poem before I die,
no wings of music to bear you home after earth
eater of mighty meat has eaten me, you will have
nothing to show off at your friends with,
nothing to prove you witnessed the exit of a poet.
Death that ordinary frightens poets to death.

If I don’t write a great poem before I die,
fetch a voice like silk rubbing against a black man’s hair,
to recite ‘A Kinder Cull’ by Griselda Scott,
let it console they who mourn me, they who will miss me,
that they may understand, life’s mill must do without
this grist…but only if I died old and happy.

If I don’t write a great poem before I die,
high-horse riders may gallop down here to sneer;
they will claim I ignored the heartache of storms,
say that I was numb to the pain of volcanoes,
they will show me tears in the eyes of a giant,
and share the fear in growls of a tropical thunder.

If I do write a great poem before I die,
release masquerades, pound drums, bring out flutes.
Let every voice recite its favourite line,
say it shows darkness cannot be the fruit of light
and when it mattered, jaws unlocked, I spoke out loud,
about fires, about flowers, about war and about peace.

©2006 Nnorom Azuonye

"If I Don't Write A Great Poem Before I Die" by Nnorom Azuonye, first published in The Poet's Letter Magazine, March 2006.