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Best Poems Written by Ginikachi Obah

Below are the all-time best Ginikachi Obah poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Environmental Stewards

The sea rises as my mind is flooded with thought
The polar ice melts into the arms human desires
The atmosphere is caught on the verge by human technology
The earth is entangled in the threshold of environmental degradation
Development and prosperity leaves me at the mercy of climate change

I feel swept away by the tide of human development as tar sands and mercury cast shadows in my palace
I feel imprisoned by the chains of green house emission
I am left in tattered robes as economic exploitation and prosperity leaves me impoverish and hopeless
I miss the nation of the buffalo because they built their consciousness round my Interest
I am a seeker of life and spirituality but now must battle for survival in the hands of globalization

I settle like dust in the mouths of human activist but my muscles are weak to human separatists
Hunters resort to mental gymnastics as they sing the hymns of ecological variation
The next generation is denied access to culture as the weather changes like clothes and keeps us on the edge
The world needs an ethic of continued sustainability but the minds of men focus on continuous wealth.

The willingness of humanity to tend to the earth is laid bare by the strings of environmental conquest.
I run to the comforting arms of environmental stewards who nourishes my body and soul with ceremonies
Contemporary thoughts have not been able to put asunder where disembodied minds have continued to plunder

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Dancing Waters

Dancing Waters
They drop like leaves
They cut themselves like Branches
They transfer their heart to their back
They paint themselves in red

The guns and boots are resurrected
They tattoo the ground with their footprints
They create a black cloud in the Atmosphere
Tears Flow like the Saskatchewan River
They feed themselves to the mouths of the earth
They beat the drums of discord
They chants the songs of hatred
They dance to the tunes of their misguided conscience

They sting themselves like buzzing bees
Stitches and needles waiting to sew the clothes of mourning under the morning sun
Black and white costumes filling the earth with their unending tears
They dry their tears under the consoling arms of sympathisers
They wear an expression of remorse
They set their conscious free from the shackles of war
Author: Ginikachi Obah

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Echoes From the Eagle Spirit Society

The reverberating sounds of the Drums and the sweet melodies
The wavering movements of the tree suggest that they enjoy the rhythm that they hear
Tipis and feathers creating an artistic view of cultural connotation
Men and women blown away in preparation

I can see generations connecting to the ways of their fore fathers
I can see the land and its spirituality through the teaching of neyihaw
Mother earth smiles to the spirituality and reciprocity hovering round the indigenous mind
I can see disembodied walls coming together to create a wonderful atmosphere for social interaction
I can see children and youth strolling back to cultural identity
I can hear the healing process echoing through the circles
I see the world views flowing within my mind through the cultural teachings of ceremonies

When I stand in the mirror am drenched in the reflection of the similarities that exist between the two cultures
Culture indeed is an art that sits patiently in our heart waiting to be expressed by ceremonies
Culture is a parrot or Porte parole that speaks volumes of our identity
Culture is the sustaining power of our four dimensions that keep our body and soul together 
The similarities keeps crawling back like a recurring decimal each time am lost in cultural oblivion

Culture was brutalised and kicked out in the hands of residential schools
Children becoming strangers to whom they are
Oh my God it killed their culture it killed their spirit
It dismantled the social fabric of family and community
Like lost but found item my creativity has found me in this wilderness of cultural revitalisation
Which I wish to empty with my busy hands dancing to the songs of my creativity
These are the echoes from the eagle spirit society

	Author GINIKACHI OBAH

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Memories of the White Republic

I remember my candles in the night
My eyes heavy but weightless like light
The thought of being a corper my right

A pound on my head boom boom
The thud of boots and whistle boomerang
Shrill cries like a community gone agog
Soldiers and man o wars on the work

Kaaki and boots stroll under the wilderness 
As I drench myself in the reflection of morning parade
Then I wake up to the reality of being a soldier, even though my tired feet struggle for survival in the hands of code 1 and code 2
Like a wrestler contesting the royal rumble

I have been stressed, squeezed like a rug left on the floor to rumple
My enduring and persevering heart whispers
The sweet chants of one day we will go
Yes indeed we will go, not as we were but as gallant soldiers of the NYSC


I swim in the pool of events
Tiring as it is, I must make it
This is the reality, I have always wanted

Lectures were made on white and black
Skills were taught on the block
Food and love shared on the clock
Uncertainty looms in the horizon
When the bugle of farewell blows on the 26th of March to another hurdle
On which side of Cross River will I march
Calabar,Ikom,Ogoja,
Good soldier that I am
I must go
Kopas we we we
Kopas wa wa wa

What faith befalls you on Tuesday 
Take it with wa wa wa
This is the reality we have always wanted
Our dream and long desired expectation
Have finally unfolded into its oblivion of extinction
Let us awaken ourselves to the reality of serving our fatherland
Author: Ginikachi Nnadozie Obah

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Beneath a Beautiful Ancient City

Pouring out my mind like the showers of rainfall
Gathering of clouds like the sign of sky fall
The vessel that horns the loudest echo 
Makes my heart sing of amego
As you drown yourself in your deepest ego

The eyes bow their lids to your physical radiance
Mouths stutter at your overflowing elegance
Your admirers are anxious to come to your presence
Emotional geologists are eager to know the depth of your real essence

Hearts are broken with exploitation
Pockets are dried up in expenses
Men are entangled in your ecstasy
Your love is expensive like the diamond of Sierra Leon
Your heart is not as golden as you appear
But your trumpet is as loquacious as a parrot

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November Rains

I remember my candles glowing
Every passing night I wake up with loads in my eyes
My head begin to pound as if garri and pounded yam are about to make their way out of the kitchen
Kaaki and boots stare into my memory as soon as my thought drive me to memory lane

Drenched in reflection I saw a stick and a student staring into my eyes
Case of mistaken identity, it had a romance with my left eye,
As the student lends me his eyes of jealousy
I swam in the pool of events when I looked up to the sky,
I saw the rays of advent
I have walked like a berserk buffalo shoes on my palms
When admission failed to kneel at my feet

Academic impression were made on white paper when the blue leaves of intellectual expression melted my knowledge into creativity
It never failed me until the loquacious instrument of human contact retires from duty
I remember the ground crumbling at my feet when luck has gone on vacation
Leaving me in the corridors of despair and sadness
When the wind blew I saw myself working in the path of hope
Then Nature Beckon on me to be strong and never give up

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Pebbles Outside

He feels lonely at heart
He feels absent from his surroundings
He weaves himself like the kente
He wanders like a running stomach
He shrinks himself in the comfort of his conscience

The wind of hope departs from his presence
He has no peace with the present as he battles with the forces of reality
His mind shreds into little pieces
The spanner of despair loses his mind and pulls him   down to the ground

The past came knocking like Santa clause
He transforms to lady gaga
The passer by looked on and said to one another
He is actually   going gaga
He laid his troubled heart at their feet as he wrapped himself in the hugging arms of sympathizers

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A Hip of Glass

Her hip goes turbulent like an air plane
As she carries her heap on her hip
She swings it like a crèche swing
She bounces her two girls like a bouncing castle
The beauty that shone in her eyes made it difficult for ugliness to lay its siege.
This beauty was made in heaven

Her figure was configured and shaped into an hour glass
Her dazzling figure caused a stare like a movie premier in silver bird
Her elegance and beauty produces an expression of the parnassien art
She is drop dead gorgeous par excellence
Her admirers would lend their two cents to behold this beauty.
She leaves her footprint in the pigment of their imagination

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The Sign of Two

They vacate their personality
They put their hands above their level of subsistence
They paint themselves gold in the midst of admirers
They paint their lying lips with their lipstick of deceit
They divide themselves Like Landed properties

They delude themselves in false pretense
They live on borrowed robes to undress their true personality
They let themselves to be destroyed by the belong syndrome
They deceive the fragile minds of their followers

They Lay their foundation with their sweet tongue and cement it with a thousand lies
They cough out sweet stories to sandwich the brains of their victims
They create an atmosphere of affluence in the eyes of on lookers
They begin to move, shake. and tremble in the face of uncertainty
After all they are the movers and shakers of the society.
The foundation begins to crumble as the lies begins to  unearth
Then, the stammering mouth folds up in shame as the true person is revealed

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Word Smith

The materials are shredded into pieces
He takes his measurement with his intuitive Tape
He Lives himself Lost in creative wilderness
He sits in a serene environment ready to receive his imagination
He transforms his history and experience into beautiful design and style
He appeals to our five senses with litres of expression
He pours out his deepest emotions and moulds them into a verbal harmonious symmetry
He consciously sings as he weaves his feeling into tiny word designs
His lyrical dexterity winks occasionally on the white linen sheet as he knits them perfectly to create artistic unity
We struggle for understanding on the plane of his subjectivity
He creates an amazing piece and models them on a white piece
What an awesome design Mr Word Smith.