Three poems by Jonathan Chibuike Ukah

"The Axe Head Must Rise" "A Beautiful Life" and "If I Were a Piece of Bone"

If I Were a Piece of Bone

I could tear open this glass,
this gigantic wall, this wrap of yours,
covering your stench and shame;
I could slide away this granite door
concealing your silent decay,
and revealing to the world
how sick and lonely your body is.

You need help; you love pain;
you cuddle the latter like a lover
but you forsake the former like rain;
you hug pleasure in shuffling along
where you shove bravery, stoicism
down the throat of others to sip,
thinking you were the gushing of God.

But I would puncture your ploy
and wave a mirror to your intestines,
for everyone to see and believe
the decrepit ruins of your organs;
how you succeed in curving a twisted body
into looking like a gold and silver plate,
without sparkles, without decorations.

And if you received help,
you would be your family's gold
nothing ugly stays behind the time,
to remind you of your former days.
There would be sunflowers in your blood
and your future sprawling before you,
like urns of roses arrayed in the sun.

If I were a piece of bone,
I would not create in you a graveyard;
I would hang on your lips like a ring,
dress your ribs like a piece of cloth;
I would wrap your body like the sky.
that wraps itself around the clouds,
like sleep cradling a hungry child.

The Axe head Must Rise.

A time came when every door
through which I had gone in and out,
gleaned the world like a mirror in a river,
and observed the nakedness of men,
through which I smiled at the sun
from the pinnacles of skyscrapers,
and shook hands with the moon
from the midst of the clouds,
closed against my frequent rapping.
I hung onto hope with difficulty,
like an axe head clinging to the axe
and I didn’t want to let go,
didn’t want to stop being so close,
the back of a hand, the undertow,
the thing attached to the substance,
to those I love, those I cherish,
until I drop into the river, unwound,
the broken half of a yellow sun,
whittled away like a springy ghost.
The river received and curled around me;
the crestless waves bubble like darkness 
and caressed my brows and breath;
how my heart steeped in sorrow
when they dispersed like shadows
and I clawed away at the mask
shielding me from the stench of today.
A dove with no history and lineage,
none of the affiliations of a passing life,
cast the branch of an Iroko into a cool well;
like the phoenix, from the depth of the water,
I raised my croaking voice and cried out,
I will not be the serpent swallowing my tail,
but the axe head returned to my source.

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel

A Beautiful Life

I have decided to do the almost thinkable
after I have mastered the unthinkable,
jumped on the general wagons of exploration,
and made universal expectations hero of my antics.
I made my dreams a martyr to my hopes,
as the only thing worthy of a blood sacrifice.
If you watch every step I take in my life,
you will notice how incongruous harmony is;
the more you focus on preening me from shock,
the less you will see my footsteps on the sand.
All that you observe will make no sense
if you wish to see merit in everything that I do.
I know how futile it is to aspire for the extraordinary
when everyone expects you to be ordinary,
where their comfort would find a warmer home
and displeasure becomes the relics of our time.
Let life be a hidden box where we get what we seek,
not at the time we expect to discover it,
but when the things we seek want to please;
sometimes too soon, but often too late,
though in the womb of mystery, there is no difference
between the discovery of yesterday and tomorrow.
They were born at different times to different climates,
and their growth or maturity must be otherwise
If you look for something where it should be,
Search for it where it must not be
When the day is overwhelmed by darkness
and the cold teeth bite into every finger,
The universe dies whining in its sleep,
yet only the crickets sing through the night
and enjoy their rest in the middle of the day.
When you cuddle in solitude like a desperate widow,
and warmth takes its harsh revenge on you,
come to the porch of your house with courage
and watch the stars parading across the sky.
See, life is a fog, a mist, a phantom; 
now it’s here; the next it will be there.
When it's there, try to make it beautiful.
At the end, we have the same goal,
to make our bitter-sweet life a beautiful one.

Jonathan Chibuike Ukah lives in London with his family. His poems have been featured and will soon be featured in Strange Horizons, The Fairy Tale Magazine, Atticus Review, The Pierian, Ariel Chart International Press, Boomer Literary Magazine, etc. He is a winner of the Voices of Lincoln Poetry Contest 2022. His poetry collection, Blame the Gods, was a top 6 finalist at the Africa Diaspora Award of Kingsman Quarterly 2023. He has been twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2024 edition.

Jonathan’s work was also featured as the Editors’ Choice Award winner in the Unleash Press ON RULES anthology.