Uche Ahunanya

Biography: Uche Ahunanya is a Theatre and Film scholar at the University of Port Harcourt. He hails from Ugwunagbo LGA of Abia State, Nigeria. He is a great lover of arts in general.

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Uche Ahunanya
Friday 9 July 2021

Miss Fortune's Misfortune

The had heard Ben was tested and trusted, 

But her expensively wigged and hatted head

Was too incapable to decipher what she heard,

So she believed and her all to him entrusted.

At first sight, she'd envisioned him a perfect complement; 

One that would not only fill her hole but make her feel whole, 

Perhaps because of his grace and warm compliment,

Or his classy ride with a lot of cash in the pigeonhole 

They had fun day and night for a fortnight –

Warnings and sermons went in through the left ear, 

But, faster than they went in, went out through the right.

His name and tales were all she longed to hear 

"This married man is sick; your future will be marred" 

But the warner was warned and branded mad, 

Perhaps world-people were envious of her fortune

And should go and bury themselves in their misfortune

You see, those who fail to tame their desires,

Those whose waist subtly usurps their head

And those whose appetite wears a crown 

Tread the same unholy path and never part

'Cause they're fated to a common destination 

Today, Miss Fortune was thrown in one piece, 

A tiny bony morsel into earth's gaping mouth 

I know not if that virus lets its victims rest in peace

Woe betides the ear that defies the counseling mouth.

©Uche Ahunanya


Uche Ahunanya
Friday 9 July 2021

The Real Lunatics

The real lunatics are not those poor souls that dance naked at the market square, 

They are not those grimaced faces that roam the streets barefooted, scorched or


With unkempt hair and unwashed body, and a stench that slaps the nose –

The real lunatics aren't those unfortunate lots 

Whose names aren’t found in the pride-books of kith and kin

The real lunatics aren't those unlucky ones nature seems to have been unkind to, 

They aren't those ragged beings that feed from waste bins and suffer public scorn 

The real mad ones are those whose refined appearance of sanity belies their wanton inanity – 

Yeah, the real mad ones are those human beings who refuse to use the bins, and litter the streets.

©Uche Ahunanya


Uche Ahunanya
Friday 9 July 2021


I beseech the westward winds

To bear you this message on their wings:

Reminiscence and regret rendezvous in my mind -

Mental visits to those flavoured moments of our love

Our love? 

That luckless child you starved to kwashiorkor

And insisted on its funeral

If you had allowed that bud on board 

Tomorrow would have seen its flowers

With pearly, pretty petals blooming, 

But you fenced your heart with impregnable walls, 

And ruined the melody of our love with awkward staccatos;

Whenever it seemed all was getting well,

Amity unwarrantedly chameleoned into revulsion, 

On today, off tomorrow – distressing uncertainty;

And I, like a poor devotee to an absentee goddess,

Suffocated in the smoke of my rejected burnt offerings

And, finally, you took your leave and left a wound

For no fault of mine, you admitted so

These mornings, I’m too tongue-tied to pray

Because of the mourning that hunts me like a prey

These tears would have long dried 

If I held you in lesser awe; I’ve tried

But nay, 

The feelings have sworn to stay

Our love,

That luckless child you starved to kwashiorkor

And insisted on its funeral 

Has refused to breathe its last

It gropes for your nourishing care 

With an undying hope to live.

©Uche Ahunanya


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