White Hairs and False Teeth by Nnorom Azuonye
Continued from previous page

In “Now, The Carousel Has Turned” Ngozi Obasi Awa takes us on a journey to the ‘good old days’ and projects the way the youth is lived out as catalyst for a graceful old age or vice versa.:

"The wind, the wind" rent the air
yesteryears as my ankles wore anklets
of mirth, unaware, to attend assignments.
…

My flower has long withered. Willowy wisps
of grey chuckle over my hair -space.
Soon, the current rave will whisper as wind:

…

"The wind, the wind" no longer rend for me.
Age has laid waste my hinterlands, but with
constellations of fulfilment over my skies,
sing I: "Behold, I'm greying with grace".

In “At Ninety” Nkwoala Ugo reminds us the ‘sans taste’ Shakespeare – in subject only of course:

At ninety,
All food tastes same; all wine like water
Your walk groggy; each limb stiffer
E'ery organ less exact, dimm'd by Age's sunset
All is Life's grand scheme, its wondrous souvenir.
…

At ninety,
Measured is your voice, the inner man tired
Your fame and frame becalm'd by Life's swift storms
Which applaud the hollow ghost, the envy of Youth
At ninety…

“As Time Moves On” by Malcolm Fabiyi was one of the poems that really made me laugh. In this poem a ‘sick’ old age boasts about what it does to people. I had a funny thought that after reading this poem, if old age were a person, I’d very much like to strangle him:

When breasts begin to converse with the navel,
yielding finally to gravity's ceaseless wooing.
When the penis grows deaf to the sensual whispers
that once commanded its rapt attention
When teeth become amphibious, swimming deftly in glass filled cups,
and engage in chatter outside of the functions of talk and drink
You will hear me humming silently as I sail the ox-bow lakes

When stars and the nightsky wear the same darkened cloak,
and the luxuriant mangrove mane on once ungreyed heads
becomes a sahel landscape, with lone alfalfa trees
bending in the wind – like solitary watchmen on deserted city walls
When men begin to keep vigil at the stone of yesteryears,
drawing memories from days gone by
You will feel me steering you toward the Elysian fields

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