WATCHING SILENCE by Adewumi Olumide Benedict

It will all become watching silence

When your two eagles fly

With their wings unbroken,

When your gallant horses run

With their strength unaltered.

It will become a watching silence

When your black soil,

Loam! Loam!

Which is spread across

The burial site of

Some flowerless flowers

Mingling with unproductivity

Becomes fertile

For the oil and for all.

Only then, when all these be

Only when all these be

Will prospering violent tongues of fire

Speaking the language you understand

But fail to hear,

Become ambassadors of watching silence.

Till then, enjoy the hard harsh tones of rushing violence

You clamourers for sudden silence.

BOREDOM HAS DRAWN ME TO JEHOVAH, HUNGA DON NEAR ME REACH JACKN by Motolani Olusile

Curiosity they said, killed granny’s white cat
but why will that,
be my path.
For if I choose to involve
with the opaques that evolve,
this before awareness had I resolve.
Nevertheless the ennui kind of distress
has ‘’sesamed’’ the gloomy doors of depress,
not in haste but won’t hesitate begat ‘’christness’’.
A perilous journey to dust,
with only ONE you can trust…O rejoice for we’ve found one lost!

if u fit com closa
u go undastand the matta
wahlai en dey sound pass bata
d tori don taya me
dis hussu wan faya me
buh kpom pi, mey in yarn u, i kana d wirein
as I reason mey I engage onto d wakacome test
I soji no to carry last
with gbedu wey still dey ma tract
to level u, sey true talk I oragnise
my guy, i normalise time pas gan….wahlai I 2 memorise!

PITTANCE by Olaniyi Abdulwaheed

Here comes the visitor sent from men of upper chamber

To stage masque at the corridor of our life

Pittance as its bard

To entertain us with confetti of misery

Delouse the hope; guard dime with termite, besides the lice

Oh! Windfall blew with the flute of whirling wind

At corridor of dusk and dawn, hope, glare face,

Traders on horse rode with caravan at the heart of green-desert,

But with empty hands, home they come

Pittance pinched the day

Dearth petrified the night

The moon yawned and squatted its light

The dawn wrestled and hustled

Like a lush that lost his way home

Father!

Who is there for our day?

Who is there for our night?

Where is the eye of the sky?

To see the way to Heaven

BODI NO BI WOOD by Olayinka Adisa

You see am gidigba like thing wey no geti life

You think sai bodi bi wood

See am for hin face and talk you sai

Na him only bi the wood wey do forest

an’ hin no wan do

na so kon take oppression dey waya am like to sai hin no bi being

dey show am una yellow pawpaw body to attract am

as hin dey comot eye sake to sai hin no wan commit

na so dey do am more more

if hin kon dey push, grip una dey flush

go dey shout yeh! Uhn! Ha! dey weep

like to sai no bi watin you push am do.

the circular veranda wey you dey half show to see naked,

the back yard wey you dey kari package do yanga waka

I pity make wahala no fruit for tree, scatter things for una o

As you dey do am wayo, palava fit tondo

sake to sai bodi no bi wood, just wan kari bodi hold.

Make na dey do small small if na no want water pass gari o

an’ kari mouth yarn sai him don spoil na life.

Bodi No Bi Wood, hin just dey try to keep bodi ooo.

QUEEN OF THE SILENT NIGHT by Ogunyomi Israel Abidemi

What on earth have I done to earn this?

How will I without faults decode it?

Is it the time to fellowship with the galaxies

Or the time to dialogue with my feet?

These and many more stupefied my thoughts.

Completely lost in the wilderness of questions,

I saw the moon amidst the stars –

Stunning stars escorted by the moon –

Shoulders to shoulders they moved in the sky.

I stared thoughtfully at the stars.

They were absolutely joyous in their minds!

O beautiful night moon!

Queen of the silent night!!

The sky is not as market near,

I would’ve gone at dawn;

I would’ve returned at dusk.

Golding moon! Lamp to night’s feet!!

Light lamp full of finest oil!

Finest oil, daughter of nature’s wife!

The sky is not as market near,

I would’ve gone at dawn;

I would’ve returned at dusk.

Seated solitarily on a lonely rock,

I occupied myself with my own thoughts.

In the dark night, suddenly the stars,

Through the celestials, flashed at me.

What on earth have I done to earn this?

How will I without faults decode it?

Is it the time to fellowship with the galaxies

Or the time to dialogue with my feet?

These and many more stupefied my thoughts.

Completely lost in the wilderness of questions,

I saw the moon amidst the stars –

Stunning stars escorted by the moon –

Shoulders to shoulders they moved in the sky.

I stared thoughtfully at the stars.

They were absolutely joyous in their minds!

O beautiful night moon!

Queen of the silent night!!

The sky is not as market near,

I would’ve gone at dawn;

I would’ve returned at dusk.

Golding moon! Lamp to night’s feet!!

Light lamp full of finest oil!

Finest oil, daughter of nature’s wife!

The sky is not as market near,

I would’ve gone at dawn;

I would’ve returned at dusk.

O beautiful night moon!

Queen of the silent night!!

The sky is not as market near,

I would’ve gone at dawn;

I would’ve returned at dusk. 

JOYFUL CRIES by Asiabaka Uzochukwu Emmanuel

9 months of pain is enough to cause eternal joy.

36 weeks of sleepless night is enough to birth the morning sun.

270 days of harbouring a visitor is a pass mark to be a good neighbour.

If this pain heralds joyful cries, are you willing to tread this path???

The crack of a hatched egg signals a new beginning.

The beginning of life which is priceless

Life is God's priceless gift to humanity

And how will humanity continue without procreation???

How can happiness substitute agony in a second

She who wailfully pushes the overdue visitor in her

Tears dripping her eyes like the falls of Erin Ijesha

Instantly leaps for joy as she hears the cry of the expected traveller...

We laugh, sing and dance as we hear its cries

If it cries not, we cry and mourn

We plead to God to bequeath us with the cries of a new life

It cries welcome joy and happiness in our heart...

OGUN’S DELIGHT by Motolani Olusile

Alas!   I have taken a bite of Ogun’s delight

Confidence is a selly thing.
Often believed to be a man’s word,
doing things very few can do,
saying things very few can say.
But when a woman has confidence,
now that’s a beautiful thing.
Debatably rare in the western world.
Confidence!
Unlike in men, in a woman is a rather conspicuous thing.
Envious eyes of her peers would be upon,
‘’Wow! Such confidence she has’’ saying to their seconds at the mirror.
When a young lady becomes aware of her Confidence……O my!
Her carriage and usage solely depends on her exposure.
She may either conserve it,
and pack it up all alone to herself,
or she may show it off, flaunt it with pride to the world.
Most black men love women with confidence,
It’s magnetic!
On sight attracts them spontaneously!
My kinsmen upon noticing the distinctive feature
would dramatically say to themselves
ore mi, omo yi layaaaaa….

THE IRONIC WHISPERER by Adewumi Olumide Benedict

Sometimes I wonder

How life can slander

The things that drench us in pride,

Turning them into waste

Like the wet intestine

Of a rotten timber that still has its root

Stuck in the soil.

Beside the posing ground,

Where the cries of “Passport!” clickers

Fuddled the air as one approached Oduduwa hall,

There, I met my memory’s memo.

The statue,

Giant, huge and raised a bit above the ground

Hawked by a flat platform,

Backed by a single-coloured chameleon.

Round its waist were joints of chain, married into another.

A Staff; tattooed with a face

Is crowned by a hen,

A hen whose legs are mythical creators.

Beads on its neck

Beads on its legs

A crown on its head,

And nakedness footwore its feet.

Under the shady wings of ancient Oduduwa hall,

It stood as years passed it by.

But this was the effigy of one called the far-off thing,

Allotted a space under a concreate shade and prestige.

And every night, when power does not cough, white light shines.

Before it, was another,

Though smaller in size and little

In sight,

Placed in a garland

Of a historical land

Its Agbada was a waterfall,

Pouring as it statically fell from the air.

It was raised above the ground

By a flat ceramic platform.

On its face was a round eyed spectacle

And on his head was its historical emblem,

A round shaped cap.

Two right-handed fingers of it

Thrust the eye of the wind

And in its stony shoes, it stood with time,

Side by side,

Under every weather that passed it by.

But this was the effigy of the one called the brilliant Yoruba warlord,

Allotted a stunning palace of flower

And placed under the sun

To be playmated with the wind and the rain

And every night, when power coughs and uncoughs,

Darkness becomes its cover cloth.

Perhaps life lives unlike life should live.

Perhaps, really unlike life should live.

DAY-NIGHT MOMENTS by Olaniyi Abdulwaheed

There shall be no sea

Without consent of the estuary of our love

No day without rays of your bright eyes

Man lives nowhere, but here I stand

Arike

Let me be the guard of your hymen

Let me be the keeper of your beauty sea-bird

Flying across the heart to lay bed

For our midnight game

Let’s sing to the flute

Echo those lyrics to the world

Forever we sing this

Let me be the crown of your head

My humility will serve your curly hair,

Walk in the night with light of your teeth

Let’s awake sleepy night

Errand, the pillow, blow the whistle

For our day-night chuckles

There must be curfew for the day

For festival of the night

And blind the sun with our pajamas

To surf more pages on bed

PEN by Olayinka Adisa

I am speechless, but my pen is loquacious

The pen that refuses to sit on his mat

He dazzles and flaps.

My heart in my pen

He speaks to the world to hear

What a miraculous being

That thinks in a dynamic way

To change the rotic say and make a difference

I will praise thee million years

A carven image that is motionless

You are the great god that the priest adores

When life seize no more I will be your clergy

To give thee the sacrifice of honour

Oh carven image, I exalt your terror

You who speaks the words of wisdom

To those who know the rhyme and rhythm of life

The might weapon, the heart of the intellects

Speak, I want to hear

For I am subservience to thee.

Where you are, there I am

To receive from thee the food of the soul

For I am a fool of the pouring spirit

My golden damsel that speaks of wondrous

beauty to eyes and show to the hear.

OMNIVOROUS PACHYDERMS by Ogunyomi Israel Abidemi

’Tis together ours, not alone theirs

For this they must shed tears –

Rivers of water in their eye tanks

We would drink today without thanks.

Since this planet they’ve chosen to riven,

Their offspring must from here away be driven

For every last morsel their fathers devoured,

Omnivorous pachyderms must but be laboured

Faithful deceivers; antagonistic friends:

They give no damn about fellows’ ends

They direct to the east

That asks for the west

For every single harm they’ve done,

And those in their minds undone,

They shouldn’t at all be pardoned

I mean…why would they be pardoned?

CRYING BEAUTY... by ASIABAKA UZOCHUKWU EMMANUEL

Kike, I never want to see you cry.

Your face reminds me of a beautiful tomorrow.

I have a lot on my mind.

But I think am ready to stay.

I think am ready to stop your flowing tears.

Tobiloba, go on and cry.

Cry today and be happy tomorrow.

I can move back time to when your innocence is virgin.

And your feelings unbattered.

Even now I still love u more.

For once I get the feeling that am right where I belong; with you.

Seun, I feel so all alone.

No one knows what I have gone through

But am willing to mend your broken heart

I never desire to see the cataracts of your sour tears

Your tears, it drops like drops of Jupiter...

Even in the multitude of these flowery gems.

Pains full my heart to the ground.

My joy to one heralds the cry of another.

But I will always be the friend you need

Cos u got me thinking am a superstar!!!

MOUNTAIN by Akinlotan Kehinde

                                   

Who is thou MOUNTAIN before the idle feet ?

Who is thou rod in the hand of the mighty ?

The seen sight my ball behold

My heart nexus, the legs petrified

The gun blooms in my heart ; the soul

On its journey to mathematics.

Who is thou mountain before  ZERUBABEL

The MOUNTAIN blooms, the eye  silence in the

Colour of race huuuun

The mind pictures : a sleeping stone to my feet

Your base is my footstool

I have a mountain to climb

The lion I need to hold  the vigour of

My muscle

Mind on errand of blind-sided

A child ball in the day of flower beginning

The ages race and the contest for life

As death is innevitable ; MOUNTAIN is the

 Waiting war

A battle of old , the game of fant

Who will mount MOUNTAIN ?

What is MOUNTAIN ?

 Oh ! The ignorance of dogs

The power of the feet standing EAGLE

The fear at young, awaiting at the end

The music of the lethargic : the song of the saints sages

MOUNTAIN ! My amorous bird song

Oh thou IGNORANCE !

My feet on your peak

                                                                                          SATIRE                                

THE HOLISTIC STUDENT WHO ALWAYS WANT IT VERY EASY

DIVINATION BEADS by Rafiu Aduragbemi Barnabas

Binoculars to the future, a mirror of the underworld

Speechless chain lying in a horrendous subway

Winkling at the passing shadows in exigency

Wafting wishes with wizened whim

Transmogrifying to hapless dunderhead itinerating

Acting as sentry rhapsodizing the old pathway

But the mission materialized to a forlorn hope as

Passer-by betrothed perambulation in innocence

Who shall disseminate this tintinabulating empathy?

Enough of lizards’ sweat and pigs’ obituary

Stains of blood as bribe to overcome your fear.

Search instead for this abandoned hoary prowess

Avatar of wisdom with unraveling paraphernalia

Demystifying quizzicality, curbing the laggard

Re-setting the anticlockwise, replacing summer with winter.

This is the perfect trail to the ancient landmark

Felicity in millet vegetation and comfort in greener pasture

No dismal compensation in thatched hut and tattered flag

The road to the future is zigzagging but this chain is vertical and horizontal.

ILLOGICALLY LETTERED by Tola Olusile

It is not the case that I seek to waste your time.

If only you read me out, then it might pan out.

If you are still reading, then there is still hope.

I do not hate you therefore I love you,

but if expressly on the fact that you are either male or female,

then I am either female or male.

You still here. Yes! There, in same position I presume,

is on the condition that you are fascinated by my ‘’chaikn’’ style,

and that it is expressly on the condition that, it is intriguing.

Head bursting!

Neither am I playing with your emotions

nor mocking your logicality. Though something!

Even though you are oblivious, that you enthral me, by your personality.

It is not the case that I am not apparent to it.

When I see you,

if and only if you reply something favourable.

Even if it is exactly on the condition that,

it might take a while.

It is not the case that it is not the case that

I will not wait.

Yours Lovingly

pepe

Muahhhh

(lampoon on 'Logic')

THE RED SUN by Adewumi Olumide Benedict

As the day woke up from its cloudy bed

It appeared above the roof of my head.

I did not set my eyes upon the sun myself, (until when...)

But as the bell of time had done its part,

With the day tasting some form of light,

I knew the sun should be above

And that all workers should be prepared for work by then.

I had nothing to slap my sleep from bed

For joblessness has nailed my legs since when

The flute of time had blown itself for me to stop

My studies and then lead my way to join others who

Had nothing to offer the world but to be a part of

The jobless race, created by the virtue of a certificate.

But on this day, the sun was red

No yellowness crowded its surface.

I didn't see this just at first

But found out as I rose to take a walk to the bar-woman's pot,

From where each day I took my death.

The sun was red that day, I swear,

It was full of blood from end to end

Its diameter was not like at all

But became redder, from the center where it was core.

I was scared to behold this at first

For what evil could be at hand, I thought

But later it became known

That it was a sign.

The sun had a purpose of its own

Of which it decided to revoke

The sun was still alive by then,

But it was no longer a sun

Rather a dead red ball.

Then it hit me by straightway

That I was a sun too

Now red, now dead, without a head.

Just like the red sun swallows itself

And the earth suffers this act of it,

Someone suffers my idleness too:

The littles on the streets

The poor I should have inspired,

To them, I'm a red sun

To them I’m a dead sun.

And at the wake of each day

As the sun comes upon their heads

They see the sun,

Red as usual.

ODE TO THE OLD by Ogunyomi Israel Abidemi

A thousand eyeballs in a single socket

Busty boughs without roots

Balanced feet on the wind’s cleavage

A flocked farm without plants

A crowded market with no marketers

Familiar birds with strange twitter

Rappers of two hundred rappers

Whose edges touch not the earth

Masticators of the arm with the cranium

Chewers of the liver with the heart

Munchers of the intestine with the bile

Bushy heads without louse

Nocturnal birds with wondrous move

Aged folks with witty wings.a 

EXIT by Oladele Noah

I

A poet may curse thousand tongue

on a collection of species who mock Homer

with their roots, muse and chants of thousand years.

Yet, in the silence of elliptical musings,

the poet slouches between parentheses of caste

and unrivalled casuistry that chimes the Capitalists.

Chaucer, Pope, Eliot lay in linear acceptance

- of a ritual order,

before the vacuum of parallel rhetoric,

relic of tunes and clairvoyant voices.

But he clamps Goethe in fictional tongs,

swears by the Truth of the Bible

and peace of the Holy Quran.

Who bargains a poem for a bottle of wine

to behold themselves found in a cask of beer,

and a hearth for cold nights of insomniac muse –

innuendoes caressing a body falling apart?

A poet may rise like fire

from the fecund slums of Ibadan,

the red earth of the Congo,

and coal-tarred dialects of East Africa

into monuments like five-star hotels in Frankfurt

before we listen to the repose of water

and the voice that seeps into the heart of mountains.

The Sun may not Rise as we may… by Olaniyi Abdulwaheed

The day may once wear its trousers

And put on the darkness,

The night may not welcome her users

When they convoke for their mess.

Today the sky may gouge its eyes

To make the earth walks alone,

So dearth may come with smiles

Then we all host the loan.

Even when cheek becomes big

There may not be any beak to feast,

We all have to dig

To know the peak of earth and its least.

Tomorrow we may mend the road

Not every car can speed than toad

Not every hand can make a toast,

But all have to glue to the feast.

Our friends from next door

Can poke their nose in our store

With cup-door-board we should casket the stew

Not to farm again under the dew.

NEPA may nest the light in the night

Gouge sky’s sight in the day

We all have to swallow the right

Just to find the way.

Masquerade may wear its mask

And chameleon laced her skin with regalia

We all need not to lie

Grave awaits us to die.

Why school boys read to rile

Against every crown that lie?

Boys need to change the suit

Just to make the taste to soothe.

Upon wife that need not to cook

Just once, husband on bed, remain asleep,

Why wife stomach the reap

Of wealth sow for the future cheek.

All looks for moon at night

But not every sun eager to rise;

The day may once wear her trousers

And stalk to the streets with darkness.