Sunday, 9 October 2016
UNDAUNTED APPRAISAL
At the verge of silence, pregnant hearts could no
longer be at ease,
Uncensored words are spoken, incomprehensible chatters,
muttered,
Voices projecting unmelodious sounds are heard,
And ancient drums are played without fingers.
Fate!
I perceive the African heart trembling at its
inconsistence.
Hope or insecurity? Fear or courage?
Attention!
Sonorous voices are heard,
No masquerading, this time, the tales
are real.
Galactic patriots of past centuries,
Unmoved by the stings of ants.
Salutation sirs! You deserve more,
For you restored hope in our hearts,
And carved god-like images in our hearts
for us to behold.
Gallant gods of grave glory!
Awake!
Look into our time and restore the
perfectness of the past.
Giants!
An Ironical reference purging
disturbances
But are we left with a choice?
Playing along wrongly perceived
perceptions dwells as the order of the century,
The line was once drawn,
But was never observed, never maintained,
and never obeyed.
Foundations were laid, but were left
destroyed, damaged, and vandalized by unfiltered strangers.
Awake! Past glories of the GIANT OF
AFRICA,
AWAKE! Leaders of disputes,
Awake soil and warm our feet,
To the weather, I appeal, please favour
our vulnerable cause.
DOLAPO. S
At the verge of silence, pregnant hearts could no
longer be at ease,
Uncensored words are spoken, incomprehensible chatters,
muttered,
Voices projecting unmelodious sounds are heard,
And ancient drums are played without fingers.
Fate!
I perceive the African heart trembling at its
inconsistence.
Hope or insecurity? Fear or courage?
Attention!
Sonorous voices are heard,
No masquerading, this time, the tales
are real.
Galactic patriots of past centuries,
Unmoved by the stings of ants.
Salutation sirs! You deserve more,
For you restored hope in our hearts,
And carved god-like images in our hearts
for us to behold.
Gallant gods of grave glory!
Awake!
Look into our time and restore the
perfectness of the past.
Giants!
An Ironical reference purging
disturbances
But are we left with a choice?
Playing along wrongly perceived
perceptions dwells as the order of the century,
The line was once drawn,
But was never observed, never maintained,
and never obeyed.
Foundations were laid, but were left
destroyed, damaged, and vandalized by unfiltered strangers.
Awake! Past glories of the GIANT OF
AFRICA,
AWAKE! Leaders of disputes,
Awake soil and warm our feet,
To the weather, I appeal, please favour
our vulnerable cause.
DOLAPO. S
TIME! A FLYING FLY!
Envoy of consciousness that night-watches
the dark hair! Fail not thy bright light to shine,
at every hour of this gorgeous gallant night;
when agility chameleons wisdom,
when frivolity chameleons pleasure.
When purple gowns of morning and moon
praises apple than being sweet succulent timely fruit.
Wait not till rugged weak gray leaf sprouts, from thoughtless
woods; hunting heads, lacking future light on the fore of the head.
Help that we think:
Most talened land
of glorious bitter stench and dirge!
Oh! Home of the
most learneds and over-sensed!
Where neurons are
in medullas' offices! Youngs,
Equals, and olds
are only bonafied sagacious
gloomy lights in these
two weird worlds...
Why am I here? Sparkling...though likewise Ugly...
hope-filled, though procrastination; my Mussolini?
Time! Help that we think!
Adéyemo E.O (kàkàkíOgbón)
I voice the wording of the
king...
The Land is a Year Older Today
The land is a year older today.
Yes, it is!
Right from the memory of the day
we pushed the great B’s hand off our mouth
and decided to feed with our own hand,
that was the day, we thought the voices of our
independence had been heard.
That was the day, we dance in ignorance of
jubilation, thinking we’ve met victory!
That was the
day, we thought freedom had finally come to dine with us.
That was day, we sing of a great success, not
knowing our voices would soon sink
with extinct-education, corrugated-corruption, rotten-economy
and leaking-living!
Ever since then,
“The land is a year older today” we do say ‘nually!
We praise its old
clocking age seasonally.
We celebrate it as costume demands.
We sing it like a ritual of rightly rite.
We honour it with our Oro-space.
Though, with the heart inside us burning.
Though, with our conscience mourning.
Though, with our mouth wide open without grains.
Though, with the fear of hunger crippling us hard.
Though, with the shame from the sound of our
praises.
The land is a year older today.
Yes, it is again today!
Just as we were in the horror of economy,
Just as we were in the crave of sorrow,
Just as we were in our crawling limps,
Just as we were in fate of a light hereafter,
So is today, a day of a year addition.
So is today, a day of a year perdition.
So is today, a day, we start to count tales.
So is today, a day, we are blind folded of where to
go!
The land is a year older today.
Yes, it is!
What are we to praise of its aging existence
When the ugly ones cry of their spoilt beauty?
What in the name are we to praise
When the ABIKUs cry of their staying-suffering here?
What are we to count for as a message
When cowries had crossed the Rubicon?
What on earth are we to say of these groaning
When the voices from the market square puncture
and perforate my heart-skin?
The land is a year older today, we Octobise!
Sir Dan 07061967063
buah.dansabekuni@gmail.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)