THE SUN WILL
RISE AGAIN
(Winning poem, 2016 Nigerian Students
Poetry Prize)
Memories
are journeys we come into
beyond
the walls of the mind –
like
Chibok, closing in,
slowly,
to an early embrace;
an
embrace that chokes into
a
fragile submission;
for
we are all travelers waiting
for
the first sign of light –
the
sun, in orange, leading
to
the prologue of things to come.
Like
history moulding our lives
into
a face, the sun rises into
a
shape falling apart –
half
on a Biafran imagination,
doting
yellow on a hopeful chlorophyll.
The
other half forms a memory
wafting
through Maiduguri, Kano, Jos
to
make a history of charred imageries
and
splintered limbs.
But
the sun also wishes to be seen
in
colours other than a wailing gold
or
a crimson that hovers
over
a Borno market.
Colours
are made of something attractive
like
the communion of fire,
union
of blue, red and green,
pummeled
into a bed of ashes
and
ashes are cycles of rebirth.
Healing
begins as a green imagination
and
bruised cactuses with
a
body of pores and thorns,
self-healing
from clotting sap.
The
sun will appear as light
to
these travellers, witnesses
of
one collective symphony:
in
a Lagos suburb, Jos, Kano
Sokoto,
Rivers, Ibadan, Abuja.
Sometimes,
all
we need is a miracle
to
understand the patience of the sea
and
the healing scions
holding
onto the tendrils of green,
for
the sun will rise again and again
and
again, to speak of soft beginnings.
Noah
Oladele
The
Prudent
You who can turn one to two
with pen, without stress
he that eat one and shares two is a fool
since what man eats eternally keeps him, you are
prudent!
Let the rat be rich and cats; poor
for you are not a keeper’ we serve you either
at your table lies meals of the have-not
Prudent! get richer and the poor; poorer!
Were you not one on the search for knowledge?
but, must spade be spade now that you know?
if yes, how like Peter’s net shall your pocket split?
prudent! let new searchers do as for gold!
Should we dwell in rooms alone?
would we the pests chase from their quarters?
are the roofs not broken and walls; not holes?
prudent! shouldn’t theirs be toilet like dump grand?
you need not work
let tours your office be
is past glory not a medal won?
years gone, but prudent! sit! sit on it!
since your scholars sweat for matric
now have you a conglomeration of wisdoms
need they materials to their horizons enrich?
prudent! let
their library be cupboards!
you are good serf to the lords
for to them you paint us; we’re the best!
gracious lords; having
Judas as treasure ‘co-ord’
prudent! judiciously eat breads and spend shreds!
with all your tortoise efficaciousness
should the lords own you wage?
would you not mute the month of the pen?
prudent! fight for us as well, we dwell in caves!
well, the fire shall someday be quenched
but the gold forever shall shrine
the clock may walk slow, shot hand shall point at 12
prudent! you are sun that makes us ripe on time!
but let me
humbly to your deaf mind sound
reminder; of farmer who had all stored
thus, forgets he is a quick fading flower
prudent! his children abroad; strangers ate his work.
for a season rules, never through a year
and children of a wicked king
can after him be slaves, for I swear!
plant! the same shall your seeds be, prudent leave!
let’s live!
*Against mal-administration in Obafemin Awolowo
University and the society at large.
emmadWisdom(kakakiOgbon)
The
Brutal Beast
What a highest level of wickedness exhibited by you!
You are cruel and ungodly!
You came in sheep clothing as Doe
and I foolishly failed to recognize you as a wolf
callous and ungodly you are!
You criticized me and made me believe I was the bad
one!
Hatred will I forever discard from my thought;
and love, I can never promise.
Yes!
You made me believe lust is love!
my heart is burning,
my mind is no longer at ease,
I curst not but the day I met you,
I did!
I am doing;
and I don’t want to any longer.
…….. Faugh!
Blessed; a day I renounced my friendship with you will
be!
In my wildest imagination would I not appreciate your
worthless advice!
Topaz
THE
BORDER
Lately (as
expected since I'm a nature junkie), I have been disappointed in myself for
not being able to appreciate nature and working as a freelance writer for
clients who are more than willing to get great articles, with my weekly income
being a little over $150 which amounts to about 70,000 in the Nigerian naira, I
decided to take a breath, fly around, wake up to the beautiful yellow color of
sunrise and the smell of mighty white waves and not to the heartache of my
waiting laptop, I want to go to bed after spending time beside my window sill
watching the leaves dance to the tune of the cool evening breeze and the golden
yellow sun set which cues me in for a lullaby... Go to
sleep my love.
I plan to skinny dip in a sun-heated pool and to
soak myself in a red-bomb bath. I want to do Paris first and by day, I’ll go on
a La tour Eiffel with bunch of strangers that I wouldn't care to know. I also
plan to get acquainted with a hot guy and probably fall in love then forget
about him after three weeks.
I spent the last week of last month in Nigeria
visiting my cousin's wife and kids before I started my trip around the world.
She who happens to be in the Rapid Response Squad of the Nigerian Police Force
(NPF-RRS) was more than delighted when I told her I was going to accompany her
to her workplace first before heading to the airport. Then the unexpected
happened, I got caught up enjoying her military schedule and wasn't going to
make it through the traffic within 30 minutes. I had to reschedule for tomorrow.
Twenty five minutes pass the noon clock as a
mentally deranged heavily pregnant woman danced her way along the express
opposite the station. She stopped on the bridge (the border that separates
Lagos from Ogun, Nigeria), bent down and started screaming, I was alarmed at
first, trying to contain the incident...
Her water had broken and she was in labour!
On lookers were amazed as the woman tried to pull
the baby out with her bare hands. No one was going to touch her, she is
mentally unstable. She was in pain and was ready to pull it off her. Then I
thought whoever did this must have been the son of if not Lucifer himself. As
she continued to shout and push, the traffic became thicker and the NPF helped
to intersect 2 drive lanes into one. No medical help was accepted when it was
offered. I guessed she must have thought, they
will kill my baby.
I was not afraid she was giving birth on the
border, I was not afraid things might get out of hand, I was not afraid that
she might run away leaving the baby behind, I was afraid the baby would be
impoverished, malnourished and thin, I was afraid the baby might not live, I
was afraid that the germs first from the mother's hands to the tarred express
the mother plans to lay the baby on would infect the infant.
Then the cries filled the air, ones the cars on the
border express were trying unintentionally to overshadow, the beautiful cries of a vulnerable baby boy, then amazingly, his
mother started crying and smiling as she wiped off the blood on her baby's
body. As she held him to her chest, she became aware of the umbilical cord
connecting them. She was unsure of what next to do. She wrapped the baby in
rags from her bag and unknowingly to her, the medical team from a government
hospital nearby held her down before she could stand and dosed her an injection
to sleep. They then moved her into their ambulance and drove off.
When the air hostess asked for my choice of
appetizer, my head was blank except for the scene of emotions I witnessed the
previous noon that totally surpasses all others. I was glad I got caught up and
witnessed the scene. I waved her off and concentrated on the beauty I always
seek at sunset; the golden yellow color that fades into the dark blue evening
sky.
-
Precious Oluwamodupeola Jayeola
TETANUS HAVEN
Long road seeks to ply and flys
height
With the burning of heart desire
As the inferno enslaves the immediate
neighbors
Burst out the truth of the mind when
hankering
Masses nods
Snakery he crawls at each door when
better offers,
Whose keys stacked with the masses
Hailing as when mortar welcomes
pestles
Screech is the order of the brief
case
When strides to pitch on the mound
From west to east his dragon bills
glides, Vanishes
Of masses concerns, but turns to
padding locust books
Forget masses, all beckon plaguing
houses
On whose trunk you climbed.
Paste of all lies in watery mouth
Like honey bees, societal blood
sucker
Rapist of innocent fortunes and take
Into nature’s sacrilege
Wallowing in treacherous games
Behold, chiefly tetanus in the wound
of masses
A day shall cast by the nature!
Sends from the Most High to diagnose
Your cankerworm deeds.
Point o. (Ayodele Opeyemi A.)
PELUMI
Pelumi,
Please answer your name in my life
Accept my offering as a ring in the womb
Listen attentively to my crying knees
Who because of you befriend the ground
Listen to the anthem of my hands
Who because of you pitch its tent with cymbals.
Pelumi,
Make my dream of yester years a reality
Where bone will dine with bone and flesh with flesh
Where lips will clean lips, and palm will rub palm
Where the conserved energy will be enough to dig a hole
Where heart
communicate with heart in sweat
Where echoes of Eve reverberate once again.
Pelumi,
Don't leave me in this junction of infatuation
Hold my hands in the midst of oceans
Hold my hands under the shade of the moon
Hold my hands to where fields are green
To show you the great wonders of the world
Hold my hands to cross the boundary of forlorn hope.
Pelumi,
Let me take you through the wings of the birds
Let me take you to the mansions I built on trees
Let me because of this day spend all my worth
Let me take you to the falconer
To learn the language of birds
Let me take you to the deep of the ocean
To learn the beauty of the mermaids
Let me take you to victorians
To learn the ministration of flowers.
Pelumi,
Come, please come unto me
And because of the joy of today
Don't hesitate to turn my village to city
To turn my desert to a fruitful land
To cloth my skeleton with the flesh of love
To dash my doubts on the boiling cliff.
Pelumi,
I promise, because of the gain of today
To sleep within the lines of your weaving
To reflect my image in the mirror of your beauty
To whittle down a wood into your stature
To have our honeymoon in the softness of your palm
To walk through the gloomy road with the whiteness of your
teeth.
Pelumi,
With the gladness of heart, accept my Nigella damascena
That has successfully grown on seven mountains
Accept my Arbutus with Baby's Breath
To make me happy once again
My Balsam is also growing rapidly in the midst of thorns
To satisfy the pleasure of my queen.
Pelumi,
Because of the unending pain in the subtle mind
Don't be joyous in giving me King's Spear and Manchineel
Don't let my fortune be like that of dark horse
Racing with great vitality in the abyss
Don't let my portion be like that of farmer
Sowing in tears but reaping in famine.
Pelumi,
I love you with all my heart
If only you can perceive it in my melody
I love you with all my heart
If only you can see it in my sacrifice
This last thing I ask with great desperation
Let between your loins this law of chastity be dashed.
WORLD BARNABAS.
(RAFIU ADURAGBEMI BARNABAS).
LIFE FOR RENT
I can laugh
because am happy
But am laughing
because the happiness has gone
And the unexpected has nullify our
euphoria
Though there is
water everywhere
But there is no
water to drink
Though freedom
abounds from the outset
But people are dining
in misery.
Though beautiful
years of harvest are recorded
But people are
residing in the insole of wants
Even the sun
testifies to the condition of man
Through its heat
as if to burn the ado
The moon descends
at night
With tremor like a
giant to pacify the fuss
The wind blew as
if to unfold its ominous view
The ocean roar in
pain
As if to surmount
the inconspicuous mishap
The cloud mumble
as if to exterminate the slave master
Even the shadow is
ever following to console.
Cat-o-nine-tails
is the only communication channel
Where there is no
chance for alternative
What I like most
to do resides in my imagination
But never
materialized because
There is no
fertile land to appreciate my seed
Those I struggle
to plant with the motive of shock
Are being choked
up by the thorns
Even the formation
of life is hidden
And appear like a
masquerade with a mishmash of garment
Where solid
foundation became a slippery ground
That as abolish a
lot of ideas.
What is then the
essence of life?
What is the
purpose of procreation?
When will life
become favorable to me?
When will Banana
Republic gain its independence?
When will I
exchange pleasantry with my shadow?
When will my
mother dwell in paradise?
Those who claim to
know the road; show me the road
Those who claim to
understand the mysteries of life; interpret my parable
Those who have
degree in consolation; make me happy ones again
Those who have
food; feed me
Those who have
water; quench my thirst
Those who can
broadcast; make my request known to the world
Those who are
closer to the king; plead for my deliverance.
I live my life
like a mad man
Whose best cloth
is rag and apartment is dunghill
I live my life
like the serfs who is in land trust to the lord
I live my life
like a prey in the hand of predator
I live my life
like a sandal
Though beautify
the feet but will later worn-out
I live my life
like a fan that produces breeze but still emitting heat
I live my life
like nightingale whose music is sonorous
But is out of
badass experience of life.
How I wish the
world is free
How I wish life is
without pain
If the world is
free, then I will be free.
WORLD BARNABAS.
(RAFIU ADURAGBEMI BARNABAS).
HELPLESS
NOT HOPELESS
‘Parading walls of the
cranium,
the little teenage girl scorch and walk the
sun’
That is me, every day
from the start, when I lost a roof on my head!
This I do, right from the
day my home fell!
That was the day the
flood of death
Wiped out my head and my womb.
Making me an orphan of
the fame
As helplessness switch on
difficulties
And abandonment banned
hands of favour
Glimpsely, everybody avoids
my path, death too avoid me!
Making me a child of no
mean child on the street.
With balls of fresh
tomato and pepper
Dangling the head of my
dove.
On my foot, a rocking
hole of flip-flap sleepers
Protecting nothing of the
naked sole
As the scorching sun
penetrate my veins
from the ground of the foot.
My little dangling,
covers with tattered khakis
Optionless!, I daily cry
the enterprise songs round
Every home to make the red of the pot.
Making the yummy fountain
of a wife possible
And the praise of her
‘perfect cook’ a glaring aisle of her love.
Not that I have no hope
It is just that the
letters of the opposite are longer
As my effort is felt on
the dinning of the tall
So my hope hereafter.
Though, I am deprived of
comforts
But I comfort homes with
my hawking.
Though, I look different
in this globe, yet I make a different
with these red fresh balls of tomato and
pepper on my head.
Though, I depend on the
machine papers from them
They too fall back on me
for fresh seasoning.
Though, my hawking song
turn itself a name on me
But I still name the
aroma of fresh taste, the yummy sweetness!
Though, I do the madness
walk under the fever oriented sun
while my colleagues enjoy white men’s
knowledge
yet, I am part of the
privilege.
Though, the stink mats,
warm my emaciated bones during the cozy night yet I still have the black blood
running the dark veins like yours.
Because with my begging
merchandise song,
I make fortunes of the
wife as best cook
My ball reddish crops,
colours the love of a pot.
My helplessness, put hope
on wife at the return of husbands from work
Without me the smile of
the pot dies with just a taste.
This alone, I know I have
a hope!
I have a hope like others
in this HUB
I am important in this
GLOBE
Like other teenagers of
this CONFINE
I too turn the SOCIETY
I am helpless not
hopeless
It is a lack of fortune
not a lack of hope!
This I know will turn out
when the doors of letters
are open
To read out my
helplessness.
Sir Dan 07061967063
buah.dansabekuni@gmail.com
DARK
HOPE AND GLOOMY TRUST
I
Shall
we hope or trust?
what days I have had!
this ‘one day’ is salty mess in my mouth
stones now sold like gold
at first, it was a jacket, now it is coat
brothers and sisters under menace
their voices; under burning furnace
cakes of death thrown to cause sorrow in peaceful
houses
three-time meals; now “1…Oh...God!”
the milk that flows from our land
now sold to us by foreigners
So
as I, on this fence lie, I thought;
“the
plea for favor is lost now we pray to live long”
so
I had mama soliloquizing;
“when
do we eat from our fruitful old-tree?
we
now fight over oil in the land of milk and honey”
so
I ponder; gone are those days, ha!!
when
mama stirs through her heart
with
pestle of grieve, and son in pot, stirs Oka
so
I thought; let another world
be
a place of solace, if my pains shall be gone
as I closed my eyes, here I am; a rat!
running towards fire, and chased by planks
Moses, here I am; Pharaoh, at my back, on the run
the blood-water roars and stunts in my front
so, here I am running for life
and next to me is a Bee hive
shall I eat under Hitler
or famish in famine in Canaan?
a tiger now says he hates blood
Rat promises blameless account
So,
here I am, on the fence; flat!
closing
an eye and opening the other
the
forward is hell blazing fire
at
the back is a full roaring water
shall
I stay with this devil fully known?
Shall
I serve a preaching lamb though once a wolf?
hunger wakes me to continue living
shall
I endure my bloody dream?
there
on earth is death, hunger and drought
here
in my dream is a known Judas, promising to be Jesus.
ii
Now
that we trusted
Now that we choose to dream, for sweet ones may come
Now we run into the sea; God of Israel still lives
Now, tiger is our lord; he claims to hate blood
Now, we choose to die; hell may be lie and heaven,
real
Now that we trusted
The horrible wind of change is raging
waving rusted irons and turning sands
let trust be trust at evening
even when there is no hope of a day light
Now that we trusted
Well, the blind eyes know worse pain
when the lost sight shall be regained
let our faith be faith, though gloomy trust
now is dark hope and no longer trust
Now we
hope to rejoice that we trusted.
(* OKA; is a name of a Yoruba solid meal made from
cassava flower by steering when mixed with hot water.)
emmadWisdom(kakakiOgbon)
BLEMISHES
IN MY BLOOD
“For
out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications,
thefts, false witness, blasphemies: These are the things which defile a man.” (Matthew
15:19,20a KJV).
Canto
I
Daily
on the dais of self-deceit
Strutting
about in the toga of conceit,
Slovenly
derelict of legitimate duties,
But
the portraiture of myself in continuum pieces,
Assorted
vices in my belly dwell,
Lust
and the rest, all without an acrid swell
Like
that emitting from the turtle’s skin
So
defying my sniffer friends: even next of kin.
Singing
daily my saviour to emulate
Yet,
as a bolt from the blue, I titillate…
The
ladies mincing about with open cleavages
Vibrating
the buttocks on purpose: these advantages
I
leverage… it takes two to tango,
Both
of us might concede to suck the mango,
But
the blemishes in her blood, like mine,
Ambushed
in her entrails which thus whine
Vortex
of vanities pulling my lustful mind,
Admittedly,
are all of the same kind.
Canto
II
Ambling
along the street of my town,
At
a boutique, a mannequin wearing a gown,
Her
physique, in no miniature, of a girl,
At
a closer look, my head began to swirl,
Her
skirt with a slit to the hip like those in the street,
The
wearers, alas, are no more sweet.
It
was during rush hour I continued my saunter
An
eatery next door to the boutique planned to enter
In
turns, customers made past the revolving door
In
the inn, revelry, aura of beautiful whore,
My
purpose, ambivalent, to get some ambrosia
Sight
of the skirts and trousers in mirthful mania
Basking
themselves to forgo the country’s tedium,
I
sat my body down, ordered the waiter for some medium.
Nearby,
a thin lady ensconced in an armchair,
Reclined
as if doped, no one there to care,
Forthwith,
she aroused shuffling up out of the inn,
Sozzled,
she stumbled under the influence of gin,
Tripping
on my toes, not bothered to say sorry
I
winced, but seemed not to worry,
“Your neck and leg of ostriches’
Your face daubed like those of
witches
Your haunches dotted like a leopard’s
Your lovers, no doubt, sleeps with
lepers.”
All
this was none of my voice
But
my brain and bowels making the noise,
I
seemed to be innocent, but in my mind,
Admittedly,
we are all of the same kind.
Canto
III
The
waiter returned with cousin very expensive
Picturing
my purse, I became body and soul pensive,
The
waiter asked the pay, I feigned disguisedly mad
I
howled and snarled at him, but was very sad
When
all and sundry on me tilted their gaze
I was afraid and bolted out in disgrace,
Words
of abuse hit my nape like an arrow
Defying
description, I bowed my soul in sorrow,
No
words of invective from my mouth, but in mind,
Admittedly,
we are of the same kind.
Canto
IV
Wandering
still, a stopover at a bookshop,
There
stood beside me another customer, a cop
Calling
for a jotter to record the day’s takings
Extorted
from commuters though in wailings
The
seller, no first come, attended to the man in black
Perhaps
out fear, or because everywhere was dark,
No
light in town, even the cold rooms were hot
All
the fishes in refrigerators were ready to rot,
My
plan was in fact, to buy nought
Coincidentally,
my turn was made an afterthought,
Walking
up to me: “What do you want to buy?
For
ignoring me, walai, I gave him no reply,
I
picked up a Bible, then a magazine
The
periodical was peopled with pictures of sin,
After
some haggling on the price,
I
flipped through the pages, and are very nice,
I
reduced the price beyond his patience,
He
was peeved, and told me I was saying nonsense,
Capitalizing
on this, I flung the item on his table,
Lifting
up his hand in rage, I left before being able,
No
imprecation from my dumb mouth, but in mind,
Admittedly,
we are of the same kind.
Canto
V
This
N50 million, take to your constituency
For
the benefit of the masses, and no imprudency,
But
a man with a greedy look
Would
in no wise escape a high current brook.
Out
of the ten competing in the race
This
glutton was given the right of place,
But
on getting there, he sat upon the seas
Neglecting
advice, even the Almighty’s pleas,
Having
wielded the truncheon
All
life now was summed up in luncheon,
He bit the finger who made him the noble
The
act which the Creator has termed ignoble
Always
buried in the inky darkness of a jeep
Never
believed he could later weep,
The
pounded yam of twenty years
Is scalding hot, scorching him unawares,
The dog scribbled on a page as graffiti
Can
bark and bite one as sin’s gravity
His
sun had warped the poor
Of
their blood, his hand was not pure,
Two
moons prior to the elections,
He
gave out bread and butter in sections,
Mayhem
indeed rocked the scene
This,
under the convex of heaven, I have seen,
Rice,
beans and other incentives were given
Soldiers,
with their butts, many spectators were riven,
They
too, a porter is wont to eat bread
Inadvertently
eating up his scalp, being not dead,
On
the ballot day, they got some token
Alas!
Postelection, they became downtrodden.
While
unleashing the presents as painted above,
Their
wellbeing not in his heart, let alone their love,
However,
we know, birds of a feather
Like
a swarm of bees, flock together,
Though
he swindled them, in their mind,
Are
they not squarely of the same kind?
Canto
VI
You
aspired both of you would score A’s
Good
thought, exactly what the scripture says,
But
last Monday, the result was finally released
His
“A”, yours “C”, I was told you were displeased.
In
public, you congratulated him on his success,
Whereas
your clandestine plot was to suppress,
Why
containing the brutal blood
And
spewing out the whitish flood?
He
knew not you were using the knife at the back
To eat his yam roasted and rested on the rack,
He
too was marginally happy you scored lower,
Gloating,
he forgot God is on the tower,
Outward
acts are conspicuous, but in mind,
Admittedly,
you are of the same kind.
Canto
VII
Under
the sun have I seen something hating,
Humans
like fowls, in the open, are mating,
The
horrible happened during my primary three,
Unfolded
before me on a plateau under a tree,
It
was a teacher of English
Doing
with a girl some rubbish,
Even
the damsel herself did not cry,
Taken
aback, I asked the question, why?
I was told, at eight, she had reached her
puberty
Regardless
her parents living in poverty.
The
man indeed did something harrowing
But
the lass herself was also following
I
didn’t lie, I saw her velvet plain pants
Until
she was somewhat bitten by ants,
In
calendar, they were worlds apart, but in mind,
Of
a truth, they are of the same kind.
Canto
VIII
Fifteen
years ago I knew a man,
His
birth was not from a noble clan
Yet,
he, with much stress, graduated from the Uniben,
The
horrific, no job for him, even since then,
Frustrated,
he adopted his father’s profession
Although
not willingly but by concession
He
became, by compulsion, a herbalist
Contrary
to his training as an agriculturist,
But
this compatriot so much hated farming
Perhaps
the reason he experienced the famine,
Like
Olowoaye in the forest,
This
man struggled, yet without rest,
In
the current venture, he was very diligent
Still he remained disgustingly indigent
At every dawn, he spelt curses on his
fatherland
Not knowing a miracle was already at hand.
It
was one morning, around eleven
A
merchant was sent by the Creator of heaven,
He
offered the man some money to invest in planting
But
the ungrateful said it was no more his planning,
He
was now well patronised by the politicians,
He
sold human parts, even to the musicians,
And
all with obnoxious desires for fame,
Many
faith healers too were all the same,
The
thief owns all days but one
Nay,
the one he thinks he has won.
This
man perpetuated the act for so long
Until,
in the long run, Edumare proved him totally wrong,
He
was caught in the act together with some cabal,
Decapitating
an albino, they threw the body into a canal,
They
were napped and taken to the right berth
There
on the gallows, they forgot their dates of birth,
The
death that slaughters one’s mate,
It
is an anecdotal proverb it tries to relate,
The
musicians and others were of the same mind,
They
were, all of the same kind.
Canto
IX
Double
rations you take for fee,
They
themselves cannot see,
The
worst, you are rusticated
But
they are not yet communicated,
They
labour round the clock,
All
you do to frequent bars to rock,
The
king of heaven have you in view
And your recompense might not be few,
The
nuts and bolts, which is their belief
That
someday, you’ll give them relief.
How,
child, could that come to pass,
When,
at all, you did not pass in class?
Ponder
on this, child,
Lest
all become wild.
They
too are lackadaisical,
To
be candid and practical,
No
time for them you to verify,
A
laxity we have to vilify,
The
music they’ll all face in the future
Except
they prune ìrókò
early to avoid its torture,
The
child seems to deceive them, in mind,
Are
they not all of the same kind?
Canto
X
False
witness for money,
Today,
you really relish the honey,
Your
edifice, not only in air, but on sand,
I
know you as SAN, and, your band
Often
occasions, perverse justice
Alluding
to the statutes as sources,
From
clients you collect kola,
Against
thieving, yet you holler,
Your
case is, in lapidary,
Tantamount
to their own corollary,
Without
being lopsided, in my mind,
You
are synonymously of the same kind.
Canto
XI
In
any grandiloquent tirade of circumlocution,
There
lacks no, to make no bones about it, prevarication,
These
blemishes (and such like) as catalogued
Are
little little foxes, within any man, clogged.
Even
though we seem to be forming,
We
are fooling, fully full of all cunning.
Elebijo Sam
ANGER
Bottled
drinks,
Opened
in haste,
The
chemical is stirred
And
spilled; never to
Be
measured up again.
The
rash opener,
Like
a magic spell,
Clinks
the bottle rim
And
chips off the brim,
Never
to be equal again.
A
shell-egg
From
a nerveless fingers,
Dropped
on a naked rock,
Will
never be sheltered again.
Thus does rage
Wear
her bearers
To
leave them obsolete
And
never to be new again.
Elebijo Sam
AYOMI
Ayomi,
our emotion has ecstasies
The
deodorants of your veil pricks my nostril
The
gait of your glossy shadow
Makes
the caricature of holiness
Anxious
to speak, but bereft of words
Your
noble heart holds ten thousand words hostage
Jolted
by confused silencers and commotions
Building
walls against our warmth and affection
To
shards the love that mulched our laughter
Ayomi,
time hosts us in a scented cuddle
Like
jolted rock in a flowing river
Your
love glued on me amidst doubt and fear
If
I thought of my own tomorrow, I would say good bye
With
you falling prey of inconsistency and doubt
Yet,
your love landed on my shore like white butterfly
Those
things that crawl under your Hijab
Tend
to cage love in a forlorn fate
Parents
are not augurs of our tomorrow
But
to prepare us for whatever come after
Ayomi,
our nightmares are beyond illusions
Check
your heart, no man is greater than I am
Except
where love is trade in line of politics
Like
Mozambique Hall, somewhere in the west
Shaitan
communes in dingy corner, with fear and doubt
Trying
to eat time to jaw bone, and to ashes
If
I tell you not to sing, it doesn’t mean I won’t sing for you
Never
mind my trouser fighting the earth, an element of faith
But
if you can clear off those things
Verily,
I will be the remain of time, for lifetime
Ayomi,
God has mould you in a Holy Hijab
Your
soul is saint, stripped off those things of life
Knowing
souls are mortal by design
There
is a moon inside your eye, Ayomi
I
am familiar with its groans of understanding
But
you have to speak them your heart
Before
pessimism takes a better bargain
Put
your egg in one basket, and then hang it in faith
A
woman is not complete without a man
And
man is not complete without a woman
BADA YUSUF AMOO
ALGAE ON THE
LAKE
On this lake are algae of different
Territories or I should say, rags torn apart
By the claim of autonomy and sovereignty
But more torn apart by abrupt burst of
Fire like laughter almost stifled but later let out.
As much as we come close, so do we see
Our farness our seemingly growing distance,
Our pigments magnify our colours, of course,
Which should only be the definition of description
But not of ability; even too frail to point at ethics
Let alone climb the height of intellectuality.
Even though the world is hurting rags
Of algae on water now, we say,
‘The world is beautiful still, still beautiful!’
Though with beautiful beads of tears.
OLADIMEJI DAMILOLA
AGEGE BREAD
The
adventure started
In
the foaming of flower into little tin
With
rectangular shape like poor man's casket
And
set in the breaking oven
Made
of red clay
Fire
creaked beneath, and made everything
Like
the painting of hell fire.
Agege
bread, all your side is brown
And
your back is more brown and strong
Like
the muzzle of Mike Tyson
And
you ready yourself as food of the masses
That
unites our strength with struggles of life
Along
the lane of laughter and perseverance
Where
the sun rises as if it will never set.
By
11a.m at Mama Kafaya's canteen
Where
we gather to sing love songs
Where
we gather to talk politics and sports
Sitting
side by side with unemployed graduates
Retired
civil servants without pension
Old
soldiers and the illiterate youths
You,
politics, and sports are what bring us together.
With
20 Naira beans and 30 Naira water
We
have enough to soak your strength
Not
to choke out throats when the argument starts
Though,
sports are indifferent about our existence
Politicians
rarely talk about us
But
you are as kind as the man
Whose
penis is potent enough
To
impregnate a fine woman.
BADA
YUSUF AMOO
A
Voice from the Jar of Oppression
What are your ways to me?
Nothing! Absolutely nothing!
Nothing next to suffering!
Nothing more than licensing
the murder of my maiden man!
You hunt me; a man,
like the forefathers hunting “Oya and Etu”
in the forest of “Igbo Irumole”.
Now here you are, making mouth of protection.
What security! Damn it! hunters of Man!
Just look at it,
In your castigating court of jester,
you make me seat the bench of injustice.
hanging me between life and death!
claiming you want me equality of a law.
what on earth is justice
with this prosecuting robe of a judge?
You chained my legs and chained my hands
Yet, crying law and justice!
Am I to preach that to you or
you that have grieved my soul with pains?
You make me fight with dogs at the rubbish bin;
as if my integrity means nothing to you.
You make me stand a pouncing paw with cats,
at the thrown of crumbs;
claiming am poor or something,
making my blood to boil in anger.
You make me wait impatiently like Mr. Jones’ Bingo,
at the leftover instead! while I’m still entitle
to the whole of this land’s green-grains.
You force me to buy wood from the forest
I part the planting;
claiming, it’s now government.
You make me buy water from the stream
I own allegiance to;
the river, mother used in making pap
I grown out of little child with.
You teach me nothing but to bend low
and sweep on the soil I grew up into;
just for the profit I own an identity to.
You make me sing songs of sorrow;
claiming I got no praises of joy in my drums.
You drive me crazy even when I refuses
to be mad like the shameless madmen on the street.
Though, your mendacious medical care
see no part to my entrance,
yet, you still task me with the herbs that grow me;
thereby hanging my life between the jaws of death.
Though, my warm home, you snatched!
As if that wasn’t enough,
you still whip me with the cold of threats
on the cozy-tattered mat I lie.
Though, I might have been born
by a blind mother;
the one with no western eye,
but I still feel her blind fate-faith
and it’s a strength to me.
My land; the black soil am part of,
you stole!
As if that wasn’t enough,
you still tax me for a pay to live.
The beauty of my colour,
Black; integrity,
you took!
As if that wasn’t enough,
you still cloth me with stream of blood.
You struck with strings of sheath
at the point I try settle for a fruit.
claiming you have the order.
what for?
You taught me wisdom of riff-raff,
claiming I have obstinate head. How?
See!
You’ve shown me deceptions enough
with those million lies in your disguise!
Now here you are
preaching truthfulness and trustworthiness;
a sermon for the church.
You took me for a fool with the
“wiles-luring voices of poisonous serpent”
Lies! Lies! Lies; there your lines lie!
Despite the hundreds of thousands
of cattle and sheep, I own,
you still make me visit the butchers for bones!
Now here you are
claiming you want me sanitary of a meal.
How?
You make me dance with high hills
end up hurting my ankles instead!
claiming my bare footed, needs a palm
at “akuru yejo”
Now here you are
preaching cold peace in the face of violence!
My wife bred children.
Yes! she did.
Hefty men, they were!
capable of a village wrestling.
Beautiful Belles for a bride, they were!
But where are they now?
Maimed!
You strangled and smoldered them all!
You burnt and killed them for me instead!
Now here you are
telling tales of dignity!
Dignity of animal or human?
You know what!
The liberation struggle,
I shall cry still for freedom
until you let go!
Sir Dan 07061967063
buah.dansabekuni@gmail.com
A SONG OF
THE BLOOMING BIRD.
This nestling of nature, nurtured, though through
A nest egg, beaks of hers bring back bright light with might
So she sings songs sartorial to sky her coo
Those which draw those waters from deep dark well to
sunlight.
Bringing these tossing buds to bear
Fruits for musing mouths of mamas, of
Fertile fossils ferried down deep like hearty love
Requires the rhyme and rhythm of having nothing to fear.
The nestling now knocks these blooming buds by beaks
As whizzing winds wheedle her to raise
Her voice, vindicating with vivace to the peak
As her songs obliterate fogs that veneer the need to praise.
Consider characters and charisma to christen this black
Bird. This beautifully emaciated bird that still envisions
flashes
Of beautiful beaks and fair feathers even when clashes
Of affluence flirt with stark lack.
Ratiocinate then resonate her rises and falls like tides of
seas while still under the wings of the falconer, 'Jack Flag'
That flung her grains of self-sufficiency and trampled on her
wings with pride
And still she sang of perching on green and white flag, but
now, see the sin city of Lag.
Hear, here in the air, the voice of hers.
The voice of vigour invigorating the super eagle
That perches with vision full of wishes and voice not glum
like that of a hearse
Voice of hope to the hopeless and hapless, christens the bird
beyond stars that twinkle.
Oladimeji Damilola
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