despire

                                          DESPAIR

There he sits; a wolf in sheep’s covering

Stirring with face buried down to cut

And blond spaghetti hair bent lowering

Like a bashful sheep ready to butt

Eyes peering over his goggles’ roof

That gives him the owl-like proof

A harbinger of fatal sinister

"Guilty or not guilty!" He roars after

Like a hungry lion thirsty for blood

Raising his gavel waiting for my stand

Like a hammer in the carpenter’s hand

Looking at his victim with eyes emitting blood

I am his victim

The white sheep slaughtered; dying

On the alter of bribery and me-ism      

Before his open claws and teeth standing

With hands traced behind at the dock,  

Like the helpless Christmas cock

Destined for the stomach's demand

Leaving my breath in a mortal’s hand

Like eggs on a dagger point; at times

Quaking epileptically to crash and go

At the slightest air blow

Wasting the unwanted precious slimes

In my wretchedness I always perish in prison

In an endless wait for his reason

Which already is GMG indused

My timid heart throb sounds confused

“My judgment is…!” He announces

And the egg comes crashing to pieces

Because for his palm I have no greases

FOR A ROLL OF PARCHMENT

Just for a roll of parchment

We walked down the thorny cramped road

Where the chilly western wind of the dark night

Came Sizzling into the medulla oblongata

Washing away the colours of the mind

And leaving it confused like a bat

Upward could not go and down must not come

Just for a roll of parchment

We moved from place to place like the Fulani

In search of the chalk man’s hard disk

Hidden in archaic black and white leaves

That were already suffering senile dementia

And offers –isms

That end up in folded leaves

Just for a roll of parchment

We bore the mosquito’s sucking kiss

The twitching eye caused by candle’s tongue

The arching head as for sleepless night

And lonely days like Abraham far from home

Groping and scrambling for disabled password

Inscribed in a vainful fold of leaves

Just for a roll of parchment

We felt the scotching heat of the day

The goads from the green shepherds

Aching back for heavy yokes

And walked sluggishly with stillborn hopes

Loitering away precious years in inactivity

To fix a maskfor a an empty parchment

The pretty young girl

The pretty young girl likes petals

On the neat red rose she sorts it

Ignoring colorless sepals

Alluring petal rose has it

The pretty young girl likes petals

But rose has got a sharp dagger

The snake also likes rose petals

Though not to stop now her hunger

The pretty young girl needs petals

The rose has got to wait for her

Waving alluring red petals

The snake has got to compete with her

Amid the piercing rose thorn sting

For no ease comes any good thing

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Now we are going home

After the fierce battle we have won

Fought on top of the hills of Megiddo

With rusty short knives

That shade blue blood

Now we are going home

Reminiscence of the days on mount camel

Where the giants came with bulala

The heavens threw pebbles 

The western wind flogged with the tongue 

Like chameleon we moved with cunning 

With the end not at sight

Now we are going home

Clutching the tail of the peacock

And an eagle’s feather on our red caps

Back could not turn

Lest to a pillar of salt could turn

Now we are going home

Though the road seems dark

Vultures perch on tree branches 

Owls hoot in their hid-outs 

Black cats wink and stare at us 

But now we must get home

For at the end of the dark is a candle

Which only the awake could clutch

For the heavens no longer rain manna

But now we must get home

                                                                 No place like home

MONKEY DEY WORK

The hunter and his dog                      

T’day the hunter left his house with his dogs

To hunt for games in the forest logs

Before the hunter pulls the long gun

The dog caught the game without a gun

The game is done and home they came

Yes the dog it was that caught the game

The dogs and hunter home they came

Now when it’s time to share the game

When the meat and fire came to fuse

The hunter came with breaking news

 Let no dog be let on the loose

Let no dog get close to the meet

These dogs are thieves don’t let them meet

Yet the dog it was that caught the meat

When meats are down from fire place

The dogs are bound they found no space

They lay on the floor with face of shame

Waiting for the meat that never came

At last the bone it was that took the blame

Yet the dog it was that caught the game

I am the dogs in chains aside

Mopping as my good wishes died

Watching the word as swift they stop

“Monkey dey work, baboon dey chop”

UNTOWARD

Like weary farmers we have come ready

To till a land new fresh and untidy

After our heads are parked full in the square

The dusty forsaken cracked village square

Under the epileptic faint moon light

That twinkles and shows red light like ember

But the morning came not we remember

Though a tint of bright light showed high above

Yet thick misty black cloud hung us above

We are disillusioned lying fallow

Like a forest reserve without grasses

While the land to till turned into a hollow

Our implements crude and rusty glasses

The moon light tales could match not with day light.

LONG WAIT

I have been here waiting

A granny in my endless cradle watch

Waiting for the ladder to descend

From the mother tortoise in the fables

So that I can climb to the heavens

Reminiscence of the yester years

In the matching band of kindergartenic queues

Like a train of solder ants

In the harmattan match for the rainy days ahead

“Parents listen to your children

We are the leaders of tomorrow”

We chanted like the sun birds

Flying our wings in unarguable frenzy

Waiting for the tomorrow which never came

With our hearts cupped with hats of ignorance

Like new bush mushroom abandoned

For rotten tree eaters

Here I am still watching

A cradle with beards left fallow

While the leaders of yester years say no

And got their anus glued on gods seat

Like dogs to the gods we crept

Just for the rumbling stomachs groan

And from our eye came streams of oceans

Yet we could neither move nor be heard

Though we have caught the pen

Which they say is mightier than the sword

And now we need the sword to quench our pains

Yes the sword more than ever the pen

Here we are still watching

With the tomorrow not at sight

While the yesterday refused to pass away

With today yet to come our way

The old dying king refused to step away

His rules induced by senile dementia sway

Like a babies cooing haunt us all day

As he squeezes us into disguised feudalism

When will our tomorrow ever come?

For this we have always yearned

Though our today is not yet established

In the darkest time of the day I think.

WHERE IS EVERYONE HEADED

Where is everyone headed?

The cock has not yet crowed

Chicken eavesdropping from the hens pinion

To hear the early morning cockerel’s calling

Three AM my clock has just said her opinion

And the road is already busy

With people walking, running, coming, going

But the sky is yet to get busy.

Where is everyone headed?

The slap-slap of hurrying pairs of slippers;

The pee-pee-pee of okada hustlers;

And the deafening sound of cars complaining,

Yet the crickets to the sun a sung sing

A lovely lullaby for the sleeping king

Against the cacophony of molue buses calling

But the sky is still blind folded

Where is everyone headed?

Uzo! Uzo! The truck pusher has shouted,

Pushing through some scurrying bodies;

Weary bodies denied of sweet night dreams;

Sleepy eye piercing through darksome days;

Running feet for no defined extremes;

Tired hands slicing the air like sword’

But the sky is yet to say a word

Where is everyone headed?

Even when the sun comes awake

With her beaming eyes of fire lake

Through the window holes he headed

But legs have kept moving here and there

Chasing after elusive thin air sway

Till they die and rot away

Yet the sky will still be there

Where is everyone headed?

With a wink of the suns eyes sockets

The street has gone deserted

Not even the cry of dying cars is heard,

Nor the road side peddler’s noisy call;

Not even the quack-quack of the duck is heard,

Nor the sing sung of the sung birds all;

But only a distant shrill of the crickets

And the croaking laughter of the father toad

That derisively mocks the follies of men’s hold

Struggling till the sun begins to wake again

And man begins to scurry again

Same cycle everyday he dies again

And what has man got to gain?

STILL BORN

I am excited

The day is so misty and gloomy

Pictures near and far appear blurred

I close my eyes to let the weary body sleep

Amid the clattering sounds of machines

That would not permit a sleep

My face glows in my gorgeous dream

I take a luscious damsel to the alter

Sitting on the heavens I give order

The trees that bore my seed I water

And they glow with beautiful petals

And I am excited

I am excited

Doubt followed excitement

And confusion in sued

It is all a dream

All has lost in the colourless mist of the night

I sort for a matchbox to rekindle my oil lamp

To dispel the darkness in front of me

But it brings no relief

The oil lamp burns like something diseased

My heart palpitation frightens me

The images around transform

From something gray to blue

And then total blackness

HE IS STILL A LAD

He was just a lad

When the western wind came drizzling

Fanning the embers that burnt his hut

He was in the hut

He was still a lad

When the river from the west came flowing

Carrying away the cowries and stones

Up across the oceans and the mountains

When the left hand the lion-skin drum broke

And it produced humming cacophony

That gets the ancestors stunned

He is still a lad

Though the western wind has cooled off

But the rain is still beating him

Still on the western river he floats

In the river his hut he searches

But an image of his he sees

A dying old man in a lad’s body

CITADEL OF SUFFERING

                                         CITADEL OF SUFFERING

Tired they are getting

Like farmers in the farm cultivating

With bare hands, mounts they are creating

With crude implements clattering

In this citadel of suffering

Like goldsmiths refining gold

In a furnace burning feebly

With primitive air-bag pumped

With rotten sticks producing less air

Even blowing air with bare mouth to no avail

In this citadel of suffering

Like suffering brick layers

For services not paid

With stomach tracing to the back

Like gray-hounds with no master

Yes can the barber cut

When the clipper is not sharp?

We are marooned in this citadel of suffering

Like poultry farmers

With no food for the chicken

The farmer feeds on the chicken

When the master could not pay

I am the chicken

I am the grass

That suffers when two elephants fight

Seeking asylum in a citadel of suffering

                                                                          

DESPIRE

There he sits, a wolf in sheep‘s covering

Stirring at me with face bent down

And spaghetti hair bent low

Like a bashful sheep ready to butt

Eyes peering over the roof of his goggles

That gives him the owl-like look

As a harbinger of fatal sinister

Guilty or not guilty! He roars

Like a hungry lion ready devour me

Raising his gavel in a wait for response

Like a hammer on a carpenters hand

His nails to my palms and eyes bloody red

I am his victim

The white sheep always slaughtered

On the altar of Gbemism

Always standing at the dock of sacrifice

Before his opened claws and teeth

With my hands traced behind like a fowl

The helpless white Christmas fowl

Destined to go down the stomach

My breath always on a mortals palms

Like an egg on a dagger point

Quacking epileptically to crash to pieces

At the slightest air blow

And wasting the unwanted precious slime

In my wretchedness I perish

Trembling in a wait for the final judgment

Over-adjourned judgment already known

My timid heart slams against my rib

My judgment is! I hear him say

And the egg came crashing to pieces

Which no man can ever put together.

Is the sheep devoured by the lion?

Just because it has no claws and teeth?

I guess someone or something watches

Even when the hawk naps the chick.