LIFE

Life is just but a bore

No wonder babies cry

When they are newly born

I think they want to go

Back to where they came fro

Every day I still cry

I cried when I was born

Better if I had gone

Before they cut the cord

Linking miserable world

With life is just but fake

And all it has is vague

As fake as love itself

As vague as trust no safe

Man dies when he’s dying

He tries thinking I’m lying

Faith itself is madness

Celebration of foolishness

A toad in a snake’s hole

A cold expecting whole

Not seen but just to hold

But keen with hop to hold

Hope itself is pretence

Tricking self on essence

Just to lean on something

Hope founded on nothing

Truth itself is a lie

That comes when pleasing I

It’s no part of this world

Not wanted in this world

Righteousness is a sham

Hypocritic veiled harm

Like face of trinity

Picture of d’sloyalty

Professing what we’re not

But what we are we don’t

Wisdom is clear daftness

Clothed twin of foolness

Knowledge is a waste of time

Cocooned in wasted slime

To spill in a short time

Like cracked egg on a lime

I AM SEARCHING

I AM SEARCHING

I know she is somewhere out there

While I grope for her in the darkness of my heart

Where her first leg took a leap on a prong

Where we have been playing all along

Like twine kernels separated in an uncracked shell

So we have not seen each other

Yet every day I see her there

A tangible mirage in a concrete apparition

In that darkness of the enclave of mine

Yes every day I touch her

A sky close-by seeming impossible to reach

And we play together in there

Like a drop of oil on a cold stream

She has always been here

Playing in my timid heart

Where I fantasized, since I was young

Where I have locked her all along

To nurse her to a full-fledged woman

My mouth I have zipped to keep her locked

And my anus is blocked to imprison her

Now she is gone out there

Having slipped away from the grip of my fingers

Like water from a rickety basket

Now I have got to keep searching all over

I am searching

The Groom Price Option

                                               The Groom Price Option

         A response to Chhinyere Eze-Mbulo's (Mama C)"the bride priced bridegroom"



Which one could be better?

To go back through the pages of the past

When my mother was bought

With precious cowries and palms

Counted among the properties of men

To value a mans glory

Fanning the embers of his cold ego

So he paid for his ego

So he paid for his pride

And his pride was his bride



Then mama’s place was beneath the chimney

Experimenting with mushrooms and melon

With nothing hash to bruise he luscious skin

She reverenced her man and was adored

Like the peacock tail on the kings cap

The queen in the termite hill

The pride of her home

Yes her home it was then and now

To be kept in welcoming kempt

So the bride was worth the price

And the price was worth the pride



Then the man’s place was up the chimney

Where he toiled his fingers burnt

For his ego was his gunning point

And mama was his ego

And mama was his pride

Protected like the termite queen

There he toiled till mama came a widow

When to leave and smile came to ride

Then mama had some kin



Which one could be better?

To cast and burn this our glorious past

Now that mother is caught

Eye to eye she shakes her mans palms

She shares in the properties of men

In a contest for the glory

More interested now in making ‘ego’

So who pays for this ego?

And who earns for this pride?

Who’s pride for whose bride?



Now mama climbs atop the chimney

In search of her man she’s gone on

Marriage records are watched in reverse spin

’cos mates are parting like seas abroad

In the name of closing gender gap

Does she want it too ways or to kill?

To be adored and still head the home?

The scene on earth should change now

So its time to pay the groom price

Such a price to equate the pride



Now the groom price it has to be

So that the groom would be bought

Like the television and cars

Paid for on a high agreed price

And be protected like the queen bee

And to be cherished for his cost

A sane dame wouldn’t bash her adored car

Neither would she smash her TV dice

So to love and to cherish that’s the pride

And the pride is what a price

So the groom’s ego priced

Adam'spen: UNTOWARD

Adam'spen: UNTOWARD