Sunday, November 30, 2008

Love, religious, philosophical and spiritual poems

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, the lady in wine colour blouse, here; is my friend in the pen-pushing business* While the other, Mabel Okosun, late Sony Okosun's daughter is a platonic friend too*

The Reason for the season
(The Immortal King)
Raise your voices to the four cardinal wings
All who knows His worth praise and sing
As I do in this renaissance of the kindly king;
I will rather be under His wing
Than crave silver and gold,
I will however, marry the king
And frown at rusty riches untold,
For on Calvary cross, gushed His blood
Draining off my sins and sorrows flood;
He is the light of my salvation beam
In joy I will forever scream
“Oh my lovely lord
And gorgeous gracious God”
Whenever I shed my clay
To ever in paradise play
Where there is no exchange of baton between night and day
On your bosom oh Lord! Let me baby-like lay.

Let me kiss you again and again
Draining away all sorrows rain
Fledging flood of pain,

Tenderly arresting you hot and tight
Never minding whether you are black or white
Flying you on love rhythm realm kite
Null and void of obstacles to the highest height

Let me cook you with fire of my tongue
Erupting silky gasps from depths of your lungs,
Let me burn you again and again
Planting seedlings in that lovely lane
Though the resultant prize be girl or boy
From waves to waves I shall dance with molecules of joy
Ceaselessly cooking you the milky oil
Till sun and moon may stop their toil.

She is My Lady in Love
Again and again and again
She tears Internet webs
When cocks crow
Waking her from sleep
She wanders to my window
Beckoning my soul with smiles,

She is the sexiest of souls
I have ever come to know
Scattering smiles indiscriminately on souls
Like sad setting snow
Salvaging starving soils,
She tirelessly spreads to spoil
Us as her sparkling soars
Plants electricity on our souls
Burning bodies, spirits and souls
With her cunning smiles,

Again and again she sprays
Pungent watery rays
To kill us every day
Like sleeping snow’s
Velvety Venus voice
She sends love coals to my soul
As she sings and slides from sky,
To sleep by my side
Spotting a golden smile…

Obamania Poli-Soccer
When the black mustard seed was about to spring
In the surroundings of oaks and iroko fields ring
Many never thought he had a chance
To kiss the sky in the political dance
The atmosphere was looking tense
With winds alternately light and dense
While fingers of time clicks the clock
Towards dawn, as the seed was climbing the rock
Some said he may not touch the top
While others mocked he was only practicing to hop
That at the door step of drizzling dawn
He would be disallowed to see the sun
But alas, after so many snow falls
He kisses the sky and plays the ball.

Mungo Park disciples
The fingers of our ancestors
Were in pots healing us
With aromatic flavours
Of nature in our Aso Rock huts
Though looking ramshackle
But never falls like a fowl on one leg;
Then the claimers came to play pranks
On us with paternoster of holiness
Flowing like River Niger
From the hearts of their white skins
To raid, rape, scramble and scatter
Our virgin wealth so pure to them
More than the bodies bearing them.

Cancer went asleep
Fever went asleep
All sickness were sick and sleep
By the fingers of our ancestors
In clays we drank from
Until paternoster prowlers with envy
As voracious as the sea
Drove all to dustbins,
Preaching they are unclean
And cannot cure
And so they lure and lure and lure
Us to bury our ancestral roots,
We foolishly follow, follow them.

Oh Africans! The ancestors are crying!
Now is their clarion call to prove your worth
Oh Africa! And seize number one slot
In relay of conglomeration of continents
Battling to punch and prison AIDS,
Employ the ancestors’ fingers
Which did call bullets from bodies,
Call AIDS now to dance to your command.

Follow not the ranting of “ranters”
Claiming to be doctors-know-all,
Make the wiseacres fame fall
By commanding diseases to flee
Into seas and perish like demons
Did obey Mary’s son,
For the ancestors are annoyed
Knocking on your hearts door
As you dance puppetry like puppets
To green snakes whose m├ętier
Is to drain your living matter
Only to give you again as aid to Africans
Like Mungo Park did the Niger.

Oh Africa!
The Mungo Parks give nothing
New to you, all you
Receive are your recycled resources;
Oh Africa! Beware of the Mungo Parks!

(Dedicated to late Professor Olikoye Ransome-Kuti)
If life like dawn
We blossom and pass on,
What is life if we cannot capture many time
To mingle, tingle and tango, void of strife?

What is life
When words we splatter are lime
And brimstones cutting like knife?

What is life! Oh what is life!
When everyday Romeo punches wife
And washes her with kisses
Singing “I love you,” but her face in pieces?

What is life
When many freezing faces to graves
A privileged few are burning wealth in caves?

Oh what is life! What is life!
If like dawn we toil
And in peroration worms will spoil
All our toil in soil?

If we like dawn
So bitterly short we flay at dawn
What is life!
What is life!
If all we could mould are mountains of strife?

What is life! What is life!
When we radiate like flower in the morning
And wither in the evening?

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