Poetry

When its all been said and done And the sums have all been done. When the music has been stopped; And the dance floor has been cleared Will I have danced in my own place, Or merely saved my face? Selah

For TheB, and all the other broken hearts… Though tears like a river course down like rain, And your heart by cupid’s fiery barbs is rent. Although your cracked voice breaks out in wails, And hell with all its fury and fiends seem sent. Be still, Stay strong, you’ll make it home. Though fear like a cloak your mind enshrouds, And rabid voices, your reasoning besiege. Though Night descends, your dreams to hound, And heart beats resonate to a symphony of rage. Be still, Stay strong, you’ll make it home. ...

Totally beserk she plies her trade, Enchantingly verbose, weaving her tirades. Mired in Nigeria, books became her fad. Inspired blocks of verse, besmirching her façade. Titillating? No mark that a charade. Enchantingly refreshing, she makes the music fade.

“You really are so predictable”, she said, One hazy African harmattan day Remiss for words, all I could do was peer, Through horn rimmed glasses; hand me downs they were From father, who had it from his father, my grandfather. A legacy of Lugard’s Nigeria. You see I’m from another time, An age when email was not the norm, When people talked at the village square. And drank and sang, and danced till their feet were sore. And fathers, spoke with sons, as did their very own fathers.. A legacy of years gone by ...

I wonder why I lose my cool, When your pretty face I see. I wonder why my heartbeats increase, And why I just act like a fool. I’m usually as cold as a tool, As steady as Polaris keel. I, whose composure is a well honed skill, Have suddenly begun to drool. I want to hold your hand someday, Walk you home, through thick and thin, Tell tales of love that leave me flustered. ...

Good Naija Girl posted a poem about (I think) some dudes’ overbloated impression of the effect they have on women folk….Fortunately or unfortunately, I fell headlong into the trap…. Some background: My eminently royal ‘wowo’ness was strolling ‘jejely’ on the road yesterday o, when my eyes locked with some snazzy babe across the road.. Evidently she was as suprised as me, cos the books she was carrying slipped from her grasp…. Like all peeps ‘hounded’ by an overactive imagination, I went ahead to invent a different scenario in my head, that had me being a super cool, unsettling influence..I even gave her a name…. Enjoy… ...

Another one from my poetry scrap book.. Wrote this one while serving the fatherland in Kwara State.. This was inspired while watching some “white-garment” chruch devotees dance and clap from the window of the class where i was invigilating an exam… Enjoy it…. The Dance of the Mountain god… The claps begin, Slow, petulant, Like tiny drops of rain which then increase, As feet pound the rocks, oblivious of the pain, ...

A poem I wrote many years ago – when i was still a beardless teenager way back in Nigeria.. Enjoy… Waiting for forever. We had our hopes, we had our dreams, We somehow believed,in words and swords, We somehow believed, that one more coup, That some more troops, Would consign to the past, the pains we felt forever. Somehow we believed, in sugar coated tongues, In “fellow country men”,In “khaki covered men” To wipe away the past, like a bad night’s dream forever.. ...