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I have suffered through
The decades of
rehearsed promises
Where tattered
hope hangs in sequence
Of configured
oblivion
I have seen
pomaded falsehood
Webbing the nation
in the blur
Of cloudy
mediocrity
My pen has journeyed
across manifold cantos
Of deserted pages
Where vultures
hangs around the skies
And stone the
earth with threnodies of pains
Why I am still a
faceless shadow?
In the arid desert
of barren hopes
My tongue is frail
of warbling lullabies
For the dampened
waives and sore-footed wayfarers
For I have perused
through the journals
And catalogues of
memories
To see pages of
busy histories burdened with lies and forlornness
I have stridden on
the dusty street
Bejewelled with
pinching tongues of thorns and nails
I have gone far
through the moonless night of dense forest
Where different
sighs of bitter melodies
Set curious ear of
pen ablaze
I have sighted
many flowers of luring fragrances
Heaped like
garbage in dust-infested bin
And thought they
died for love
I wandered in deep
stream of thought
To find no reason
why son of butcher feast on carrion and bones;
Why daughter of
cloth-seller
Dance in the
half-naked rags
In the maze of
frenzied orgy
Why curses on the
roof of hope
Why streets,
always painted with blood of innocents
Why songs of my
village convoyed with cantos of dirges and elegies
They say the
presence of market elders
Heals the head of
mad lad
Why monsters on
the dark street for
Blood of
jay-walking wanderers to guzzle
Tell the
town-carriers!
That egotism is
the hymnodies of king and his fiendish cohort
Who blemish the
eye of hope
At the silent
hours of night
Tell those
power-propelled monsters
Who cleanse their
ears with son of mortars?
Tell those power-drunk vampires who feast on
cows at dawn
But prey on
mortals by night
Tell those canker-worms that drink palm wine
With gourds made
of human skulls
Tell those killers
of dreams at night and those vultures
Ruling the sky
from the puissant armpit of Iroko
That the cloud of
vengeance has dimpled the sky
The harsh rain of
Nemesis is about
Falling on their
bald craniums
Behold!
Pebbles of blazing
phonemes
Embalmed at the
Foyer of
cringe-less sepulcher
Are here to maim
their sky
And set the
iron-gated roofs of their sky-crapper
Ablaze!
Ablaze!
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