WHERE THERE IS SMOKE



Most times we feel things,
and sense them well ahead.
Many times see these things
but don’t avoid them instead.

The signs will be there for all,
like we stumble before we fall.
Doubt stammered before it spoke,
like there’s fire where there’s smoke.

FUNERAL OF THE DEAD



Once was a rich man
with a big spoiled family;
he lived an unhappy man.

He wrote his will
and he put in a pan,
stamped with his seal.

After he had died
his whole family met
to mourn and all cried.

His will unsealed
and then it’s torn up
as they merrily mealed.

LIFE OR DEATH



There are thin lines between
knowing what,why and when.
When would set up the win,
after What has been chosen.
Why doesn’t come as often.

Choices come fast and quick;
settings we don’t make or pick,
Daily life or death situations,
all demand instant decisions.

DIE OR END



Who decides when we die,
for what we chose to die;
ideas we select to defend?

After all is there a greater lie
than the world is only one lie,
when its many lies has no end?

Living is one steady struggle,
the world is one dying jungle;
with logs in eyes to condemn.

MAYBE NEWS



Social media has us not so sure
about what’s true or maybe not
When it’s news, we’re not sure
Not even when it maybe not.

News is new, obviously right?
Must be true, not maybe news
Gray is neither black or white,
So nothing in-between is news

CRY BABIES


We’re suffering and call it living;
right where we remain seething.
The reason we’re slowly dieing,
obviously is our own choosing.

This torture is of our own doing;
and this enslaves our reasoning.
Every day we fire up the boiling
and yet dish our all the blaming.

ABORTION



Allow me to call your attention
to a most despicable situation.
One that people ever question,
but it’s only actually in reaction.

All alive extend their creation
with survival acts of procreation.
When choice create a situation
then crime is truly the abortion.

RACIAL RACE



What colors are people really?
It’s been a race thing, isn’t it?
Always been a contest surely;
ran all through time, ain’t it?

The sun rises to make a day,
moon smiles white at night.
Color of life shades our way,
every life is as dark or bright.

FREEDOM TO LOVE OR HATE



Aren’t we all citizens of earth;
firstly simply humans beings?
Sure as we’re free in thought
we’ll love or hate some things.

We’re too different to be same,
too alike in ways that’re insane.
So the expression of our tastes,
merely make up our many faiths

LIFE IS AN ACT



All people act like little Weasels
Pretend Beavers and tiny Seals

Their selfishness is quite gifted
He who is told sorry is cheated

All relationships are personal
Nothing human is impersonal

All Life is an act as it is meant
No one should tell you different

PRICED UP



There’s no real loyalty anymore,
everybody wants more for sure.
Family will enslave until you die
and colleagues work a same lie.

All friends are all only as needy;
there’s nothing new about that.
Love is a bargain and so moody,
everything is priced, it is a fact.

ALL GOOD, BAD & UGLY



Within and outside every being
is the good, the bad and the ugly.
It is true of every single entity;
be it inanimate or alive or dying.
Nothing more is fitting naturally.

ALL OF US NA THIEF

Why you dey stone me with eye?
I dey chop my own, no put eye.

This our country na turn by turn;
you chop your own, na my turn.

I swear, if God dey vex true true,
this country for don talk true

Wetin we chop dey our teeth.
Las las, all of us join be thief.

WHEN HATE RESEMBLES LOVE


When Hate resembles love, it doesn’t.
Especially if Terror claims to come in peace.

Is it possible, loving anything you mustn’t,
Abhorring the whole but not it’s piece?


Then that peace you want wouldn’t; Not ever be yours, even on short lease.

NAUGHTY SAINTHOOD



Always it is Yes she hints,
All smiles in sexy cosy winks.
So he doubles effort and sits
As her encouragement blinks.

He advances and she giggles,
She teases and he heats up.
Yet his matches remain singles
As her naked sainthood shuts up

DARK, TAMED & BRIDLED



From whence were you birthed?
The very bowels of ships berthed.

And who had anchored your pains?
Same he that adorned me in chains.

Who housed and fed your pride?
Same he that took away my side.

Who sat you in hard carved wood?
This same master who eats my food.

What lessons were fed to you?
That’s written on my scars too.

What journey have you come from?
One that make up my physical form.

Were you aided and groomed?
Indeed, burdened and tooled.

Where you shaped to a good fit?
Truly, trained to be as yet unfit.

How were you held in place?
Planted, till I lost all my trace.

Surely you tried to branch out?
Rooted trees only get to sprout.

But you grew on and had aged?
Certainly, I’m still not as caged.

So break away and come home.
I’m home in the cage I’m borne.

But all your gains is not evident?
Yet I am surely and truly present.

But you are a readied crucifix?
Yet my time lost I did not miss.

STONED MAN



If stones could speak
and use words like us,
show us what we seek
reveal what was a loss

Will we believe them,
listen to their wisdom?
Or maybe just like them
we are stoned at home.

RACING LIFE



Men are the price;
Women their prize.

Time the receiver;
Life, ultimate giver.

Living is a long race
Setting its own pace.

You start with a prize
before paying the price.




Inspired by @kelechi_eo

HEADS OR TAILS


Toss the coin all your life,
Balance on edges of a knife.
Whither roam your own course
If life to you is just a lone farce.

Are you not lost in thought;
Like the canine who fought
His own tail round and round,
With its very head not sound?

EVERY WAR IS JUST A BATTLE



Old men always dream up wars,
To send more young men to die.
It’s been one of their flaws,
Will always be for it’s no lie.

The young always follow them;
For it’s their forte to be gullible.
Today’s young men,
Tomorrow’s old men

WORN NOT OUT

There’s a thing about every action
That speaks for every perception
And it tells it’s own unique story
Consciously archived in memory

Any wretched tale of denial,
Of disdained failure and trial,
Will reveal as a dogged bout
Of one toughened life time,
All worn through but not out.

SLUG


As we moan in our far watch;
Nagging our peopled conscience,
We miss out entirely that the catch
Is made up of all our overt nonsense.

A large rich island just drags on,
Not for the size it must always hug.
The bulk of it lost the very reason
Why rich minds will make it a slug.

ZEBRA CROSSING


Long nights had passed by,
I still stray into the dream.
My tears had filled my try,
My beaten milk isn’t cream.

Donkeys’ years pass on along
And made me an ass all alone.
Donkey’s oversized head belong
To the horses my very fate own.

The will shade appear itself
And I can not be too careful.
In crossing to my other half,
I find I am the Zebra’s fool.

FINE TIMES


Winners so abound,
Strapped and bounded.
Elated all around,
Joyously dumb-founded.

Those fine times
Speaks for all kinds.
Saying as do chimes,
That time do binds.

Rare times of winning
Brings forth the hidden.
Revealing all missing;
Like fingers in a mitten.

I KNOW IT

Story behind the picture here;
I know it all, at least most of it.

Whole of it is all written there,
It was not told to me, I saw it.

It’s actually too glaring to miss
Happened right before my eyes
Where fell my toad holder piece
A truck ran over toad and keys.

FRIEND OF FOE


After taking stock of our relationships
And how we all manage to practice them,
With the thorough scan of stewardships
Serving or waiting on this our system.

I come to the stunningly true conclusion
That there is always a thin line between
A foe or a friend in this summation
And it is there for all to lose or win.

It is as thin as is the common thread
Or as is any selfish or selfless whim
That guides man’s search for bread
Or his thoughts, his actions or him.

PROSTITUTES


Most prostitutes are normal bodies,
Hard workers doing their oddities;
Which seem unpopular so visibly,
So they can continue to feed boldly.

Circumstances they try to overcome,
Upturned obstacles making them so,
Resembling every other fleshed bone
With less hypocrisy and shyly so sour.

They are not traders selling a bodily asset,
They rent out for material gain and power
Like the more popular, with more respect;
Unlike political integrity, with less shower.

AGE IS TIME

Age is not just a number
It is time and much more.
Age is a climbing descend,
And a diminishing ascend.

Age is a race with time!;
For and also against time.
One day young and on top.
next, old and about to drop.

WHERE A MAN GOES



Where a man goes
So points his toes.
And what he knows;
Not all what he does,
Would lessen his woes.

All around are foes,
with yet another ruse.
Up any tree he throws;
With a beat to choose,
Could be his mangoes.

STRONG


Mine has come to this one thing,
appreciated and loved for my sun
was, is and will be in everything.

As able then stays man’s proud son;
strength is always but much nothing,
it lost out as strategy ever again won.

FLIES AND LIES


In so many eggs
Form these pests,
With hairy legs
And little nests.

Homelessly so
They come alive.
Into lives they saw
Like a heartless knife.

Hollow dreams,
Misty realizations.
Spiteful screams
Claps consolations.

Hopes are meals
Infected in feeding.
Health it steals
With insidious seasoning.

Into lives
Glide monsters,
Flee and leaves
Sorrow in clusters.

Sightless lie
Full of might,
Visible fly
Trading fright.

Coming true
In various ways.
Ever theyre new
In buzzing forays.

Mail your worst,
Untrue are lies.
Come the most
Youre just flies.

WOE MAN


Place of the woman is spent;
through timely cratered vent.
She’s raging in her eruptions;
in her hair raising formations.

Still her place further reduces;
within every gain she chooses.
She’s the lesser man as before,
her sex ever breeds a new woe.

MIGHTY FLEA


And where are you off to
you little mite, busy so so?
To gather as you go through
borrowing to hide down low?

This wind that carry you
draws a ring as you sing.
For one that reigns so true
you live shorter than you bring.

Your bite is so you can live
like all who prey on fatality.
How true it is, in all who live,
That death is but a formality.

TALE OF TWO PEOPLE


Up on the plateau they reigned,
Their own old clans so formed.
Hidden on the heights plain,
Living in plentys much rain.

They welcome guests well,
As prosperous strangers tell.
Soon dominance is so evident
And for the sold they want rent.

Wherever time is so kept,
Such a place has it since left.
Two is never again one unless
One is expunged and no less.

Identity established so firm,
Fights a war not for their farm.
Bullying their co-farmers yield
With poised spears and a shield.

OUR HOMES


It was always dark in all it lack;
All living again, though to us all,
Today it still lingers far off back
In that long night we still do fall.

These cultures that speak the person
Say an Abiku again is everyone of us.
For common reason proves a season,
That only event ended and started us.

When the cries over sharia had settled,
We ran and scattered the towns streets.
Homeless, dead and alive all kettled;
Schemed and steamed out of fair streets.

After all, a rope always starts and ends,
Then it is just after all rope in between.
All of man is birth and the dead ends,
In between is life; man is in between.

After dusk, all return to their own home.
The swines streets of our homes will then
Not be as good again to even just roam,
For the transit pen is now a lions den.

In dedication to the old residents of Rigasa, in Agabi LGA of Kaduna, who were forcibly displaced of the Sharia Riots of Kaduna; February 20th, 2000

AFRICA


Darkest people ever found,
A huge pistol points wrong.
If here man got his sound;
Earth, Africa is your song.

AND WHAT A POOR SONG IT HAS THUS BEEN

MOUNTAIN


My mood goes up and down a mountain,
too inspired by the challenge to refrain.
Wary of the danger that’s being embraced,
so cautious of the consequence, if disgraced.

Confused at the reason why anyone must,
scared of the height beckoning my lust.
Struggling up the first ledge as I edge up,
proud to have made it up my own little top.

Further up more battles, the way is yet more.
Betrayed by falling rocks I yearn for before.
Holding on to dear life, yet another average.
Dejected by unfriendly weather and also age.

Angry to slip off the steep, rubbed in bruises.
Disappointed to lose the gained just pushes.
Gasping up yet another route should matter.
In time it comes to never prove any better.

Surprised by the like company all about
and reason enough for more than without.
Appreciation my efforts and gains deserve,
are tried and tired yet gladdened to serve.

Knowing I cannot stay forever there on top.
When and not if I return grounded from up;
Normal should I be again, only different,
with experience and lessons time can’t dent.

If I return pushed from its highest cliffs edge
or in honour received at finished times verge,
I’ll wrestle my older ages embers of last mood;
helplessly watch it win all my trophies and food.

DATE


Silly days made our teens,
sorting out our teething genes.
Over those moons, new till old,
our hormones shiver their cold.

Tasting all those many dishes;
many we met with their witches,
Others we borrowed and mended.
But lots we created and trended.

The sting of disappointments sore,
betrayal and pain and much more.
Ageing fear is sour but it is caught;
yet still we trove amidst same death.

To all morrows we cherished
that date we shared perished,
and thank it so for that spice
it puts into this new date so nice.

MASSES


Where the eagles dare
the vulture does fear.
With weaklings there,
Patience stole our lair.

Anthills grew where
colonies learns to bear.
That beach is so near
when a lost ship cheer.

EXPERIENCE








The child learns to be his own person,
as he ages and develops his own ability,
to endure life at first,
and its worries next.


But when he gets accustomed to enduring life,
and learns to numb out most,
of the sorrow he feels in it,
he then acknowledges,
that living thrives out of form,
if it discards its ordered laws
and professes its rebelling need for rules.


Otherwise that early instant knowledge,
of life and its subtleties,
would render a child hapless,
to a situation it hasn’t as yet mastered
and make life appear pointless from a very early age.


Just like a shooting star sighted from earth,
appears to hit no target,
life will appear to serve no purpose
but only serve a steadily distressing experience
by all logical human estimation.



SO?


Let us play a game of trading places,
pausing triggers of mud slinging tongues.
Viewing with glasses that mirror chances,
We’ll find all toes fit the shoes it belongs.

MOST LOST


Who says we are most alone
when we are with the most?
and all alone with its none;
enjoying life at its own worst?

Attempting to be on our own
we had often found its cost;
sought glories for the stone
and won prizes we had all lost.

PREDATOR

Wisdom is the Owls,
Opened eyed it saw
Cooking sun bowels
Blurs its sight more.

Little shows the moon,
Like stars in the dark.
To hunt it glides as soon
As dusk shows its back.

The prey that hides
From shine of day
See less of the rides
And the Owls hurray.

CLOUDS OF SALT (Hadarin gishiri)


Skies are drumming,
The body joins in too.
Clouds are partying,
Invited winds are too.

The body is hurrying,
All corpses are met.
Real hot or chilling,
Salty must be wet.

Sama na kidi,
Jiki ya dauka.
Hadari na biki,
Ya gaiyache iska.

Jiki na sauri,
Kowa na mushe.
Ko zafi, ko dari,
Gishiri sai ya jike.