Living is a trip that keeps going.
Daily it comes, always it’s going.
It is peopled, hectic, never cozy;
Fares as pests all quite naughty,
Only it’s tiny stops are a bit rosy.
Taste speech my brother,
Crave for words in reply.
Yearn to see yet another,
To see, touch and go by;
For lonely is every breather.
Sweet is straight yet unclear,
Always new with its old fare.
But bitter doesn’t ever share,
Though it is sinister but sincere,
So real and that shade unfair.
From where comes all this dew,
Delighting thoughts with to chew.
Soothing pressures that boo,
But sound frightfully so lewd.
I grabbed the wind horn I blew,
For I alone do hear it so true.
A loss I think I’ll cause you,
The pains might escape a few.
My swift scheme hardly new,
Like good cheats daring who.
Life is the full pot of new stew
Emotional foot found with its shoe.
Again and again its replayed,
Assistance not even repaid.
Acquaintance that made an Us,
Not maintained with new status.
But I heard your smile
Come across another mile.
I saw your heart and felt
Your mind like mine, melt.
I’m in harmony with you
And I perceive this as true.
You’re my friend come pain,
Or still over and over again.
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
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
They get set, ready and go.
To where? God only will know.
Revolting round earthly tracks
Which knows not their tasks.
Their quests are not visible
Or even humanly sensible.
Competing with complexions,
Hairs, noses and eyes in nations.
What wins these long races
That recognizes their faces,
Will not justify the future;
For races aren’t their nature.
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.
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.
The mind eats, then it sleeps.
Where it sits, there it breeds.
Then it would end and cease,
Leave in hope for some peace.
Still this life ever only breeds,
If what it learns today it heeds.
Yet again we are so pained,
For life has again happened.
We are not in the least shamed,
Just yet again tried and saddened.
Joys we shared once together,
Once more is reduced forever.
What time will number and gather,
This life will tear and end forever.
When another of us breathes not,
We put their bodies in the ground.
But their life time with us dies not,
For memories grow and are sound.
In all of time and in all our lives
we will stumble on to one sure truth;
Man has nothing for all he gives.
Nothing is his but what he achieves.
His life lived is his legacy and fruit.
Adieu Little Brother.
I know I will bother
but I am rested still
knowing “Peace is still’
Sweet is straight yet unclear,
Always new with its old fare.
But bitter doesnt ever share,
Though it is sinister but sincere,
So real and that shade so unfair.
Boiling pots let off steam,
Pressured heat sweats a beam.
Merrily down a peopled stream,
Tears must decimate any life’s film.
Tomorrow will come again
With its morning and night,
Feignedly new with some rain,
In fervent dark and again bright.
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.
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.
Misty prospects in the skies
Yet this sun blurs the eyes,
While the bright light of day
Carries the whole mind astray.
The bride of shame courts
Yearnings, fantasies and lusts.
The comforts of home pushes,
Sins cold hands outside urges.
Can man sneeze or not
Or blink like it is his sort?
To run at first sighting
Or just dare all tempting,
This he never will elude;
His ways must all conclude.
Not all his wishes go to sea.
For lust, many beaches only will see.
Who must comes first,
males or the females?
This knowledge a thirst
that quenches with cells.
If what is common birth
forms females or males;
supremacy is their myth,
caged within each’s cells.
What a waste will be all this
if all this life is all there is.
What will all the good breed,
or all the wickedness feed?
What thoughts set out to achieve,
the deeds done set out to receive.
Men are born to die all alone,
as they always lived all alone.
It goes without much comment,
that now is always the moment,
to do and be done with all doing,
for life is forever for the living.
Saved as caught fishes,
Within their own wishes;
To leave waters so free,
Entrapped in fine twines.
Enslaved, seasoned free;
Saved from these times.
These intimate songs we sing,
blend aged dreams into a ring,
that weds our gendered stew,
in matrimonial oneness not new.
Of all the eggs man hatches,
bred chickens he most matches.
To have laid and consume such;
grow, yield or still change much.
None knowing its own whence
or where’s much timely when.
Unlike its master whose knives
pick off its yet feathered lives;
It has no say in what brings
the very end of all things.
Lit to glow and to flow,
Row down this miserable show.
To perch on the rock I know,
Time again only to flow and row.
How He copes and again sow
Belies His mercies for my loose soul.
(A very famous trial ahead of fashion)
“Wake up, you’re dead.
What says your plea?”
“Pray, I am in bed.
You come and flee.”
“Arise, you sleep not.
Your dreams all end.”
“Pardon, my reason is rot.
I am no fiend.”
“I ask not for I know.
State your stewardship?”
“To those above I, I bow.
For those beneath I, I reap.”
“Did they smile above,
Were they glad beneath?”
“With every pain I solve,
With every single breath.”
“What of all the lands
And all that is of it?”
“With my mind and hands
I cared for every bit.”
“What of I, thy Lord?
Did thee walk My path?”
“I knew not only one word,
Couldn’t tell lie from fact.”
Not this push’s cure to be read,
Bought or however with all science.
Sought over but never had,
Thought never bore its conscience.
Brought ever near and sad,
Doubt never the lurking consequence.
Fought only to severe till mad,
Naught all to sever its laid sequence.
Caught ever, history has said.
Though ever pinches, it is all nonsense.
In faith I betray.
My faith I fail to say.
I put cost to my trust.
Mine in fear I just lost.
Silver pieces I sowed.
An ear my dagger mowed.
Son of man amidst us I show.
Son of God amongst us grow.
The master I so truly know.
To His end I didn’t follow.
One of the dozen chosen.
A special place I was given.
I failed myself not He.
It was as it was to be.
And my life I chose to kill.
After tears, I humbled my will.
We’re afraid so much of necessary failure,
Of what others think of us and of the future
And the past gone and now; just afraid.
We seldom show our consuming phobia,
They’re pushed to sub-consciousness, left there.
There they swell up and fester; being afraid.
Our hidden fears create a climate of anxiety;
Scarcely knowing why we’re afraid, it is insanity.
But still we live on like this, basically afraid.
I wonder who you are;
Some lost line or verse?
Lost somehow so far;
We can’t now transverse?
You are there in view,
Yet we chose the dark.
And rendered the new
Old, like a lot we lack.
Our acceptance of you
Is not sincere at least,
To admit what we knew
Had outlived its wreath.
Shrouded in some mist
Of age old, yet new norm;
That captured life’s feat
And figured its only form.
We spouse a ghost
And live in cemeteries.
Like a true coffined host,
Scared for our souls stories.
Your place true as cast,
Even if subtle and lost.
History gain from; at last,
Those Cains wives, almost.
Somewhere in all days;
Witnessed as is always,
In the morning’s blue skies
As in the night’s goodbyes.
It stops the singing,
Matches the hatching.
In its crawling time,
It bettered the wine.
With nothing to give,
It gives and yet deceive.
Wizen the ripened old;
Consumed and still sold.
Young the years grew
And gathered all anew.
Stealth gets its way
As age steals all away.
Cruel, cruel death
We have never met.
I only just heard
Of the fear in tears you said.
You’ve been about the herd
And oh the wonder you fed.
Who tells if you’re sent
When you only just left?