To moro

clouds of oblivion
silhouetting the yesterdays
of our vision;
the today's
of our hope;
and the tommorrow's
of our culture...
pattern on pattern
rocking the cradles
and a hope for change.
change beyond faceless
cuddles and walks of fame.

tommorrow it has mingled...

My Vote

They walk in baggied boubou's;
bloated eggs of foul smelling eggs.
Decayed.
A generation of scums and many scorns.
They stopped me.
To vote. To cast my spell
for him that won?
An order from the king they dare not defy.
Tussling and tumbling and arguing
in the darkness of ambiguity;
they stripped me clean...

of my right?

Blotted nest of foul smelling eggs.
jobless.
Victims of a decaying nation.
they stopped me.
So I stopped.
to vote and cast my vote.
till i "grasp the air" to talk.
My hands on the sword of authority.
they can't stop me.

--Ajibade O'seun
2008

थिंक इ'म क्रेजी Think I'm Crazy

Save for the squirrels that are sophists
Their favourite, we resolve, are the nuts
Gallantly gallivanting is a hobby
Against which no man commits a perfidy
Shunting animals moving with the wind
The leaves and dusts of freedom
Yours is sanity
But as for me, I think
And I think not
It comes to a head and yet nothing
But the cells slip into knots
Can I shunt, moving with the wind
The leaves and dusts of Freedom?
Can I tread the face of earth in all innocence
The way I came and would go
Naked to self and the world’s lenses?
Can I speak out all the words
Inscribed on the mudded walls of my heart
Without anyone raising an eyebrow?
Can I sing for all my victories
And no enemy created?
Can I cry out of pains
And no envied, rejoice?
The squirrel is not me
And I, not her!
It thus cracks my shell of acquired sanity
This bottled up emotions
That slowly lets out its smoke
Through the last pores
Before the great explosion
Mine is insanity.
Is it not so,
Mr. Squirrel?

Beware of =god=Dog

On the gates of many homes, irrespective of the owners’ religious affiliation or empathy,
The welcoming message is “Beware of Dog”
Usually, as it is these days
Such owners are members of a religious body
Or let’s content ourselves to say they are Pastors
Yet, it is obvious from the welcoming message
That they all rely more on the power of
The Dog than the God
It is subconscious
For I cannot comprehend how a ‘man of God’
Who can drive out ‘invisible’ demons
From spiritual en’Body’ment
Resorts to the use of Dog to scare mere thieves away.
Should it be changed the axiom
From
The fear of God
To
The fear of Dog
Is the Beginning of wisdom?

MERESAC OF SAND

“Lakunle’, he called on me,
“Yes, Mentor,” I replied. He continued:
“You’re welcome back from the war-torn peaceland
“I can see your hand of fire
“Being kindled against the wall of Berlin
“And your face of water
“Ready to swallow whole the Pharaoh’s troop
“However, it is night – the night-crawler’s hour
“Let them have their spree, and we ours
“You, go to bed
“And lay your mere sac of sand to rest
“Only pray that the spirit put you to the wake
“When the Lalucha shall continue

RELIGION

I sit at the threshold of struggle
Expecting a sword of battle
To fight a good fight of faith

But a breeze of comfort
Blows my hairy and ornamented face
Drifting me into a callously overwhelming slumber

NAKED FLOWER

Grey beards
Grating voice
That betray no quiver of fear
Reminding many of
The prophets of old
Denouncing the sins
Of Israel
Towering physique
Enacting the vision of a
Desmond Tutu berating
Botha and Apartheid
Rev. (Dr.) Udogu Ukaegbu’s portrait
Stands out of Sunday Concord
Drawn in polemic by Dimgba Igwe
Spitting fire at the heads
Of the Heads;
Piercing the consciences of all.

Where are the Ukaegbus today?
Snoring under the sectarian benches
Of convenience and sycophancy!