PESTILENCE
One minute we are mute
Another we are all noise
Some mothers are yet to recover
Yes, Recover
From the shock of their missing ‘Child’
While still battling with hope of having them back
Our guards are slacking
And even might is lacking
Suddenly
The noise of ‘Ebola’ rents the air
The extent of the damage we are yet to ascertain
One thing is certain though
Once you contract ‘Ebola’
Your fate is uncertain
However
Word has it that the Super Powers have a cure
A story for another day
If you agree
For a fee they are yet to ascertain
We probably will get a share
Still
There are more than enough troubles in our hands
Our girls have become suicide bombers
In huge numbers they come
The innocent ones are running in search of refuge
Of a special pain
If you will agree again
Is the fact that we are more concerned about winning elections
Elections my foot
Only the living can be elected
Or can it be otherwise?
Some say we are willing to have a change
The willingness I still cannot find
Do I call this the Pestilence?
Well…
In my view
That is what it is
When everything in sight only points to our doom
Crisis is in a boom
And more troubles still loom
Whichever way
We are currently in the loop
However
The choice of survival still lies in our hands.
Ilupeju
August 2014
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UNWILLING
Nietzsche’s will to power.
Speaking truth to the powers that be.
Let the will of the one who wills and does of
his good pleasure
Be done.
And if God wills it it will be so
Unwilling in any case to subscribe to the
status quo
Which by one definition is the mess in which
we currently find ourselves.
To say yes because expected.
To dance to the drums of the world
Instead of waltzing to the instruments of my
choice.
To cast my jewels before hogs.
My precious gems before rampaging beasts.
To sacrifice my individuality to the tyranny
of fashionistas.
Black and white is the new black.
50 is the new 40.
This is poetry.
This is prose.
This is drama.
This is journalism.
Unwilling to submit to the politically
correct.
Not prostitutes but commercial sex workers.
Homosexuality is an alternative lifestyle.
Abortion as cosmetic surgery.
Belief in God is passé.
To live another’s life.
Work at another’s dreams.
Fulfill their aspirations.
Unwilling in the final analysis to live in the
clouds.
The cloud of unknowing.
The cloud of computing perfection.
The cloud of doubt and uncertainty.
To die before my time.
By my own hands.
To stay in the deep doldrums of the dark.
Detached.
Disconnected.
Discombobulated.
Depressed.
Unwilling!
ANDREW WHITE
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I BESEECH YOU
By the power of salt and water
I beseech you, o Ebola
Depart from my nation
Yesterday it was bitter kola
That went viral and costlier
Till we realized the impotency of its power
I beseech you, o Ebola
Depart from my nation
Tomorrow, it may be sugar
With palm oil as pasta
And Aloe Vera as lotion
Your presence begets confusion
In my beloved nation
I beseech you o Ebola
Depart from my nation
Oku-ola Paul Abiola (pauldesimple)
By the power of salt and water
I beseech you, o Ebola
Depart from my nation
Yesterday it was bitter kola
That went viral and costlier
Till we realized the impotency of its power
I beseech you, o Ebola
Depart from my nation
Tomorrow, it may be sugar
With palm oil as pasta
And Aloe Vera as lotion
Your presence begets confusion
In my beloved nation
I beseech you o Ebola
Depart from my nation
Oku-ola Paul Abiola (pauldesimple)
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HARVESTING THE FRUITS
The wise ones struggle to live aright
But it’s always one hell of a tough fight
The winds of life blow fierce & strong
The planting of seeds sometimes go wrong
It's one thing for you to have the will
It’s another for you to actually
fulfill
Now Halima no longer sleeps at night
You wouldn't either if you’ve faced her plight
Her plantation was destroyed
When they slaughtered her boys
Her blood flowed like still waters
When they took away her daughters
The final die was cast
When Ahmed disappeared in a blast
When faced with Halima's plight
Who cares about living aright?
The fierce winds have long since gone
But they took with them Halima's song
She no longer cared about planting seeds
For nothing grew...not even weeds
It’s one thing to know about the Will
It’s another to be able to really fulfill
When joy puts on a mask
And life becomes a bitter task
Do we learn the new song?
Or is that for us the final gong?
Erhio
August 2014
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PERSONAL DEMONS
(…coalition of the unwilling…)
At noon
We bury them
In the arch of our smiles,
Only to have them resurrect
At night;
Walking the horizon of our eyes,
They said it was wrong to turn right,
They say all truths are well coined lies.
Which whore
Is spotless,
Which war
Is bloodless;
Which!
Even
Those without guffaw
Leave sores that the needle of time
Can never stitch.
Indeed we fought,
At wee hours,
At odd hours;
Before
Out went the wick of faith
And the darkness of doubt lurking
By the door
Did beseech our hut.
No whore is spotless
The far right and far left
Increasingly agree (to hate)
And old allies claim innocent bystanders,
But what can be innocent about apathy.
They end up adding their loud silence
To the seemingly cold violence;
And even the deaf can hear their dumb screams.
Every war is pointless,
Nightmares too have dreams.
No war is bloodless
In a quest to sate our righteous hunger,
We go poaching in the wild;
Illegal harvest
Of ghosts,
We seek to defaunate the world
Of shadows,
Those which only catholic cripples can chase.
Some didn’t want to be kept,
But didn’t want to be
Thrown back either;
Liberty too is captivity.
Spotless! … Bloodless!
Teeth
And tongue
Quarrel over who can taste better
The steaming song.
The lover longs no tomorrow,
On his bones the mushrooms
Grows;
In the bride’s heart hate grooms,
Hope is a suicide rope.
We acquaint ourselves
With our demons,
Hang new believes on old shelves;
Coalition of the unwilling,
The bullied and the bribed savor life’s unripe lemons
Till that which was never lost
Will be found.
No whore is spotless
No war is bloodless
No war
No!!!
SOONEST I NATHANIEL
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JUNE
IS COMING
A
saddened pen tempted by time
A
wounded heart, lifeless at nine
I
write in tears
We
live in fear
The
lost seek direction
Confusion
is enriched in pandemonium
Today,
is one that is uncertain
No
thanks to our sons behind the curtains
The
leader is clueless
The
followers are careless
The
advisers are selfish
The
ministers are devilish
The
commissioners ……. Oh are bullish!
We
seem lost
Many
atrocities and all sorts
A
people that has no destination
Covered
by lies and governed by corruption
Israel
was better
Moses
was wiser
But
today ……
Growth
and happiness are delayed
Don’t
get kidnapped
Or
it will take more than fifty days and still counting
Don’t
get blown-up
Or
they will conceal your corpse in their findings
Don’t
get ‘Abatied’
Or
you will become the mouth-piece for looters
Don’t
get ‘Okuped’
Or
you will sound naïve and ignorant like a liar
Don’t
get ‘Dezanied’
Or
you will unleash Ebele to hunt Sanusi with a bow
Don’t
get ‘Damed’
Or
only you will waka come and know deris God o
Don’t
get ‘Jonathaned’
Or
you will become clueless
And
live in gross darkness.
AJAYI
EZIKIEL
©
Tosin, 2014, Lagos.
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MEDIOCRITY
I WONDERED WHAT CAME OVER MEDIOCRITY
I SEARCHED THE WORLD TO find a clue
When i research back
I fought for my integrity
By the dawn of a new cause
We came together in harmony
After its disappearance
I could not observe it
OFTEN TIMES ,IT CALLED BACK TO SAY "HI"
I pretended as a sanguine
As i got to the sofa to relax
There was a sensation of love
By the time i opened my eye
I saw my imagination into manifestation
Sooner than later
There was another plague of threat
It sounded like a bombshell
After some time
The reward sounded like a letter bomb
When it got to the peak of tribulation
We all gain mediocrity in our minds
But what came to my mind
Was the disease that mediocrity sent
from the beginning
Which i was not able to achieve
In my head stood like an obstacle
Until the siege was broken
THEN i became speechless to speak
I SEARCHED THE WORLD TO find a clue
When i research back
I fought for my integrity
By the dawn of a new cause
We came together in harmony
After its disappearance
I could not observe it
OFTEN TIMES ,IT CALLED BACK TO SAY "HI"
I pretended as a sanguine
As i got to the sofa to relax
There was a sensation of love
By the time i opened my eye
I saw my imagination into manifestation
Sooner than later
There was another plague of threat
It sounded like a bombshell
After some time
The reward sounded like a letter bomb
When it got to the peak of tribulation
We all gain mediocrity in our minds
But what came to my mind
Was the disease that mediocrity sent
from the beginning
Which i was not able to achieve
In my head stood like an obstacle
Until the siege was broken
THEN i became speechless to speak
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BEING
HUMAN
I
mope at the blank scroll
My
mind as blank as the scroll in front of me
I
have seen so much in a short time
That
I have blanked out reality from my mind
For
the reality of these times
Is
worse than any nightmare I have ever had
Hell
is now our next door neighbor
For
its residents are now landlords on earth
My
imagination rioting could not picture what I see
These
earth invaders
They
started where my wildest imaginations ended
The
salty sea trickles down my face
They
show us all, what is heinous
If
we join them
Who
will be left to believe in our beliefs?
Light
and Truth
We
will show them light if we stop
Stop
feeding this darkness
They
have made money of it
Tested
latest weapons
We
watch from a relatively peaceful place
They
may just be lurking at the corner
Feel
the pain I feel to my core
For
ignorance brags and enjoys
As
men accord him the crown of wisdom
With
their thoughts, words and actions
I
will not lose myself
To
this reality worse than a nightmare
I
will still love and be kind
IFEANYI OKWOSHA July 2014
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MUSIC
OF THE FLUTE (PART IV)
Voice: What is this that I hear from the
piper's flute?
Has the town crier gone mad to announce
to strangers
The
secrets of the ancient rituals?
Elders: The piper is lost in his song,
The town crier to the sounds of the gong,
And strangers, they now know that there is nothing to fear
Besides the whip from the village masquerade.
Voice: Why do birds fly backwards across the
sacred hill?
Since when does the kite challenge the hunter's gun,
And white hen defecate on the chief priest's roof?
Elders: Since the breaking of the Evening
kola;
The gods are dead, the gods are dead,
The gods are dead, murdered in their bed.
Voice: But the dead do speak through the
Putrefaction of their flesh.
Elders: And the hyenas laugh, the vultures
descend, the termites come
To make feast of the dead.
Voice: Is there, is there truly a justifiable
cause to pursue the hen
On slippery ground?
Elders: The quest for Power is only for the
Brave and the Violent.
The children of light sit in the moonlight telling tales,
While the children of night seek to redraw
the outline of the moon.
Voice: But the moon is a gift for all, and the
Heavens are for the gods alone to forge.
Elders: The gods are dead, the gods are dead,
The gods are dead, murdered in their bed
Voice: Who has the courage to awake the
Leopard?
Dead or alive, who has the courage to gaze upon the face of death
And live to tell the tale?
Elders: The Brave and the Violent, and only
those can take it by force.
Voice: Bravery with Violence may take lives,
But Life is never what it appears to be.
Elders: Life is neither black, life is neither
white,
Still the gods are dead, the gods are dead,
The gods are dead, murdered in their bed.
Okoye
Chukwudi Charles Ezeamalukwuo
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HOW I WAKE UP
I wake up in parts
It is quite an art I say
First, I hear things as if in a dream
Then my eyes open, sees things
And quickly closes
Like a stage actor that came out off cue
It shyly opens again to behold the brand new world
As if on cue my mouth opens
And releases all the air held hostage throughout the night
Then my arms, one after the other
Long for freedom but hardly make it out of the body
Before being held back by the body
Like a child coming outside for the first time
My mind leaps out into a thousand places
Believe me it is quite a task to bring it under control
Then I wake up
CHISOM
