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Anímáshaun

Dear Anímáshaun,

God created you in his own image.
But in your quest for utopia,
You got robbed by Báyò. Olá. Emeka
What about Túndé?
The one who grinded your heart into molecules,
And fed the pieces to his demons of insecurities;
He ignored you like the Americans
Ignore the letter T!
Look at you now,
No, look at what is actually left of you
Nothing but a mimicry
Of what used to be.
Are you still a spitting replica of God’s image?
It is time to rise up and walk back
To the dawn of your days,

To recollect the you of your yesterday.

You were beautifully and wonderfully made.
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Many moons ago,

I went to the market square,

Saw a beautiful goddess

And was left bereft of word

.

I then remembered what my father used to tell me

“Son,

Metaphor is the horse of words;

And when a word is lost,

A metaphor is used to find it.”

.

When she was about to walk past me,

I quickly closed my eyes,

And knelt to pray.

And behold, she did not pass.

Today, we celebrate a year together.

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Benue Massacre (Nigeria)

The food basket of our nation,
We stand with you
As you are being ripped apart
By Horse-climbing-blood-sucking-demons;
The turbaned ones.

 

Comrade Napoleon’s hearing is now dysfunctional.
His sojourn to the land of men who talk through their noses
Hasn’t helped his cause,
He still cannot hear your cry for help.

 

Today, we wax lyrical about your braveness.
We rave about your doggedness,
As you wade through the flames of this consuming inferno
Lighted by blood-sucking-demons
Scribbling epitaphs of fear on your streets.

 

Today we chant dirges
For all those
Whose dreams have been aborted by
Demons wielding AK-47s

 

Shame on those
who keep mum 
As your ranks are being diminished

 

Your heroes have traded decorum
For Pieces of silver.
They now reek of foreign currency.

 

Shame on those who promised
To speak for you.
Those who now have lost their voices
To cynicism.

 

Those who promised to Protect you
Now ply the enticing corridors of power;
Completely disconnected from all their pledges.

 

Those who promised to listen to you
now wine and dine on the altar of politics
Where your dreams and future are being ravenously ravished
By feckless mortals
insensitive to your tears.

 

Stay strong our brothers and sisters,
Hold the fort while yet you may.
One day,
These demons.These fake heroes.These frauds
Shall be exposed
And justice shall be served
Collectively.

 

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The Falconer

She meets a bearded demon clothed in Agbada,
He tells her tales of his Ancestors,
Who could reduce an ocean to ashes,
by breathing fire.
 

 

He mixes up promises and lies
In a chalice of affection
And shoves it down her throat.
Although acrid, she falls for the saccharine flavor.
 

 

Then he parts her red sea with his staff of truth.
He breaks her heart, gorges it out,
And sacrifices it at the Osun shrine.
She then gets tossed into the evil forest.
 

 

But she finds her way out.
She comes out stronger,
Defiantly grows another heart,
And ready to love again.
 

 

She is gutsy,
She is brave,
She is the epitome of strength and hope
She is a falconer— in the making.
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Camelot’s Coronation Chimes

And when it’s all said and done,
In the future, Sarathur Kindragon will turn
to the people of Camelot.
He will ask to be crowned king.
He will hire vuvuzelas,
with drums and flutes carved out of the gaunt bones of the common man.

They will eulogize his greatness.
With measured Cadence,
They will sing his encomiums
The ovations and adulation will be loud,
Pretentious, and patronizing altogether.

Even the Ahithophels?
The ones with Summa cum laude?
For few pieces of Silver and 140 characters,
They will work as town criers,
Chanting propaganda at the market square.

The sanctimonious and the pseudo puritans?
The will hold Vespers in his honor.

And we, who stare history in the face and call her a liar.
We, who see death and call it life.
We, who tag Absalom the unsullied one;
Who even swear David’s lush-haired son is Moses.
We, who become mute as mules in the face of tyranny,
until things fall apart.

Would we ignore this blatant Travesty?
Would we ignore this well staged charade?
Would we take off our shoes and dance?
Again!??
I am no soothsayer.

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Are you even a Moses?

What good are you

If you abandon your scepter of probity?

With what will you swallow the corrupt

Snakes that feast on our yams?

How do you intend to part the Red Sea? ehn!!?

 

What good are you  

If water dries up

From the rocks of our economy

And you cannot bring forth prosperity?

 

What good are you

If you surround yourself with “lots” and Judases 

Who rape our future 

on the altar of politics,

sell integrity for few pieces of Silver;

and give up decorum for brown envelops? 

 

What good are you

If you keep going back to Egypt

With the swiftness of Hermes

to calumniate us

Instead of singing our encomium?

 

How will we get to the Promised Land 

If you keep going back to Egypt, 

Bowing down to every Pharaoh? 

 

Are you even a Moses? 

Or an Ajala masquerading as a Moses?

 

 

Ajala was a Nigerian globe-trotter, and freelance journalist who visited nearly hundred countries within 6 years.

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Goodbye Winter

The sky is happy,
Don’t ask me why.
She’s shedding white tears;
Tears of joy.

The sky is dramatic like that,
She’s having a party.
The trees are naked,
And placated with white Gѐlѐ;
Made out of sky’s tears.

The roads. The mountains. The Buildings
All laced with white aso-ebí.
It’s that time of the year.

The birds are morose.
They are flying south-in groups;
And gossiping-This hegemon is mean.
Perhaps they will survive this time,
Maybe they won’t.

The night is angry,
She has to stay longer than usual;
Dawn refuses to show up.

The mushrooms are getting lighter.
The Bears are in hibernation.
The Toads are getting laid.

I am with Omolewa;
Seeking warmth.
We are rubbing against each other. Tribology
Maybe we will come out with a scratch,
Or a tear but who cares?
It’s better than death.

The party is almost over,
Spring is coming.
We are still alive.
We are survivals.

Omolewa will soon leave,
Our fleeting amalgamation is almost over.
We survived-this is the crux.

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Unrequited Love

I showed you what love looks like,

But you took advantage of my crystalline form;

I became helpless as it briskly morphed into something amorphous.

You made me feel good, and then bad;

Sometimes lucid, clear in attitude as fine crystal,

Other times you seemed possessed by impalpability.

How wrong I was in thinking you understood me;

You welcomed me into your arms,

And then pushed me away just as fast.

Tasting sweet and sour,

Blowing hot and cold,

I was lost in the morass of your nebulousness.

Pain mixed with bliss,

A familiar type of feeling,

The beginning of a storm.

Even amidst the tempest,

I clung on to the lifeboat of hope, without a compass,

Hoping to find your welcoming harbor.

It felt like a wilderness,

But my belief held strong,

That I’d find my way to your Canaan.

To you, I was a nuisance

To me, you were a prison I could not escape from

I wanted to walk away, but it wasn’t that simple

I desperately wanted out of this prison,

Only if you released me.

And then it happened;

Reality dawned,

I woke up from these dreams.

I realized they had been hijacked by reality.

The gates only existed in my emotions.

The gates were open all along.

You’ve always been an effigy.

After eulogizing your absence at the funeral of love,

Singing epicedium,

Chanting dirges at her burial,

And etching an epitaph on her grave,

I have decided to walk away;………in peace!!!!!

The mermaid I met in Uncle Sam

Just last week,
I went to one of the beaches in Uncle Sam,
And I saw a mermaid just off the shore at sunset,
With an unsparing lithe figure.
I watched from afar as she swirls her hips;
Back and forth…..grandiosely.
Not to a music but to the tranquil rhythm of the ocean current.
I ran up to her,
And I sang her a Paean.
We hugged,
And I carried her and folded her into curvatures of a plane,
And placed her in an aquarium of love.
To protect her from the randomness and storms of life.

Oliver Twist

After exploring your subconscious,
I found your struggles, grandeur,
Candor, pain, adversity,
All staring at me with audacity.

The acridity of your anguish,
Filled my anatomy lusciously.
And I wondered and fluttered at the same time,
How can pain be so sweet?

I enjoyed you…..vicariously;
I had questions but you weren’t there to answer,
I guess you were busy;
Dishing out another patch,
Or fragment of your emotions.
Or were you remodeling yourself?

Don’t worry,
When you are done,
I will be back;
For more doses of your paradoxical drugs

I will keep coming back,
Until yesterday becomes today.
You can’t blame me,
I’m a vulture;
Who is always looking for a Carcass.