EPITAPH

 

My mind is like water

I think I drank myself

A pavan for a dead princess

A tribute to my gentle aspect

Nary a tear shed

Portray such pathos and empathy

As i was here

Deep within me

Calibritic mood hold fast the emotional portent

Is there’s hope for me?

This simple madrigal

Intense in its message

A mourning discernment

Ann…

Left to be a celebrant for all her potentials (potentates)

Legacy of high hopes and dreams

In a principality

Built upon a special station of life

That shall never be compromised

A pavan for Ann

A pavan for a dead princess

 

PART-TIME HERO

 

You scream

Give me liberty or give me death

The Nigerian Fanatics

Requiem for the patriots though

But to all of you

The so-called gallant heroes

Before anyone sneezes

You take your pleasures and go

Change your emotional garb…my sweet

Do do

Done done

That you do so well

In you

In me

In all that we are and mean

Show yourself

Your real self to me

Don’t call me ‘baby’

You know my name

Don’t call me ‘dumb’

You think you know my game

The time has come

The hour…

To speak of many things

Don’t go away mad

Just go away

Let’s talk

Get naked

Take it all off

Strip yourself bare

Make a clean chest of things

Get down and get real to me

Shed the sheep’s clothing

Give me the wolf

Heroes?

I don’t think so

It’s just a fallacy

I know your game

I know your names

MY TANGERINE DREAM

 

I endured rhetoric from fools

Plastic days of future passed

Meandering through the void

Only they know what they meant

Oh yes

Someone must take the blame

Some

Vicarious living fills no void

I am what I am

The evil I do

Often get interred with my bone

So what is the meaning of meaning?

Who shot Funsho Williams?

Who shot Gani Fawehinmi?

Questions no one can answer

I am just a tool on the cosmic mix

Sewn on the lathe of heaven

And those they don’t know

My tangerine dream

It might seem salty

It might seem sour

It might seem sugary

But I beg your pardon?

Who are you to tell me how to dream

And what to dream of?

And when it bears fruits

You would surely have a taste of it

Or would you want to?

 

GHOST MODE

I’ll tell you now

They don’t see me

The sanctum sanatorium of the imaginary

The womb of denial

Hiding like a wounded animal

Bleeding from the lie

 

Hatred and pride

Hoping for the tender mercy of death

Negating of an existence

That never existed

Vying for the love and acceptance of just one

But like a phantom.

Visible but not tangible

Ghost mode…invincible



They don’t see me

THE ROAD TAKEN

 

Luggage in one hand

Handkerchief in the other

She found herself waiting

For the next train – lost –

In a distant station

Disheveled ebony hair

A bloody shirt-untucked-

And a scarred face

Her state plainly passive

Forced into a relationship

A cold-hearted

Portly miscreant

Sucked of her youth nectar

And exotic essence

Exploiting her intrigue

Tranquility …

Soul feverishness

She never found a chance

To speak

Because of her tepidness

- his indifference -?

An arduous life

She couldn’t bear anymore

Three years of subjugation

With a secluded presence

To scorn

Her soul was put into usurpation

And destiny showed her no clemency

At all…

Her torn heart

Shattered apart

Couldn’t mend again

As two times she got pregnant

Two times…

She underwent abortion

Never of her own free will

The forthcoming train whistles

Ecstatic comfort…

As she stepped into

Questions of tomorrow

And the never ending sorrow

Driving her skeptic

Where would she go?

What would she do next?

Nevertheless, the train took off

With swiftness

As her memories

Memories of an overdue life

Flashed right before her eyes

It was the first time

She said no to suffering

The first time

To take a permanent decision

Of her own, very personal volition…