Clamoured Claps

I sing a song,
I dance to a rhythm,
I hear an echo,
I hear a call,
A call from a mother
A mother of ideas, and
The curator of secrets,
Peopled by the natives of my origin
It is a call from my homeland.

I sing a song of people…

Walking down the rail,
Across the sea.

I hear an echo of a people
a people sucker of our pipes,
Seeker of our green grassy grounds
a people of humanity… NOT,
who knows not humility,
with a heart of stone gold

I dance to a rhythm of a people
whose sea chants babel
Audible echoes.
The celebrants of life
Even, of DEATH!

======

If I Were The King…

Don’t tell me about God,
Tell me about life when I’m gone
If I were the King
I will close more churches
To build more cemeteries
We’re all going to die Anyway.

Don’t tell me about the dead
Tell me about the living
if I were the King
I’ll close more hospitals
to build more Theatres
People get more healed there anyway.

Don’t tell me about Love
Tell me about Sex,
If I were the king
I will stop the use of condoms
To build people’s home
Fornication is because we have an option Anyway.

Don’t tell me about what is legal
Tell me about the unlawful
If I were the king
I will close more tribunals
To build my own tribunals
All lawyers are liars Anyway.

 ======

Even Dancers Write

my dance needs no further salt & pepper
my dance looks good even on paper
but my writing will not move the piper
then it came to my head…
even dancers can write
the most times I go to see the poets
I wonder why I don’t write like them
I began to hide my poem book
and continue to steal floor
for that was all I knew how to do
and they continue to see me
during my insanity
but I continue to hide-write
finally the smoke of my hidden fire surfaced
the smell of my insanity followed me to the floor
they mocked “even dancers write?”
Ha ha ha…
and I continue to hide my poem book
but continue to steal the floor.
when my poem has became movement
when my emotion has got no boundary
when my words became adult
and my dance became even
when I was least expected
I dance in the gathering of poets
I continue to still the floor
and they realise
even dancers can write
this time no “ha ha ha…”
finally dancers even write…
since then, they began to write dancers evenly

 ======

Abode For Aye

Few days after my last birthday I just came to realize that
most part of my life I have been laid to,
either to myself or by others.
My life has been close to toy story,
the life I live is not mine
the ones I cherished belong to someone else
and the one I want will never be mine
All my life I dreamt of beating hulk Hogan up
And probably have sex with Celine dion at least once
But my Yoruba accent will be a set back I know.
These days I’ve been thinking of how to proof Isaac Newton wrong
Because I don’t like his name and race then
I remembered when my mother was carrying my life in her womb
How cute and peaceful I was all alone in her womb

======

All poems (c) Qudus Onikeku