God Fled In the Air

We the natives
That rent our massive
Spot by the rive
rside
Hold our breath
Of God, whose length
Draws across the earth
And we
Say it is he
That turned our ri
ver to a ball of fire
with
just
a
stone

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Death

Love
Has settled
Like a blossoming Rose
Smiling sour amidst thick thorns
To wither…
To wither…
Only to wither…
In this early spring
Frowning free amidst streaming tears
Never…
Never…
Never again…
To shed her warm shadow
At my flickering lips
And say “Good Night, Dear!”

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If Only…

If only I were privileged
If only I were adorned with wings
To fly like the saintly angels
From beyond the tallest trees
Where no mortal ever reached
Except he be transformed
Into an untouchable
If only I had an opportunity
To handle the Wand of Kingdom Authority
I will pierce the hearts of Men
Rigid with greed
Puffed with pride
Messy with mischief
To free its venom of hate
If only I were chanced
I will beat hypocrisy out of piety
And render men pure as their core desires
Inflaming their sublime passions to the Creator
When best, worship is accepted
Without the inkling of doubt
And with no action of retreat

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Mere Sac 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”

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The World

This façade of confusion
Is full of deception,
Like a curtain that allows only illusion

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Death!

Yes! Death is the herald of truth
And harbinger of clear-sight
That will unveil the covering of this illusion
And truth shall stand in the scaffold of reality

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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

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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!

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Rest In Jail

Listen, ego-needing man in brown beret
Pitched have I
My tent
Under the bridge at Oshodi
It is a gargantuan castle
Of the close-fitting air
That surrounds me roundabout
While I snake-coil
On the sleepy-waterbed
Away at an angle
Unabated visitation without a knock
Sonorously,
Friendly mosquitoes flap-in their wings
To demand their pound of my flesh; in blood
My crime?
Competition over their waterbed of crèche
Come, power-hungry man in camouflage
Observe my home, and answer me
“Am I not a happy man?”
Never worried about burglars
Thoughts of inferno trouble me not
Rather, the close-knit brotherhood of the bridge
Are bureaucrats with broad chests
Answer me, “Am I not a happy one?”
Now, hungry man in black
Arrest me!
Take out your cuffs
And land it on my hands; lock it
Let my hands have a feel of that cold jewelry
While you escort me, as a king
To that castle of rest; the jail
Where only privileged mosquitoes
Are allowed in to dine with me
Where my food is portioned by maids
Where the gates are manned
By stern-looking uniformed men
Where I shall lay to think uninterrupted!
Now, man in black
Escort me to that palace
Of lazy men called jail
I want to rest!

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(c) ‘Lakunle Jaiyesimi