Creative Works
Poetry: The land is crying, In the spell of my thoughts, Odi
The land is crying
The land is crying
Scorched earth turns crimson soil
And becomes putrid acres of harvest
The land is crying
Violent songs assail the streets
As thumping boots bellow
Ratataratataratata of thudding bodies
The land is crying
Seasonal saints traverse the country
Amidst uproar of cursing tongues
Stone defiance becomes concrete walls
And then become bricks to wrath of armoured tanks
The land is crying
Naked shame leaks through forlorn sockets
There are wild eyes everywhere
Desertion haunts the homestead
Sermons stir hatred and wild screams of ‘Araba!
‘Separate these wild eyes from their sockets!
‘Araba!’
The land is crying
Heroes eat the vomit of villains
Scavengers roam the debris of forgotten dreams
And peacemakers become dividers of loot
The land is crying
Shrieking bullets break through deadlocks
Then become bombs for quick intercession
Araba!
The land is crying
Dead is in the air
Scattered bones and battered flesh
Are packed into trucks for burial
The land is crying
Hunger twists the stomach of the living
And regrets haunt the abode of the dead
Yet death-desires will not come
Not even in the jailhouses
The land is crying
And we, the neglected and the untouchables
We cry with the land
In the mouth of a cannibal-now
In the spell of my thoughts
Ewo
I
Possessed by the infinite breadth
Of your grove
I confess your native inklings
In the spell of my thoughts
Though nurtured on the winds
Of strange songs
I am the regeneration
Of your year-infinite
Cast in the chantful rituals of the elders
To bind your spirit
To the altering abode of your children
II
Trench of rituals
In the sleepy hours of dawn
Ewo is the growling spirit of guidance
Invoked in chantful words of the elders.
And I am the converging spell
Invoked by the entreating might of Ewo
III
Bard of the homestead songs
Poet of her native thoughts
I return to her calling
Long cast in the sacred grove of her spirit
I am the power of thoughts
Enshrined in the grove of Ewo
Native shrine where strange winds whistle away
My native thoughts
In shreds of strange tunes.
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Odi
I remember Odi aghast.
They turned the guns on hapless peoples
And fed on their corpses
They moved armour cars on bodies mauled
And lied to the world on the sins of Odi
Against helpless old bones and grannies close to the graves
They fired bullets bereft of conscience
Odi is destroyed and consumed
By those voted to offer refuge to a people despised
I rage against the killers of infants
I rage against rapists and religionists stoned with fatal resolve
I stand atop the dome
And rage against the evil connivance.
Damn the conspiracy of the ‘Peoples Assembly’
Damn the silence of connivance
And the leprous pretence of outrage
By mouths sealed with sticky notes.
Who will weep for Odi?
The tired eyes of jobless youths in Lagos?
Or those in the snare of unjustified imprisonment?
Or those whose daily bread are razed down
By a government too wise to understand
The foolery of graduates on busy streets
Hawking bodies and beer to those still lucky
To have jobs that would buy grubby lunch and nothing more.
I rage against myself dying inside
And facing the grave with unspent anger
I rage against my cowardice
To take the gun and let it smoke
While the bodies of sins fall to judgment
Curse them all, wasters of our common wealth
Damn you too, hungry and waiting to die.
Too shy to rail against evil and too hopeful to act Now!
I have a fire in me
To curse their sickening projects
What else will they do?
They sell a bomb to a people beaten by hunger
They want to quench the anger of betrayal
With food stolen from the common store.
The roads are waiting traps
To cut down on the number of troublesome rebels
But they have a budget. Big awesome budget
Spent to buy sands and gravels
To hide the stolen monies into big accounts
Curse your campaigns
It’s a fart to noses that are decent.
I see your hands in the reddened eyes of the area boys under Eko Bridge
You who moved around in 54 cars bought for N54 million
Curse the senate, dome of brittle sin.
I remember Odi aghast.
They turned the guns on hapless peoples
And fed on their corpses
They moved armour cars on bodies mauled
And lied to the world on the sins of Odi
Against helpless old bones and grannies close to the graves
They fired bullets bereft of conscience
Odi is destroyed and consumed
By a power mandated to offer refuge to a people despised
I raged against the killers of infants
I rage against rapists and religionists stoned with fatal resolve
I stood atop the dome
And rage against the evil connivance.
Damn the conspiracy of the ‘Peoples Assembly’
Damn the silence of connivance
And the leprous pretence of outrage
By those whose mouths have been sealed by sticky loots.
Who will weep for Odi?
The tired eyes of jobless youths in Lagos?
Or those in the snare of unjustified imprisonment?
Or those whose daily bread were razed down
By a government too wise to understand
The foolery of university graduates sauntering across busy streets
Hawking bodies and beer to those still lucky
To have jobs that would buy grubby lunch and nothing more.
I rage against myself dying inside and facing the grave with unspent anger
I rage against my cowardice
To take the gun and let it smoke while the bodies of sins fall to judgment
Curse them all, wasters of our common wealth
Damn you too, hungry and waiting to die.
Too shy to rail against evil and too hopeful to act Now!
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