Country: Nigeria
Onatola Abiodun is from Ikenne Remo Ogun State Nigeria.He is a writer across all genre of literature.He writes to correct societal ills.
A CHRISTMAS IN BIAFRA AND OTHER POEM
A CHRISTMAS IN BIAFRA
Disgruntled spirit jingle the bells of the gods,an innumerable worshipper line up on the street of heaven for services of servitudes.
A returning father stopped at the village shopping mall
To buy goodies for the trillion mouth that shall throws tantrum of tortured thoughts at his welcome…
A traveling mother alight at the nearby cactus farm
To catch the glimpse of the setting sun,
This dying day might be her last…
A being in his fifteen,filthy fifty
Of a shriveled body,a damped soul on a wrinkled faces
Begged the Earth to prolong the expiry of his life…
An infant,agile
Crawled away from the body of those murdered mother,
After she merry in their pools of blood…
She raced gingerly to the abode of Mr. Death for an easy access to heaven…
An invisible leg,miniature
Rivaling…
Alert villagers to run,assuring a recall after a better day…
An ankle socks,a bowl bow shirts
On half length trouser,sagging
Beckons on people to come…
The headmistress
On skimpy skirt,transparent undies and a billowing blouse
-Official
Her faces,torques glass and her heads on old School hair
-calls the pupils to order.
(Catch the tempest and caged the storm! !! !!!)
if you desires a taste from this scent of meal…
Pupils
round wring,ranting
Disobeyed…
They peacefully set the midnight assembly in disarray of arrays…
A grandmother in her fifty seven,seduced a boy of eleven
To help warm ‘her things’ to heaven…
The enemies fighter jet hovered above their heads…
Everyone returned to their mother bowel
For another rebirth,for a new death…
A nursing mother returns to the womb of her children
A serving soldier immersed his things inward of their womanhood…
And another Christ was born in the wake of a dying war…
GRAVEYARDS AND THE MARKET SQUARE
Every failures open us to a new successes…
Every misfortunes are blessings…
Every Morning redefined granny thoughts
Her morning resolves do silent our night plan
Like the graveyard and cemetery…
Every morning opens granny nerves to something alien to her being
Like the sprout of another cell outwards of the human person,
A bleeding blood blowing below her body of beastiful body…
Every morning do turns granny thoughts to a sing songs,be still
A music do flows from her head to toe
Like the flow of blood through the cells.
Rhythmic rhyme do finds expressionless expression in her hair on strand
Her body do plays percussions while jerking nonsensical,
Her flesh do rivals against her rigid body frame…
Every morning do open us to an untold stories
Of how Nigeria became World’s favorite, everyone longs to live…
And those men of khaki came
And the prosperous future of this country home shrink into their barren womb
For another rebirth,another death.
(This country will be a great place one day
A place where dreams comes true…)
Oh! Nigeria,when shall you see your good days again
When shall your savior come…?
TO AN IBADAN MOSQUITO
Poor insect
For how long shall you continue
In your search for blood?,
When will your gospel of bloodletting,sued non continuity?
How long shall your vampires sucked red milk of grief
From this sickened sickle cell?
Yesterday lunches me into the affairs of today,intruding
While tomorrow became a crippled being
In the moist womb of the future,friendly feud…
I watched a teething mother
Died in the adult hand of her crawling daughter
And the sweet dreams
From my snoring sleep be lost
Into the eye of unforeseen perpetuality…
Your aircrafts,convoys of rhyming unrhythmic
Noises
Do fly atop the airspace of our heads…
And I shall tarry on this mountainous mattress
Till my wishes shall begins to hunt you,hurtling…
Maybe,my ears can be tuned to the stations of the gods…
NOT THIS TIME
Not this time
Should this night turns to dawn.
Not this time
Should this dawn turn to night.
Not this time
Should this answers turned to enquiries.
Not this time
Should we witness a new 365 days,without our salaries.
Not this time
Should this poor head be given to unmerited riches
Not this time
Should this bleeding heart be saddled to laugh.
Not this time
Should this land becomes a safe haven of death.
Not this time
Should this dying breath be revived back to life.
Not this time
Should will look moron
And watched them sell our future
Into the World of fulfilled unfulfillment.
DEATH ON A PLATTER OF GOLD
(For Benue)
If for this reasons
This life is not worth living
Let it be…
If for their hidden reasons
Our life is not worth protecting
Let them be…
If they be destine to live
And our life,a mere shrimp prone to dying
For their plan subjugation
Made us an ornaments beads
To be worn on their innocent neck…
If for this protection, protestation of right
Our land be gruelsomely killed,
Let the good deeds of those marauders
Be written on the faces of the massacred
Add New Page
Country: Nigeria
Onatola Abiodun is from Ikenne Remo Ogun State Nigeria.He is a writer across all genre of literature.He writes to correct societal ills.
A CHRISTMAS IN BIAFRA AND OTHER POEM
A CHRISTMAS IN BIAFRA
Disgruntled spirit jingle the bells of the gods,an innumerable worshipper line up on the street of heaven for services of servitudes.
A returning father stopped at the village shopping mall
To buy goodies for the trillion mouth that shall throws tantrum of tortured thoughts at his welcome…
A traveling mother alight at the nearby cactus farm
To catch the glimpse of the setting sun,
This dying day might be her last…
A being in his fifteen,filthy fifty
Of a shriveled body,a damped soul on a wrinkled faces
Begged the Earth to prolong the expiry of his life…
An infant,agile
Crawled away from the body of those murdered mother,
After she merry in their pools of blood…
She raced gingerly to the abode of Mr. Death for an easy access to heaven…
An invisible leg,miniature
Rivaling…
Alert villagers to run,assuring a recall after a better day…
An ankle socks,a bowl bow shirts
On half length trouser,sagging
Beckons on people to come…
The headmistress
On skimpy skirt,transparent undies and a billowing blouse
-Official
Her faces,torques glass and her heads on old School hair
-calls the pupils to order.
(Catch the tempest and caged the storm! !! !!!)
if you desires a taste from this scent of meal…
Pupils
round wring,ranting
Disobeyed…
They peacefully set the midnight assembly in disarray of arrays…
A grandmother in her fifty seven,seduced a boy of eleven
To help warm ‘her things’ to heaven…
The enemies fighter jet hovered above their heads…
Everyone returned to their mother bowel
For another rebirth,for a new death…
A nursing mother returns to the womb of her children
A serving soldier immersed his things inward of their womanhood…
And another Christ was born in the wake of a dying war…
GRAVEYARDS AND THE MARKET SQUARE
Every failures open us to a new successes…
Every misfortunes are blessings…
Every Morning redefined granny thoughts
Her morning resolves do silent our night plan
Like the graveyard and cemetery…
Every morning opens granny nerves to something alien to her being
Like the sprout of another cell outwards of the human person,
A bleeding blood blowing below her body of beastiful body…
Every morning do turns granny thoughts to a sing songs,be still
A music do flows from her head to toe
Like the flow of blood through the cells.
Rhythmic rhyme do finds expressionless expression in her hair on strand
Her body do plays percussions while jerking nonsensical,
Her flesh do rivals against her rigid body frame…
Every morning do open us to an untold stories
Of how Nigeria became World’s favorite, everyone longs to live…
And those men of khaki came
And the prosperous future of this country home shrink into their barren womb
For another rebirth,another death.
(This country will be a great place one day
A place where dreams comes true…)
Oh! Nigeria,when shall you see your good days again
When shall your savior come…?
TO AN IBADAN MOSQUITO
Poor insect
For how long shall you continue
In your search for blood?,
When will your gospel of bloodletting,sued non continuity?
How long shall your vampires sucked red milk of grief
From this sickened sickle cell?
Yesterday lunches me into the affairs of today,intruding
While tomorrow became a crippled being
In the moist womb of the future,friendly feud…
I watched a teething mother
Died in the adult hand of her crawling daughter
And the sweet dreams
From my snoring sleep be lost
Into the eye of unforeseen perpetuality…
Your aircrafts,convoys of rhyming unrhythmic
Noises
Do fly atop the airspace of our heads…
And I shall tarry on this mountainous mattress
Till my wishes shall begins to hunt you,hurtling…
Maybe,my ears can be tuned to the stations of the gods…
NOT THIS TIME
Not this time
Should this night turns to dawn.
Not this time
Should this dawn turn to night.
Not this time
Should this answers turned to enquiries.
Not this time
Should we witness a new 365 days,without our salaries.
Not this time
Should this poor head be given to unmerited riches
Not this time
Should this bleeding heart be saddled to laugh.
Not this time
Should this land becomes a safe haven of death.
Not this time
Should this dying breath be revived back to life.
Not this time
Should will look moron
And watched them sell our future
Into the World of fulfilled unfulfillment.
DEATH ON A PLATTER OF GOLD
(For Benue)
If for this reasons
This life is not worth living
Let it be…
If for their hidden reasons
Our life is not worth protecting
Let them be…
If they be destine to live
And our life,a mere shrimp prone to dying
For their plan subjugation
Made us an ornaments beads
To be worn on their innocent neck…
If for this protection, protestation of right
Our land be gruelsomely killed,
Let the good deeds of those marauders
Be written on the faces of the massacred
That the living for all there days shall read
Their ugly writing, written on the slaughtered necks…
Let the percussions of revival
Be fasten on the faces of that killing gun
Our leg is ever ready to dance it again…
For Benue is a new born baby
Of no mothercare…
Oh!,Dear father
When shall you return?
For this prospering river
Shall turned a lake of water
To those thirsty of blood…
And our generation thereafter
May live a life of satisfied thirst…
This mass burial is the harvest of Souls
By those gods,unmerited…
The safest of this land
Is the insecure…
(Пока оценок нет)
Загрузка...
That the living for all there days shall read
Their ugly writing, written on the slaughtered necks…
Let the percussions of revival
Be fasten on the faces of that killing gun
Our leg is ever ready to dance it again…
For Benue is a new born baby
Of no mothercare…
Oh!,Dear father
When shall you return?
For this prospering river
Shall turned a lake of water
To those thirsty of blood…
And our generation thereafter
May live a life of satisfied thirst…
This mass burial is the harvest of Souls
By those gods,unmerited…
The safest of this land
Is the insecure…
(Пока оценок нет) Загрузка...