I’m the rough voiced civil servant
Collecting my wages on the street
The public utility Landlord
Keeping the peace and collecting rent
I’m the government of roughnecks
Enforcing law and order underneath the grassroots
I’m an eccentric citizen, so what?
Make no mistake, I know my rights!
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Primeval is the lust to close the gap between man and his maker
But man is hardly satisfied for God to be the reconciler
Man ignores his debts and presumes he is his own savior
Than God’s Word, crucified, they decide they can use more
They have learnt how the spirit rules the physical
And so they study to be mystical -
Through extreme exercise to enter ‘the spirit’.
Today scientists research on how God is a lie
And mystics try by assorted rituals God to demystify.
Since the garden, man has challenged God’s knowledge
The desire to be His equal has thrown them over the safe edge.
I look at the spot, where the worst of Criminals died
[Golgotha’s place of a skull]
Save the case of the innocent man who himself sacrificed
For all transgressions to take the fall
Whilst shafts of pain may transfix my soul
In the six by six of uncertain questions
Of this void and vague life-prison,
My heart, free as a bird
Will trace dawn’s golden streaks
Up my cell’s iron bars
To greet God’s grace in the morning.
Come O suffering wayfarer
I Am the Bread of Life
To the wells of salvation draw nearer
And quit from wayward strife
Come and be relieved of your guilt-burden
No matter how dark your taints
Come and find rest from vain laboring
At the fountain that births saints
Lagos is the land of bustle
Melting-crackpot of a metropolis
Our weather, business and temper mostly is hot
And our spirit always just manages to bubble
Between hitting humid roads and hitting sweaty sacks
Lagos life is one long traffic jam
From Monday to Friday, sunshine is our traffic light
But all roads will lead to where the party’s at
Come weekend, come the owambe nights.
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Your face so lovely…
looms like the moon in my hope’s night
Where the sun of romance has long set
And the vermin of doubt an ugly shadow casts.
Your love was the milk of my life
Nourishment for my happiness
Like cheese – sweetened, pure and tender
Honey to my tongue.
But all I drink now are stale memories
That sets my teeth on edge
Bleeding from biting into life’s hard vanity.
© 2010, poem by Tee Akindele
