As dawn is gaily chimed
In the windpipes of dutiful cocks,
Let my mind resonant soar
With the color filling the fields
And today be ushered with hope
As brightness catches on the sky.
So let my day, everyday, be filled with love.
Stringed with so many unsuccessful resolutions and strained with so very demanding wishes, stretched with several uncertain anticipations and chequered with diverse experiences, hard-used and expired, an old year passes out of our lives. Determined to bid it a “stamp-out” goodbye with all it’s staleness, and forcefully catapult themselves to a new world full of freshness, men’s psyches can get quite adventurous in trying to testify of something it can’t tangibly feel.
I dreamt that we had church in a place so bright like it was in heaven
The large site had gay decorations and teemed with a cheery gathering
Mum led a choir dressed as white-winged angels
Which sang of a great joy born to the whole earth
Read the full article here …
Let the square roar exultantly
Let taut drum-skins boom flatteringly
And skilled dancers throw themselves like dust in the air;
Let’s lift our voices in high spirits, in the manner
Worthy of receiving our warriors when they return victoriously.
Let mothers now take the floor
let them mount on our admiration with their accustomed grace
Let them ride with the poise of veteran warriors
Because they took on evil at the gates
And licked our enemies before they could learn our secrets
Let them pride! let them make ako!
[Culled from an ongoing work: Justice is not man-made]
How do you judge the betrayal of a body that not only survived the assault but prospered the seed of rape? Or what kind of redemption is in the healthy birth of such a child that reminds the mother of being ravaged by a beast? Apparently to my frail mind, such redemption may be as evasive as justice is elusive.
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!
Read the full article here …
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.
Read the full article here …
You strung him up
With a bad name
And you’ll have him hanged.
Beneath choked spurted breaths
He whistles his defense
But cannot clear himself
As accusation squeezes tight on his throat Read the full article here …
It comes to me marching like an army of rain
Sometimes with stealth footfalls of dawn and dew
But it comes to me
Then, I’m at the bottom of the waterfall
Drenched, washed and one with the fountain
It comes to me and then it flows
And when it gets to you
I’m no longer the same.
©2010, Poem by Tee Akindele
Your back-side always had it’s appeal
I liked to watch your comely shape
Melt into the shadows;
I liked the juicing of adrenaline,
As I chased you into the dark
The rush, as I closed in on you
I was your junkie
I wouldn’t go to sleep until you made me high. Read the full article here …
