God Fled In 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

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!”

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

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

The World

This façade of confusion

Is full of deception,

Like a curtain that allows only illusion

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

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

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!

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!