Poetry

Solace Quest: Poems by Kunle Shittu

IS THIS A COUNTRY?

Clumps of dust-covered ruins
      so filthy
Spreading stench of abysmal disgrace,
Decades of tears and terror

Enriched but poor haven
      bludgeoned by gluttonic rapists
Sprawling rolls of earth
      cursed with scarcity
Of necessities and sanity

Tales prevail…of hopes
      murdered before sunset

Tell me,
is this a Country?

—————————————-

COUNTRYMEN

Prescient minds
x-legged in the puddles
of throbbing grief,
often meandering through the haze
of jolted joys
ever hoping for a riotous feast
of change…

to you

i raise

my

frost-bitten fingers

in salute.

—————————————-

HEALING THE LAND

What petals of raindrops
Can ease the souls
Clapped in irons?
What gust of winds
Can sweep off the garlands
Of our shame, the epilepsies
Of our living?

—————————————-

OF RABBLE-ROUSERS

Their
Pawky pounds of flesh-
A tailor’s nightmare!
Their
Greasily rotund cheeks
An artist’s sickly graffiti!
On glistening floors
They sit
Yawning
And scratching
Scabies-infested bums
In and out
Of red light Bars
They swap sweats
With sleazy sluts
Handsomely
Their vaults are stashed
With mint notes
Yet Bills that touch millions
Tango with dust
And lie untouched

—————————————-

Mr GUVNOR

the sirens and clangs
of your convoy
stir lapsed muscles
‘’commot for road, Guvnor dey come’’
your beastly scoundrels scream-
a flash of horsewhips and bayonets
a pandemonium, so epileptic sets in
hawkers plunge into hookers
butchers plunge into clerks
a nasty tie, really!
routinely, this regal folly
heralds your potty postures
Mr Guvnor
this featherbrained ride
is sure a bit of democracy,
isn’t it?

—————————————-

SOLACE QUEST

the bravura of rippling tendons
navigating the crannies of penetrating darkness,
a spasmodic surge of tides

a gasp and a lapse…
this is where millions of my people find solace!

—————————————-

MIDDAY REFLECTIONS

here we are

splotchy skins
found trudging through windy seasons
searching for our sanity
locked and dumped
where we know not

today
we see through the horizons
of smashed lens

and our elpee of woes-
is a preoccupation
with satire.

—————————————-

ADULT DELINQUENTS

Rat-like
They rally round
To anoint the languid toes
Of pot-bellied numskulls

Delinquents of
The propagandic ilk
Their sloppishness
Throws up scoops
In the tabloids,
They chuckle
They cackle
In the waters
Of their own mediocrities

Creeping old clowns
Worshipping on the threshold
Of brainless barracudas.

—————————————-

(c) Kunle Shittu

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