Atop the house stood I with glee,
Imaginative anticipation in wild sprint,
Gin to sink, smoke to flare,
Head be soaked, mind high and spin.
The mansion, a nest to a poet,
Housing hungry desires and selfish fulfillments.
Meat gobbled, bread reduced, wine slobbered.
Laughter shook and merriment soared.
Richland, a terror centre to trouble,
Its shooters and lookers.
Herein, journeying nuisances rests their heads.
Chattering so cheap, even simpletons buy.
Grassy flames bite quiet ambience,
Evoking delight from hypocritical vagrants.
Innermost inn, a suitable den,
Where Wahala and Surutu knot their ties.
Retribution busts in, landlord imprisoned.
Opportunists forget heels in Richland.
Market becomes graveyard as flesh become bone.
Emptiness reigns with the shattered recluse.
As master treks to find Amnesty’s home,
Roaches pay no rent for their tenancy,
Unhindered weed creeps in with no invite,
House hollow with the howl of Lost Glory.
All things come to an end my friend.
If your flabber is whelmed,
Do not let your over be gasted,
For the world passes away like Richland.
* The author’s campus testimony.
Written by: Kunle Omope
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
- Strike (wordsrhymesandrhythm.wordpress.com)
- Sticky Fingers (wordsrhymesandrhythm.wordpress.com)
- YOU ARE JUST A FIST! (by Kukogho Iruesiri Samson) (angrypoets4women.wordpress.com)
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.