Again I am lost in a fleet of fragments
Floating beneath my throat, inflammable
I lie barely at the mercy of the poetic ballpoint
My convulsing fingers seek solace in silence
My troubled thoughts buried into the penny fountain.
I feel a flush of pure rage in my ligaments
As I augustly pay the evening market a shamble
This evening of eves hits me a keen point
My fading patience hides not the signs in my lens
I see little lines drool my brain drain.
Now it is my face welcoming a sad smile
A quintessence of a furious poetic surge
I see uncouth ghosts frown at my fleshy urn
And amidst angry rays of the sun god
Liquid lines lie poetically plain and painted.
I plead the misty clouds fastened into the vast mile
For a clothed blindfold for my sighting urge
The lady who has gone wild with the western turn
Chewing sparkling sounds rhythmically odd
Robed in a clothed nakedness and heritage haunted.
Cursed be the day Abeke danced to the mirrors
And saw her black beauty a shameless heritage
When she paid sight to her nails
And desired the fraternity of claws in cosmetic hues
The day she saw her hair too black and short.
The lady flattened by poverty and errors
Selling spiced beans lying helpless in a leafy cage
Wears a face with like the phlegm of snails
Coveted life and style of an alien lettuce
And the fads in the whites’ court.
Mopelola has lost her beauty to the bleach mix
They say her husband does not love her
Her black blessed colour is a disease
The husband eloped with a black beauty
For now she has bleached very fair and far.
The day is grey and it is now half past six
Enthralled in a sad brood of eves’ common err
I see Dudu Osun in gaits of ease
Of dark innocence and purity
Undaunted black boldness rides her glare.
My brood holds raptures of laughing lines
And my mind saintly free
My pains fade sooner than soon
I feel my legs in a stride of lightness
Dudu Osun has made a good make.
She is dark and shines
Void of here and there vogue spree
Her fragrance holds the smile of the moon
And a twinkle flourishes in her smoothness
The madness is not in her bake.
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