Death Gave Birth to My Father In The Paradise Of Love
(In memory of Abdulrazaq Salihu, my mentor's father) Today, I mirrored my mother's radiant smiles, As my father assumed an idol's grace. His laughter, now nestled in the night's embrace, A poetic journey where verses unfold. From my mother's words emerged a girl, Her hair a cascade on my eyelashes unfurled. Simultaneously, I am but a line, In a poem where my mother's a verse so divine. Time strides on chameleon feet, My father, a mere year old, in mirthful fleet. Giggles echo like clouds in flight, Witnessing Earth's dance in translational light. Somewhere near the apex, the tip divine, God's open hand cradles the passage of time. In the paradise of love, Death surrenders its hold, And my father is reborn, a story to be told.
(For Sir. BM Dzukogi) I stood beneath his feet His songs wet me, I flower Transforming into the vibrant display of sapphire. As I sip his reality from the cup of his poetic wisdom In the timeless realm, where his sagacity prevails Stars of a new era, Sparkling beyond the so-called sky Were once humble seeds of his sampling. Tasting the essence of his words Like the sap of a wise tree We remain evergreen, even in the autumn of life. He, the sunbeam of all rays Whose sparkles beam & the earth giggles. I wonder if his shades wouldn't shelter The queue of teenagers bearing baggage of talents For the world to chatter their name like ancestral songs, captivating and enduring. But, indeed, he does offer refuge A sanctuary for talents to unfurl and explore.
Men In Our Dungeon
We've seen and still see the queue of men, Scuttling our names behind the clouds, Whose tongues are golden carbuncles, Filled with leeches of poison and sparkled With lies and exclaimed false promises. For long, our soil hasn't drunk, And they couldn't water their promise, But brag in their faceless booming. Yet, none feels to meet a single oath. Though they've watched our tears pile beneath their feet, They cattle-walk and pour out the wish, saying, May it be blood flowing on the street, Not just our helpless screams, And our tears should water an autumn sea. They were like chameleons, bearing the face of gods, Deepening in the rainbow that sank into our minds With their Claudius songs. And rooked the voice of revolution That awaits to birth rebellion