Our London in Africa
Behold the the giant of Africa on kukuruku's hill
Few hours ago, I slept without taking a pill
After a seven and half day of lockdown
Denying us an access to downtown

Behold a country where all live in tranquillity
Leaders with a great sense of accountability
Dawn and dusk of economic stability
Jake said "This vision is getting blurry"
I questioned " For how long are we going to live in penury?"

Religious sentiment, where hath thou?
I will go the land of no return, thou hath vowed
Together with you, corruption
So that all will live without affliction

Nobody would deny the sweet taste of our national cake
They also merry. the creatures in our lake
High standard of academic quality
And a low quality of inequality

Sneezed, as I inhaled the fume from my neighbor's generator
Get your chores done, granny whispered
And get your food from the crisper
So, all I had was a dream of our London in Africa
We await the man who will make it come through in our own land
So that the labour of our heroes past will not be in vain.
           -'Bintan Ola
           ©|2020

oh broken mirror!
Thou hath sick
Refusing to paint our image
Unexplainable fracture

Vibrant *** lethargic souls
Shattered horizon
And this crimson roses bed
Does thy life destroy.
                         -'Bintan Ola

Wholehearted confession
From a pierced, fugitive heart
wandering in the wilderness of emotion
And guided by ecstatic rays.
oh love oh love!
Thou hath broken my bones ,pierced my heart
but lackadaisically,
I choose to be a subject to your kindness.  
    -'Bintan Ola

Strangers in the land of sanguinolent inhabitants
Wandering in the forest of shattered hope
Beheaded, shadows of righteous witness
Little thee *** a widowed orphan
And territory covered in dirt and magnolia leaves.

Thirsty for tasty spicy
Tardy latter days of visualisation
yearning of our souls, albeit impecunious
longing incessantly to own a *** of tarmasalata
Norms beheaded, of course we ain't the wretched son of a pauper
plastic spoon turns silver, someday the table will turn
we will own pakora and samosa
with a tantalising subtle lemony taste
oh-oh-one our language
But soon, we'll throw a birthday party
with hamburger patty
Rays on our green pasture
The sun will smile, moon will grin
Then, our murmur will transmute into voices
Quenched! our thirst for tasty spicy.

Unfortunate Inception
Reminiscence of yesteryear washed my cheek with tears
with legs crossed and palm on cheek,
listening to aves as they squeak
Could this be a mere irony or the genesis of slavery
but which and whatever,
should our ancestors be blamed for being non Challant?

Albeit drained in love,
love which can't be given to its offspring, a dove
but once the heart has a hole, it affects the body as a whole
our ancestors can much more perseverate
They did even give us memory, this late
memory which is consequentially painful and mesmerizing
oh woe to the serpent in Eden!

Through her comfort and ease vanished, and we got banished
making us aliens on our own land
oh woe to the serpent in Eden!
Tears dropped like the drizzling of rain for our eyes was opened
and our blunt heart now sharpened.
To know and think like olodumare as the serpent said

so, this is a deceit?
repentance? too late
Genesis of strives and struggles,
oh woe to the serpent in Eden!
Now victims of faded hopes,
slaves of confusion like a **** on a rope
But in HIS infinite mercy, someday the serpent's head will be bruised
                                                 -'Bintan Ola