Hunters of vulnerable daughters of Eve,
Preying on weakened virtues,
Randy pedagogues  in the temple of callousness,
Eating forbidden fruits, ripe or unripe.

Not by the appearance of my demeanor,
Nor by the shell that adorns my breathing carcass,
Do so by the outcome of my thought processes,
And by the affirmation of my clear prophecies.

Green fatigues too ****** out to even care,
They turn the other way as the people of state are put to knife,
Lazy infantry men without conscience,
Only available to do the bidding of that crazy old geriatric in the rock.

Shoot me with  affection,
Drown me with devotion,
Strangle me with desperation,
Poison me with dark, dark perspiration.

Children of state in a state of statelessness,
Born into a state of abandonment,
Refused a taste of the state's tastefulness,
Locked in state, the children await their freedom's statement.

Each day I awake to a heart full of affection,
But the sun sets on my bitter countenance,
Because you embrace me with thornful coldness,
And cut me deeply with your loud silence.

Your time has come to its natural end,
Your course has steered itself silly,
Your tongue is disconnected from reality,
Your infamous time among the living will roll into oblivion.

In the security of a bubble,
The might of the lowly breeze blows trouble,
Carrying with it ominous foretelling,
Of when things draw closely to a foreboding close.

The fiend rushed through screaming like a banshee,
Catching the sleepy lawmakers in a terrible fright,
The golden staff of office glittered in prostate silence,
Only to be stolen in rapturous, disharmonious free for all!

The man with cowries around his neck,
Has thrown a mighty stone in the river of our conscience,
And ripples of hope, once again, begin grow...and grow,
Threatening those geriatrics that have refused to embrace relegation.

Keeping the light on is herculean,
This problem has become overweight,
The people of state ***** around,
Occupied by frustration, fed with prevarication.

That geriatric living in the century before this one,
Finds pleasure in shooting off outside the shores,
Shameless old fleabag junkeetting without remorse,
Playing the script of unrepentant fools;

But herein lay the problem,
Because we are coloured by his senselessness,
Made to appear hapless, even hopeless,
At the beck and call of any and every imperial world power;

Give us back our dear mother,
Trapped in the misfortune of your unfortunate marriage,
We will rescue she who gave us ****,
From your ******, malevolent indifference.

They found themselves sewn together by imperial threads,
And a century later they are clawing desperately at the seams,
But the crown seems oblivious of their frustrations,
Only choosing to gawk disparagingly at their hopeless haplessness.

Thinking backward as though free,
Shackled by a sense of delayed satisfaction,
That somewhere beyond the end of the ocean curve,
Is some place where life never ends.

Blood chilling howls of the children of state float into nothingness,
Merchants of destruction revel in the trade of wanton killings,
Powers and principalities celebrate a marriage of economic convenience,
Deaf, blind and mute to the daily anguish of the people of state.

Children of  state are cannon fodder for shameless political geriatrics,
Insidious devilish minds that swim in the blood of the innocent,
Feeding fat off the aspirations and hopes of vulnerable minds,
To the further, to the further! All you fiendish maleficent goblins of state.

From this ***** hath thine come,
And with mine hearth wouldst I cherish every moment with you,
My sinews and better years will nourish and nurture your needs,
And colour your days with brilliant sunshine and magical blue skies.

Creativity is a plate of hunger and deprivation,
With a cup of agony and frustration,
So we go out and blow ourselves up,
To taste another kind of life other side of the hilltop.

Fear  wrapped itself around the hearts of the children of state,
Daily cowed by hunger, starved of enlightenment and forced by repression,
The horizon is widely bleak and uninspiring, spirit anchored to a hopeless future,
Chained to empty promises, they float aimlessly in airless skies;

The way out is obvious even to the unsighted,
That in one accord lay the keys to soaring freedom,
Taking the seat of power by force,
And daming the consequences to achieve the ultimate utopia.

I am in water but I have ***** suds blocking my vision,
Surrounded by meaninglessness and so and so,
So much lack in the midst of plenty,
That oft I question, really, what is my life's mission?

We want everything now, now!
Why go slow, slow?
The earth is on a sluggish revolutionary spin,
Takes twenty and four hours too long to make this happen;

We need to make this money sharp, sharp!
No time to take it small, small,
Cannot grow grey on the waiting queue,
Will do what must to get this green done.

The treasury is nigh empty,
Oh, what troubling times,
To arise with stomach full of hunger,
And behold my sweet mattress with a heart full of anger.

The story of the broom and the umbrella,
Has her children in fives and eights,
The difference is much the same,
A love encounter everybody hates.

Do not love too much not to get hurt,
Keep the wall up enough to jump over,
For many wander the streets of insanity,
Not of needles, of powders or of tablets.

Uncalculated, dipping a pinky into a pool,
Calculated, jumping off a skyscraper,
Like a game of high stakes poker,
You deal...or are dealt with.

Owo epo ni ara'ye n ba en la,
Bi eje ba ta si die, se ni won a poora,
Ki enikeni ma tan ara re je,
Ko si eniyan ire mo l'aye.

(Translation from Yoruba Language into English)
People come around when your hands drip oily goodness,
But thy disappear when those hands become ******,
Let no one ever deceive themselves,
There are no good people anymore, no not one.

Burdened by the gluttony of pudgy fingered politicians,
And their endless breaking of putrefying wind,
She heaved a huge and resounding sigh, very loudly,
And, with unbounding love, laid down the troublesome load.

Too many bright ones roam the streets in hungry frustration,
Locked out of opportunities to earn rich places in history,
This is the heartbreaking and mournful story,
Of rottenness and backwardness of a failing, contrived nation.

Almost, it seemed,
But the more it seemed,
Seemingly, the less it seemed,
Seeming the more it actually seemed.

Between the love making and making money,
Between the rat race and racing formula one machines,
Are moments of quiet confusion,
And times, of noisy calm.

For my dearest little one,
All the wonders the eyes can read,
All the magic the tongue can taste,
Now, is there anything better?

But the rats still give a fuss,
Vermins in defiant show of force,
Too fat to lift a paw,
Did you manicure that claw?

Over two hundred girls many moons ago,
Then over one hundred in the same vein,
While the politics of stupidity serenades their incompetence,
Beer parlour intellectualism fingers the minds of the many keyboard warriors.

With little dainty feet,
And cute milky teeth,
She takes strong steps forward,
And reverses without facing backward.

And here we are, helpless, hapless,
Struggling with the little things that pleasure the small minded,
Whereas brilliant minds are weighed down by daily living,
Incapacitated by the stupidities of the glutton one per cent.

But we are not at war,
This peace of ours demands too much blood,
Life has become an easy offering,
To the gods of acrimony and senseless aggrandisement.

Stroking these one-o'-one keys,
And making rhymes of the lot,
Comes to me hardly without some thought,
Especially in the cool company of a fresh evening breeze.

The past is a bride,
That never completed,
Her wedding ceremony,
Wishing it was a nightmarish affair.

Everything is moving in every direction,
And nothing ever remains in position,
As the clock ticks off with mercurial accuracy,
There is no time for a second look at intimacy.

Woke up feeling no less older than last night,
But this sunrise opened wider my insight,
Life is a beautiful gift,
And amazingly some do not get the drift.

So, what if Allah is the greatest,
And pray five times every day of our lives?
Jihad has its roots in Islam,
And Islam is a religion of peace, most definitely.

So, what if we are tiny, yellow people,
In love with the tyrants that fetter us?
The powers are moving east, fast,
The oriental shifting of the balance of influence.

So, what if we talk funny,
And believe in the entitlement of our own ignorance?
We will build a wall to keep you out,
And brag about how we run this friggin world!

So, what if Jehovah is the one true God,
And we all are descended from Abraham, our father?
Genius comes to us naturally,
And the holocaust is not a figment of our collective imaginings.

So, wha' if I got dark pigments,
And my melanin be poppin'?
Hey, 'taint yo' business if my ancestors swung from branches,
Remember, they got bruised and violated, tending yo' **** ranches.

Emotions arising from the effusions of a redneck,
Driving up blood pressure among the impoverished,
People blinded to the predicament of their unfortunate existence,
Refuse to break the chains but go on a pity party

Will we look back in sincere amazement,
Of how gullible we had been,
Or in sheer and unforgivable embarrassment,
That we did not truly, honestly, come out clean?

Now the earth has completed another revolution,
And with great outpouring of emotion,
And endless international propaganda,
We all wonder where the two hundred and nineteen are???

In a cloud of disbelief and great distrust,
Over three hundred were snatched in the dead of night,
Since, more speculations have characterised their plight,
And put this minority's government on a failed ******.

Herb for the brethren!
Nature provides their need,
You come with your scale and blade,
But authority never belonged to the wig.