There was a time when
all times looked the same
passing through seamless
dawn of ageless drain
We sought, fought and
bought our freedom for an ageless price
At a pace that dares not to take away our
endangered race
But what have brought
this craze of dismembering
the maze we felt less safe in.

The incorruptible men who
once calmed the storm
are now cohorts of a demeaning plot.
Their role in a war of stakes
is a gusty grab for the frontline
as they tussle for the ratio of cake
a game they so delight in.
Exhausted in a place which
was once a timeless haven
as their dignity is torn in shreds.
All sorts of glory are lost
still no one feels this is a shared shame.

If only we knew the journey would abort halfway
but the signs were like flare from the start
as sides became drawn in clear spat.
Two hundred and more of our “prized cowries”
got snatched from our land and our leaders
cannot guard our streets because they say
the times are bad and the enemies are back.
Everything get soured and some of us are left behind
as limbs are severed high into the firmament of red horror
We go hash with our tag
twitting and chanting that they restore our girls
bring back our girls-we pray
bring back our girls- we chant
Bemused, the soldiers assure to search our lands
While Boko bomb us out from our very own sands
Tangled, mangled, limbs and bodies get buried in our time.


© Chijioke Izundu P

The holy cricket has no reason
To hold its last breath for long
For the royal naked bird

Has no other secret to display
Now see, the enzyme of my heart
Has delivered another staff
Without the knowledge of the ducks,

Let the morning stars rain
My pure dews violently
And allow my wet sun rays
To swim rapidly in the air,

Hmm, if the queen of my air
Continues to harden the back
Of this delicate tortoise,
How can my motionless heart
Find a dripping honey like hers?

Today is Thursday,
Yes, today is her soul day
And tilling of her love is forbidden
But can a cloud full of sweet words

Break the chains of my strong passions?
Let my bitter tongue
Remain silent in his cage
And lose not the cowries and the cola also.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Has he not been beared
From seas to streams
Marked with cutlasses and ashes
Forced to swallow cowries
Why would he not wear down his face?

Has he not been living
On his choiceless delicacy
Concoction of gmelina roots
And garlic sap
Why then would he smile?

Why would he dance?
The voilent drummers in his skull
Were pounding thier drums
Like groups of carpenters
Driving pieces of nails
Into a hardwood

Has he not been marched
Round the village on pant
Bearing a *** stained with dry hen's blood
And rotten bones and stenching earth
Why would he not dash out his wealth
To seek a neater heath?

She is witty but subtle and her light skin is the mark of imaginary lines A brilliant colour in figment like fairy light She never sings with water voice or bubble inside empty songs. She is the spectacular,the voice from flageolet and violin flick of soulful heart.I reckon her poem even this ode consoles her enemy of epic jelousy.She is seaview magnificent petal in vase.l wear you a pure crown with beads and cowries of silver colour you own the jupitar in our planet,my wonderful Queen

A man amidst two fools
Is a fool, a big fool
So it's for most of us
Cos' we ditch our dreams
To Paul pry with friends
We forsake our missions
For the flash of friction
With cast of distraction
Today might not really pays
But it's the truest of days
Dare not waste a bit of it
Nor spend a morsel like a spendthrift
Invest thy cowries of time
In companies of focus men
March beside valiant soldiers
That thy victory may come with ease
Friends are thy armoury
Don't battle with the rust of them
Thy friends are thy clothes
Don't suit-up with the rags.

falling like raindrops
the curved cowries
like a slanted lunar phase
three smile up at me as they land
but the last is buried down as the dead

he loves me not

L'afrique
Home of giant eagles
Land of short monsters

L'afrique
Rubies, oil, cowries
Trade route for ivories

L'afrique
Gold, Blood, Diamond
Cold blooded demons

L'afrique
Story for discoverers
Magic for sorcerers

L'afrique
Mother of green earth
Oil goddess of black liquid

L'afrique
Beauty of a map
Fast trampled forest

L'afrique
Milk cheese honey
Rich vast & sullen

L'afrique
Home of the dead
Land of the living

L'afrique
Home of abundance  
Land of starvation
Of pains
Of tears in the rain!

Sitting by my bed,
Pondering on this day,.
What could be behind that Bible story,
What could it really signify,
That it Comes with so much glory.

Then the atmosphere whispers to me,
Beaming a bright and glowing smile,
It is the day of the master,
That man born in a manger,
That man who received those peculiar gifts.

25th December...
What gifts have u brought,
Or u just going to be like your brothers,
Leaving me with bittersweet memories,
Because I've got no cowries.

Memories of having to watch mum ,
Go out on this day to trade,
A day which every individual has chosen for a holiday,
To honor you and celebrate,
Just so she could put food on our table.

Put food on our table?
No! Put food on our floor,
The table is for the rich,
The floor is were we find comfortable,
Filled with peace of mind.

Like a hare,
My friend runs to my house and says;
Daddy is taking me to banana for kids!
Mum added banana to my rice I reply,
And with chuckles we are both happy.

Life why have decided for me?
Why have u chosen that I be born in a manger?
Am I Christ?
Would I someday be the master?

*Why have u brought to me,
Too many labours,
Working my *** off,
Like an ***,
Would I someday get those gifts too.

#purimon
#lightpoetry
#lightpoet
#Thoughts
#love
#MerryChri­stmas
#Africangirl
#Neversaynever

The world is a plain sheet
That needs to be arrayed
With morphemes, words, sentences and languages.

The world is a war field
Where we do not array bullets in riffles
But inks triggered by our heart
Through a ball point pen.

The world is a market place
Where we batter calligraphy for bread and wine;
Like trading kola-nut for cowries.

The world is a grave a tomb, an open sepulcher
Where the flesh and souls of man is laid;
Doctors, Philosophers, Engineers, even I, a literatis
But I have aforetime immortalized myself. I am a literati.

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.

No going back
We will defend our pride
Our heritage
Our fatherland
Not with guns, powder nor machetes
Not with armoured carriers
But with powers ancestral

We will visit Egungun Oya
The god of divination
We will invoke Mawu
The god of the Sun and Moon
Have you heard about Babalu aiye?
The god of infectious diseases
Let the games begin

Omoluabi oooo! Omoluabi oh!!
"Bo ba d'ogun; ko d'ogun"
Where is Sango, the god of thunder?
"Gunugu ni oruko, ti an pe Ifa?"
"Okalamagbo ni oruko ti an pe awon Iya oshoronga"
"Abiamo ki gbo ekun omo re",
"Ki o ma ta si were"
"Oya, Amotekun oooo"

When the walls of Jericho fell
How many bullets were shot?
They stood on their father's faith
How was Judah and Jerusalem taken?
The red sea parted by the word
We too, shall speak the word
But now, the words our Ancestors

When the centre can no longer hold
Surely, things will fall apart
"Omo Yoruba, ronu"
Enough! No longer shall our lands be desecreted
Cast the cowries in the calabash
Let us inquire of our gods
Shall we pursue and reclaim?
Ready, set, "Amotekun dee"

Babatunde Raimi
Author/Life Coach/Poet
08178827380 & 08035063895

Inside Life
We fry our bones in the sun
And feed them to the howling storms
We do not fear to shed  our enamels
When we have no mouth to swallow our poor deities
Chewing granites , drinking from dead streams
Boys are not smiling , how can the moon find sleep?
When our bellies make noises than a troubled ocean

Inside life
We lost our blood in every rainy days
And cry an  ocean to drench our pains
Tomorrow never stops to gift us goose bumps
Friends come and go like  bad seasons
We bury our tongue in the silence of our mouth
When Napoleon strives in this animal farm
Sweats and cowries never share a toast

Inside life
Our dreams crawl, while our shadows run
And fortune is a woman beyond our reach
Only mosquitoes and cobwebs  stayed awake
While we squeeze happiness out of our skin
We would wait till the sun turns cold like ice
And  rest our aching backs on the laps of the moon
But today before twilight,  we must bury our thin sweats