Throat chakra ******* blocked
Happiness set back
Marijuana is in
Me pushing
For something

Alcohol on the brink of my lips!
Let me ******* breathe.
Let me take a ******* break.
Let me sink into a ******* hole.
Let me fly out of the ******* sky-
FREE ME!
FREE ME!
FREE ME!

Paranoia is on set
******* slenderman or saints
I can't be soothed!
I can't be stopped!

I was made for greatness
I was made for better than this
My heart beats with the power of our people
Thumping with thoughts from ancestors
I ******* feel it
What the **** am I feeling?
Let it out!
Let it out!
Let it out!
*******...
Let.
It.
Go.
****!

Use me
Feel me
FEEL ME

Borders untouched
Inlands unkempt
Swirling clouds of unstoppable chaos
Raining down with compassionate entities

They say welcome
We say
Welcome
Welcome
Welcome
They sing it
We scream it

We breathe everything into existence
They say its about time
You have been here before
You have been lost
But you are here now
Welcome home

We are high
We are low
We are falling and flying
and feeling and *******
Making some kind of use
In this physical
*******
LIFE

(Cant go there anymore
Cut off
Cut back
GET OUT OF MY HEAD
OUTTA MY MIND)

797

By my Window have I for Scenery
Just a Sea—with a Stem—
If the Bird and the Farmer—deem it a “Pine”—
The Opinion will serve—for them—

It has no Port, nor a “Line”—but the Jays—
That split their route to the Sky—
Or a Squirrel, whose giddy Peninsula
May be easier reached—this way—

For Inlands—the Earth is the under side—
And the upper side—is the Sun—
And its Commerce—if Commerce it have—
Of Spice—I infer from the Odors borne—

Of its Voice—to affirm—when the Wind is within—
Can the Dumb—define the Divine?
The Definition of Melody—is—
That Definition is none—

It—suggests to our Faith—
They—suggest to our Sight—
When the latter—is put away
I shall meet with Conviction I somewhere met
That Immortality—

Was the Pine at my Window a “Fellow
Of the Royal” Infinity?
Apprehensions—are God’s introductions—
To be hallowed—accordingly—

As we wander through the dunes rhythm,
The blistering sun jaunts across,
Exhibiting the elegance of the sanguine sands,
A ravishing roots of colours,
Whirling on the Sahara,
The beautiful blue skies,
Their true reflection,

With delight we trail from audaghust to the inlands,
In a waddling gait,
The heavy luggages on humps,
Are the loads of luxury bade by kumbi saleh,
The camels and jockeys pride themselves in it flamboyant environs,
And our thobes and keffiyeh makes merry,
In the breeze of sacred grove trees,
Mesmerizing the aesthetics of Arab architecture,

Treking through the routes of Tjilmasa to Tehrent,
In the comfort of the oases,
Replenishing our thirst and fatigue,
With benevolent breeze from palms and peaches,
Glancing at the magnificent mirages pearls,
We sight the atlas mountains,
And its Maghreb,

Caravan
A Poem Written By,
Historian E.Lexano
©March 8,2015

paint me this picture, sonorous color
clutching the quiet ****

             pressed against cloying scenes,
        a loose hand bannering a bayonet.

rivet me waters, and much of the Earth
tightly groping inlands,

                thatched in the branch nowhere alone,
                is the song of God lullabying cities.

again the whole sky with its keen eyes
manifests a gleam worth knowing a cherub,

                 and sooner than it is later, when the seasons
    postpone their flamboyances, chiaroscuros of smoke,
   deceit, uncared for and unheard shrieks bounce off careless corners
    and the song of God is but static with little wings clipped
    and tossed into vicissitude:

song   or    no   song
bearing a fruition of attrition:

                    resounding far-away:  a comatose  of cars,
             a scuffle of powerlines, a melee of battlement and tranquil

continually     fluster the  child
   in  metronomic dance.

I am many things but confused
I know myself in depth
But somehow have I lose grip
On issues that concern me
And even though I so much want to,
To take control,
I really can’t have it.
So for a start, you can call me helpless.

I have been speechless for decades.
I remember once at Ogoni
When I thought I should speak up.
How my tongue was hung on a noose
Along with eight others.
So, you can call me voiceless.

I am a richly endowed woman
With the ******* of a ****** maiden
That is pointing to high heaven
Like a cross breed of orange and papaya
Attracting them from north, south, east and west.
And when I say west, I mean West.
So call me beautiful.

They tumble on themselves
To **** at my *******
To insert their huge long pipes
Into my fountain to drill for sweet richness.
They say my milky juice is rich.
It is painful the way the gag;
The way they drag and tear;
Leaving me with scars all over.
So in pity, you can call me mutilated.



The hairs of my head
And my beards beneath and below
Are thick and bloomy
Like the rain forests and mangrove swamps
Cross crossing the coasts and inlands
Of the deltas of the Niger River
So call me fertile, fruitful or rich.

My daughters are sharp and beautiful like
Grace Alele Williams and Agbani Darego;
My sons are intellectual giants and warriors like
The John Pepper Clarkes and the Tompolos
They cut across in greatness at every endeavor like
Blessing Okagbare, Clement Isong, Louis Edet…
So please call me proud and blessed.

My fountain flows endlessly
In spite of my turmoil, with thick black gold
Which smells rich and sweet.
So call me verdure, elegant or evergreen.

Nobody cares for me
They delight in ****** me:
These oil companies
And my conniving governments.
They leave me wounded all over
Without treatment or care.
So call me degraded or exploited.

My only hope for freedom someday
Comes from the loud sounding canons
Fired by my aggrieved children
Every now and then.
So you can call me a dreamer.

When one day freedom eventually comes,
Then you can call me emancipated.

Rain fell backwards
in clouded sun inlands
frosty winds whistle Dixie
flaccid ***** of cotton monies
cat calls in the heat of the night
bamboo canes in the straight tracks
in drips fears are real on winters night
finding the sad way home on hock and gin
the beast have been and ably widened the road
where trunks call instill dreads in gaps and arches
top-loader weave in rhyming dispatches and silk roads
the sons of Cain are heirs to the tongue and busted flush
such is the so raging minds that makes the limps go limping
so whistle me Dixie bring in bullwhips for the lazy men's game
gonna lock up the fillies and padlock the minds for dreads of stallions