The rain-Gods should
Give this greenhorn a reason
To why pain could
Appear this green-corn season,

Which baboon will make a sound
If the rich moon cannot be found?
Sometimes we play all day
Making sure that the clay
Does not decay,

But now our rock had bend
And who will lock and mend,
Ah, send the Gods a plea,
And it will end the cods a sea,

For the fear of might is oppression
Whiles the tear of night of derision
But nothing inside will look so strong
If something outside looks so wrong

Is this ice of life so conscious?
Maybe the price of life is so precious,
Men of Kush!
Have a pen for push

And never harm the Gods arm,
For their charm grows your farm,
The debtors have broken the palm-vine
Causing the ancestors to drink the palmwine
Indeed, what life sees as pain,
Must be given to death to explain.


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

Your beauty is a mystery,
The ęwa that the sun can not
Withstand,
Your smiles that scholars
Can not fathom.

Ajoke, the aręwa of our village,
I had known you since you came Of Age.
Adesina the only heir to the Oba,
The Queen said he hasn't be sleeping since
He saw at the yam festival.

Balogun, the warrior of our village,
Promised the King 300 victories to have you,
Ayankola the prominent drummer,
That performs at the village square,
His 'konga'  gives vulnerability to hips,
He wonders what have become of yours,

Odewale, the best village Hunter,
He has sent his wives packing to have you.
Alamu, the village woodcarver,
That carved even Oduduwa,
He has no clue how to carve your beauty.
Bashiru, the son of omowumi,
The palmwine tapper,
His is ready so supply 300 kegs to have you.
Olaniyi, the biggest village farmer,
With plenty of barns, is ready to
Give all this for your beauty.
Ajoke Ashake you are the goddess
Of beauty!

The beauty bird sing for,
That attraction men speak of,
The smiles poets write of,
Your beauty is a mystery!


To her who never noticed me
But her name protest to leave my lips.

This quiet night is too pure,
And the envious one is about
To sow the seed of jubilation,
Evil has overtaking me,
And my love one is about to
Bleed the tears of contempt,

The struggle is real,
And the jealous one is about to coat
The motion portrait of euphoria,
Why was this price not accepted
Before my first moan?
This breathless peace cannot be the
Place where my heart calls home,

Oh life, spite my weightless star
Over the southern hyaline,
I cannot not believe that my inept
Name is about to ration the little
Palmwine with the prelate ancestors,

How long will my wife’s
Womb continue to yowl?
Fate could not even wait
For my fondness to breathe my sun,

Beat the overt drums of time
And give me a *** of warm water,
For my blank soul has no other
Value except endurance and rejection,

Blow the covert horn of endless time
And let me ride over dawn and dusk’
For my greatest traitor has come
To hint me of my beholder’s score,

My sacred cloud waves are now
Pregnant with dry rain of gold dust,
What have I done to
Wound my own ghost?

I have nothing more
To sacrifice except my morrow,
Alight my irrevocable paean at the
Potent door of my inescapable darkness
And let the Gods take possession and audit
My perfect price of ornate fragrance.


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

Obatala,
Oba tasa.
Father of all orisas
The irunmole of mankind

Obatala,
The saint among saints.
The archetypal spirit of creativity
Olodumare's right hand
Father of humanity

Supreme deity
Holder of justice,
Wisdom and life.
The quintessential father

King of the white cloth
The eldest of all orisas
Creating mankind,
Drunk on palmwine,
Yet creating beautiful beings.

Obatala,
Danbala,
The father of the sky.
Your divinity,
We looketh upon.

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson

I will aways stay awake
Till I could no longer sleep
Till winds and earthquakes no longer blows
When young and old are  no longer old
Till market places turns musium
Even guns and weapons turns powder
River niger and benue refuse to come together
Teachers and student now read together

Believe it or not I will stay awake
Even on the worst of waters
When the sun kisses the moon
When palmwine refuses to tap
In the darkest corridor
I will stay AWAKE

My people!
A wind got into my ears,
I turned and discovered that it was a bird singing a morning song
The melody was beautiful but the lyrics literally were words of gossip
Paying closer attention out of curiosity I heard her say,

Years a ago today,
A maiden was sent down by Ɔbɔadeɛ (the creator) to this land;
The land of gold
Today,
She would be adorned in many colours of wishes from dawn;
A day of memory

On this,
I can not watch we the kinsmen and kinswomen miss
We must never be left out on this all important durbar,
The durbar of honour and merrymaking

So I say,
Join me in paying homage to the dark skinned maiden among the lots in our land
Let the few and the many words of love, sound on the fontomfrom to the lass

My self, I precede with the dancing steps of the lizard,
Nodding to the sounds produced by the drops of palmwine from the beards of the old men in the calash of theirs

Let men, women and children celebrate
Let's keep brightness on the cheeks of the celebrant
Bring out gifts let's present
Our fathers say,
The knee wears not the cap in the presence of the head

Till the sun goes back to rest,
Continuously we offer thanks to him who sits on high
The man who gave us this damsel full of value years ago today

To the maiden we say,
Enjoy your day
Let joy fill you full
In strength we pray to see you in yet another year

There is a new necklace in town
When it is hidden, it is a treasure
When it is unduly exposed
You can call it a trash
Sadly, adorned on a select few
Who have lost their sense of morality
In a generation worse than Soddom and Gomorra

Should I spot your necklace exposed
I will look as far as my eyes can see
For ages, you made us commit "lookery"
Then graduated to the beautiful art of "touchery"
Which usually crystallises to smooching
Reducing the value of "This New Necklace"

If it is a treasure, cover up
Why pay for it, when it is free?
They come in different shades and sizes
While the perfect sizes are about 45:55 with blazing pointers
Usually located on the upper ventral region
These new necklasses are golden kept sealed

The intention is to ****** the son of man
Tricksters bearing precious ornaments
Dis-oriented homebreakers and seeds of Jezebel
Even if it is not the standard areola size
Give yourself some value and cover up
Because all we see is a worthlessly-worthless  non-entity

Just that you know our truth
Under the spell of palmwine and chilled beers
We talk about your shapes and sizes
Even your ringtone we try to mimick
But we'll never talk about our precious jewel
The one who covered up to conjugality
It's never late to be right my dear
If you've got it, and it is a treasure, cover up...