Shantay

I saw an angel with a black mane
With a supple, sumptuous succulent face
Her smiles beam text messages of love and comfort
Her eyes says, “Come, find respite in my arms.”
Her name evokes the sensualities of heavenly flowers: Shantay

In her strides is happiness
Passed on to every soul that sights her
Each step of hers causes a gasp and a wow from the men -folks
For her aura is seven times more than that of the aurora

If you were not an angel Shantay,
I’d make you my angel.
I’d invite you into my dreams every night
For then I will sleep on, not wake up to a world without you.

If you were a stream Shantay,
You’d be my only source for water.
I’d visit your bank everyday till no day is left
I’d lay
I’d roll
I’d bathe and revel in your warmth and essence.

If you were water,
I’d sip you till I go drunk on you
For you are never going to do me any harm
But refresh my soul and cause a fountain to burst forth.

If you were winter,
I’d have you each day and all year round
So I could feel your chill till no end.
You will make me cold
You will make me warm.

If I were a sensible man,
I’d drape you around my heart
Marry you and live in bliss forever.

But what am I?
I am a man stung by your beauty
I am a man and I don’t want to live a day without being stung further
Perched around your laughter, grace and beauty, Please sting me some more!

Your beauty shames the aurora
Because it is full of lights of life
Your smile makes the sun cower in fright, going dim by the minute
Because it illuminates even the most sorrowful of hearts.
Your soft silky soothing face puts angels to sleep
Your heart makes your God, Jehovah glad.

Shantay, please take me home
Afford me with a ride on your wings
With a spot the size of pinhead in your heart,
And I’d be home
Yes, I’d be home forever.

This Wall. These Walls

This wall. These walls.
Not this wall but that wall,
closing me in
on this and that side
like water in a mug.

This wall. These walls!
With heights,hedges and holds
clasping my feet and feats
in shackles sharp and sure - with utter surety

These walls not of sand but of dusts.
Not of water but of blood.
Not of straws but of veins, flesh, valves and vessels.
This wall, these walls,
Not made with hands but with a band!

These walls I must take to take to the bricklayer
For he built this wall,and these walls!

These walls, my fear.
Myriads and myriads, cast in concrete casings
Fear that I may try and try might I that fear.

This wall, my body.
I will speak to this wall
I will tramp this wall and squash this wall as I speak to this wall!
I will take the tube and not fear you wall!
I will tell her how I feel and not fear you wall!

This wall am standing faced unfazed
Here is a hole! A hole to lift me!.
Here is a  edge! A edge to hold!
Here is a hand! A hand to strap my waist! 
Ha ha,walls, walls everywhere with no bases.
I triumph!

In Memory of You,Father (Pa Adedamola)

When will I see you again father?
For you are long gone
and like a missing tooth the tongue hovers at your hole
your void a reminder of times shared but fleeting.

Times shared walking hand in hand down the dusty road.
Times shared at the small sized shop shopping sweets and snacks.
Times spent waiting to be snatched off from mother’s grip,
to be fed the tuwo shinkafa with its black soup.

 

 Idleness has befriended the cane
a constant companion it cannot dislodge.
For to fondle it as you do, dare say we try
but the memories they fetch leave marks,
marks etched deep into skin, into soul,
to be rekindled in times fraught with indecision.

Just this morning I caught sight of your sleepers,
it too is waning
gathering dusts, awaiting it's night,
like teeth needing to floss
its gullies are cloaking.

The bathroom sits unoccupied for so long
like a child whose mother has gone on a far journey,
loneliness as loaned it a lodge.
The splatter of water by the odd hour,
at the hour when all are cuddled it misses!
Oh, how it seeks to resound the little I occasionally drop when peeing!

Am six foot six inches tall now.
When will we compare who is taller?
Your warmth and essence as the last time I miss.
To look at you and see myself
to know I’d never grow bald as you didn’t.

The walls have lost their acoustic feel.
Your soul-filled voice as you rise in the morning,
a mere memory they would trade for your presence.
For it tinkers them to their core.

My legs too pit-pat lesser now.
For to call out in your voice a second time is a declaration to war.
Your voice that now directs me down this path,
resounding in my head still
calling to mind your sayings in our loud solitude times
them I wish I had paid more attention to,
them I wish I had wedded to
like boy-child to the Igbo.

I miss you father
at dawn and may be you will a better father be and me a better ward.
For your absence fondles my soul.
For as they say, baba ku,baba ku(father is gone,father remains)
I didn’t see you much enough.
I didn’t hover close enough.

Bamgbose

Bamgbose, doing has willed by your essence
for to come as you do
in droves like a mad man in chase of something
that is nothing amidst everything could only be you.

Bamgbose the benefactor of all
coming and going like a owner.
You there, have.
You here possess.
To hails, to shouts, indeed to more.
With gaits like the lion’s;
forward, backward even inward
claiming, imprinting; who dares dare to wrath.
And like a housefly, in fear of nothing, nothing to fear.

 Bamgbose, the infamous
The once seen are spoken of hush hush
The once unseen are given mystical souls
Just above the arm and across the waist like a second piece of clothing
lays your grace.

For you let them see it.
They see to know,
but know not to tell.
By marks like tallies, meshed deep into skin by the old calloused hands.

Fourteen for fourteen times
by the nape,
in places not sought
by the torso,
 in places easy to conceal.
And you Bamgbose is secured in the feel.

Bamgbose, only the eyes know what can fill the stomach
but not you Bamgbose.
Your reach exceeds your realm.
Your fame is home everywhere;
Yours by the mention of your name,
yours by the whispering of your tales.

Bambgose, a man claims only the portion to lie in.

THAT I MAY LIVE

 

My hands are weary
They’ve borne me these years,
through holding, pawing, grappling and releasing.
They are marked and scarred
albeit, telling the stories mouth can only gape at.

My head aches, throbbing.
The veins; like a course into its voyage,speaks
in defiance to my plea to submerge
Lining up creases like an old sailors map.
Pulsing still, I wonder at what.

My feet can no longer carry me
The dusts only, psst psst at their underfoot drumming
Life is more gentler trounced have found
you can prop
hop but don’t jump
else drop
and be covered in dusts, psst psst psst.

My shoulders are drooping
bearing broader bales bereft of bailing.
On them the burden lays
the whole 20inch length of it
And all I show off are the protruding bones.

My voice is swish swash
I have hooted, shouted and whooshed with it.
On things this big
on things that small
On things heretofore on things theretofore
I whooshed then swished,
even an echo I pray for.

In hope I pray with them still
Maybe He will pay attention seeing them
Then I will live again by my members.

DRIP THUD,DRIP THUD

Drip drip, drop, thud thud, thud
like tear drops.

Only these drips are heavy drops.
Shed by hoses hosed on two ends
pierced in between by a lone shaft.

A lone bore, with a hat like a sausage
It tightens; thud, thud, thud,
It loosens; drip, drip, drop,
dripping precious liquid, in counts seen but innumerable.
Drip drop to the bowl below
like a stubborn pestle, headlong into the piping-hot water,drop.

Amidst us all and we watch.
To meet like heads, like minds
each with one thought, the one before and the one after;
racing to the brim.
Only to spill, 
spill precious liquid.

Occupied by vanities, like veils over a beauty that will fade
no one pays attention
it’s just a drop, 
it’s just a drip,
it’s just a thud
and we wane, unbeknownst.

The one before, the one after, the one thereafter
thud………. thud………… drip………… drop.