WHAT IS LEFT OF WHAT IS RIGHT?

war of words

I want to talk, see I have to say my mind

I wan yan wetin my eyes don dey find
Continue reading

Advertisements

RES JUDICATA!

image

RES JUDICATA !

First, It Was Vet. Medicine.

The Thrashing Was Really Something,

To Take Home As Subject Of Deep Thinking.

They Were Thrashed Four To Nill.

Then In The Second Round, Of Sixteen,

Pharmacy Was Next In Line,

They Proved A Little Less Benign.

But We Trounced Them All The Same.

The Druggists’ Drug For Victory Seemed Inadequate.

Two-Nill Was The Scoreline.

In No Time, We Reached The Quarter Final.

None But The Electricians Were Our Rival.

With A Spanking Of Five To One.

It Was Held In The Legal Action.

That The Rule Of Law.

Is Stronger Than All Electric Force.

The Game Was Getting Tougher.

The Ambience, A Little Bit Tenser.

Muhammad Ali Boasted About It.

But Only We Could Achieve It.

‘Medicine’ Was Truly Made Sick.

When MBBS Lost To Us In A Penalty.

The Score Line Was Five To Three.

To The Final We Finally Reached.

Pitted With A Huge Team On A Huge Pitch.

After Some Dribbling And Mingling,

Some Kicking, Hailing And Jaw-Breaking,

With A 2-1, We Outdid Agric. Engineering.

Establishing Our Relevance In The Soccer Discipline.

All Hail Ministers In The Temple Of Justice!

WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

image

WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

I, A MERE MORTAL MADE OF GRIME

WHO AM I TO EVEN GRUDGE?

CAST STONE ON OTHERS, WHEN THEY DO CRIME

 

I AM BUT A SERVANT OF THE GOD OF ROME

A DEVOUT DISCIPLE OF HIS EMISSARY

I AM BUT A FOLLOWER OF THE HOLY TOME

THOUGH I MAY NOT GRASP IT UTTERLY

 

MY MOTHER SOLD ME OUT IN SLAVERY

TO FOREVER TOIL IN A TERRAIN I KNOW NOT

THOUGH SHE WAS RICHEST IN THE CITY

SIMPLY DEEMED ME A BURDEN TOO MUCH

 

I HAD NEITHER CHOICE NOR SAY

IN WHAT WAS TO AFFECT ME FOREVER

I HATED HER SO MUCH THAT DAY

BUT WHO AM I TO POINT A FINGER?

 

MY BEST FRIEND ONCE SWINDLED ME

BORROWED MY SLIGHT, SMALL, LITTLE PAY

AND THEN SUDDENLY, HE FLEES

NO TIME WAS I EVER AS BETRAYED

 

HE CAME BACK, PLEADED AND I FORGAVE

BUT THEN HE FLED AGAIN, NOW WITH MY WIFE

MY INNERSELF BURNED WITH GREAT RAGE

BUT WHO AM I TO MOAN OR WHINE?

 

 

 

 

DEVOTED IN WORSHIP TO THE MOST-HIGH

I SWIFTLY SOUGHT OUT A NOBLE PRIEST

HE ASSURED ME SUPER-HEAVEN IN THIS LIFE

IF ONLY I SOW ONE-TENTH MY EARNINGS

 

ONE DAY, I SAW MY GOOD PRIEST ON A STEED

TREADING MY PATH, I WAVED THAT HE MAY STOP

ALAS! HE SNUBBED ME, OR SO IT SEEMED

WHO AM I, TO CONDEMN, I AM JUST A SLOB

 

I REMEMBER TOO, ONE POOR, FRAIL GENT

WHO CAME TO MY CABIN TO PRAY

NOT FOR FOOD, BUT MY CONSENT

THAT HE MAY RULE THE WHOLE POPULACE

 

I TRUSTED AND GAVE HIM MY BACKING

THEN, AFTER HE BECAME A REVERED SOVEREIGN

HE LOCKED ME UP FOR STREETBEGGING

BUT HEY, WHO AM I TO COMPLAIN?

 

WHO AM I TO JUDGE?

I, A MERE MORTAL MADE OF GRIME

WHO AM I TO EVEN GRUDGE?

CAST STONE ON OTHERS, WHEN THEY DO CRIME

 

NAY! IN SILENCE I SHALL SPEND MY LIFE

IN LACK, I HAVE BEEN; IN LACK, I WILL EVER BE

PERHAPS, I CAN BLAME FATE FOR MY PLIGHT?

DEFINITELY NOT OTHERS, FOR I AM NOT ‘HE’!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

image

THE LAST DOSE?

STRIKE NO MORE.

 1…7…0, 1…7…0, what is it again?

I try and try, but all ends in vain

1…7…0, 1…7…0, I can’t seem to remember

Those six little figures… my poor matric number!

 

I am the unfortunate Nigerian student

Hardworking, ambitious, always compliant

I am the bone-eating son of a butcher

Who none cares for a second to look after

 

While busy sipping from the Pierian Spring

The fountain went dry, an event unforeseen

The unions cut short our bid to know

Even ‘IFA’ oracle insisted we must go

Confused and dejected, we packed our bags

Thinking that the next day, we’ll be back

But days turned to weeks, weeks to months

We waited and waited, all came to naught

 

At first, to the union, we showed sympathy

But then, the issue became just too lengthy

No more were some on the fence

To all, the strikers were now in defence

 

Some learnt teaching, bricklaying and carpentry

The rich ones, out of fear, swiftly left the country

Some hurriedly settled down to marry

Some could not endure, that they got heavy

 

Alas! At this time, many were buried

Here and there, you hear a student’s obituary

But no! We did not suffer alone

The great union also lost one of its own

 

Our market women cried enough is enough

A Lagos lawyer said we can’t take it no more

Igbo youths were paid to pressure the union

Vanity upon vanity, we were left in confusion

 

The government issues threats of no pay

When union protests, they chase them away

Go back to work, we have no money

So says the vile and chubby Harvard lady

 

 Promise after promise, offer after offer

Yet the union’s stance stands, it does not falter

Then came Goodluck, like a Deus ex machina

Union got thrilled, and forgot the grounds for fracas

 

Or so we thought…

Sadly, the royal meeting yielded no result

After 13 hours of nocturnal discourse

The season-film just never halts, not even a pause

 

The media mediated,

Sending us neither here nor there

Even a silly fella under @ASUU_Nigeria

Misled much through his twitter gear

 

The game is no longer interesting

The movie, no longer amusing

The union has lost its radiance

The students are no longer concerned

 

The government again issues threats

We will sack you all, they declare

Pro-Chancellors too did speak

Resume in a week or forever have your break

 

When all hope seemed buried and lost

The authorities agreed to pay somewhat

The union knew it the best they can muster

And to all’s joy, re-opened the Ivory Tower

 

When two mighty whales brawl

It is the planktons that really hurt

The strikers have gone on another repose

But I ask, is it a stop? Have we had the last dose?

KINDLY DROP A COMMENT BELOW!

THE EYES HAVE IT.

image

THE EYES HAVE IT,

THE MOUTHS HAVE NIL.

OBSERVATION IS THE KEY,

NOT EMPTY LOGOMACHY.


Yet another Quartet. But really, I’m not sure what I was thinking to have come up with this.

Just hope you like it, and above all, understand the message embedded therein. 🙂

I’D RATHER DIE!

image

I’D RATHER DIE[…THAN TAKE WHAT IS NOT MINE.]

If out of your little wit, you open your mouth and say,

I’d rather steal than die, of hunger, of shame,

Remember that the whole of mankind, regardless of age,

Whether through poverty or cancer, will die all the same.

THERE WAS A SPIDER…

image

THERE WAS A SPIDER

Once upon an era
There was a little spider
Threading with tender
In a safe corner,
It weaves its new quarters
Yarn after yarn
Hook, line and sinker
Day and night, it lumbered
Hour upon hour
It never got tired

Then there came the instant
The work was done and over
It turned out as planned
Perhaps, even better
The little spider’s perfect quarters
Was ready for the Normans
Hurray! It was all proud and relaxed
Many a prey it caught to quench its hunger
No day went by without a good dinner
Its hopes reached the sky, near and yonder
Until a small boy came hither
With a stick, small as Hitler’s whiskers
The insect’s glorious home, he ruined
And the spider itself, he sent to its tomb

.
.
.
.
.
NOTE: IT MIGHT EASILY SEEM THAT THE SMALL BOY IS THE ANTAGONIST WHILE THE SPIDER IS THE TRAGIC HERO, BUT THAT IS NOT NECESSARILY THE CASE.

THIS POEM IS AN ALLUSION TO POLITICIANS OR BIG BUSINESS MOGULS (SPIDER) WHO FEED ON THE ‘PROLES’ (INSECT PREYS) AND BUILD GIGANTIC MANSIONS (SPIDER WEB) FOR THEMSELVES, WITH A SENSE OF PRIDE AND SAFETY. HOWEVER, AS SHOWN HERE, THERE WILL DEFINITELY COME A TIME WHEN THE TIDE WILL TURN AGAINST THEM AND THEIR DOOM WILL ORIGINATE FROM THEIR EVIL PAST AND MENACING PRESENCE.

WHERE ART THOU?

poverty1.jpg.pagespeed.ce.2KWVtPR9uN

WHERE ART THOU?

I HAVE LOOKED AND LOOKED
MY EYES ARE WEARY
I HAVE WALKED AND WALKED
MY LIMBS ARE UNSTEADY

I HAVE SEARCHED THE WHOLE NATION
YET FUTILE IS MY EXERTION
THE PRESENT AND FUTURE I HAVE SEEN
STILL NO SIGN OF THEE

I LOOK TO THE HEAD
SAID REPRESENTATION OF ALL
I FIND, IT IS MUCH CROOKED
FULL OF PRETENCE, SECRETS AND FRAUDS

I LOOK TO THE COMMONALITY
AND ALL I CAN SEE IS POVERTY
A MASS OF UNBOUND SLAVES
AN OCEAN OF DILIGENT ILLITERATES

I LOOK TO THE SHEPHERDS
BUT THE WORST OF MEN, I REGARD
AFFLUENT SPEAKERS, UNQUESTIONED TYRANTS
MASTERS IN THE DECEPTIVE ART

I LOOK TO MAN’S LAST SOURCE OF HOPE
OR IS IT HIS LAST SOURCE OF WOE?
HAMMERING HARD ON PETTY OFFENDERS
GOING BLIND, ON SEEING LOADED DEFENDANTS

I LOOK TO THE YOUNG ONES
WITH PROFOUND FAITH AND FERVOR
LEADERS OF TOMORROW, I HEAR YOU SAY?
NO! WHAT GREETS THE EYE IS SURELY NO RAY

NO WHERE IS SAFE
NO THING IS CERTAIN
NOT A PUPIL’S GRADUATION TIME
NOT THE HOURS WE SPEND AS NIGHT

BAD NEWS MEET MY EARS DAILY
UGLY SIGHTS SHAKE MY HEAD REPEATEDLY
LEADERS GIVE NO DAMN ABOUT THEIR FOLLOWERS
THEY, DO NOT CARE ABOUT ONE ANOTHER

ON, I LOOK, BUT I SEE NOT
HARD, I LISTEN, BUT I HEAR NOT
IF YOU SAY STILL, THAT THERE IS HOPE
THEN SHOW ME, WHERE IS ITS ABODE?

A DAY TO…

image

A day to mourn
The things I have done
Ones I have left undone
The persons who to the beyond have gone

A day to meditate
Cast thought on my long days
Evaluate my erring ways
Never to make the same mistakes

A day to plan ahead
What do I wanna become?
What, as a result, must I shun?
Where do I wanna eventually return?

A day to give thanks
To the ones that appreciate my being
Ones that aided me to here be
And to the one that actually made me Somebody.

To those who wish me a happy birthday,
Don’t forget to also add a happy stay

In the grave

THE STRANGE ONE

Odd_One_out_by_RILLAH
THE STRANGE ONE

He is the talk of the town
Spoken of with so much scorn
By his peers, he is often jeered
No praise gets he from the aged

As rigid as Peter the hermit
He cares not what others say
As simple as the Great Gandhi
Without frown, he goes about his day

He moves with his head bent down
Never in a haste, never slowing down
Always cautious to lower his face
To avoid the mad world and its gaze

Come buddy, to a party must go
Painfully, but always, he says no
Hey look at that lovely ‘hoe’.
Lo and behold, his eyes are closed

Once, they queried him and demanded
Why not nod your head to this music
Gently, he shook his head and said
My mind is a temple, I cannot abuse it

They, at times, tell him to get a life
What do you even do to unwind?
He says books are his only friend
He spends time with unend

He is the talk of the town
None, in his presence, wants to be found
Many, out of his feats, know his nom
But still they call him the strange one