Twilight

Song of Ghadafi

2011-04-11T13:25:00.001-07:00

I will seduce the sun, mount the moon

I will rape the rainbow right in her room

I will silence the sea, bribe the blue

I will rig the races freely for the flu

I will burn the bridges, blast the bliss

I will weary the waters with my fist

I will tender terror for a tea

I will bless the brothers with the bee

I will flare the fear, feast on their feet

I am the fury of Allah, I am Ghadafi

One Goal

2010-11-15T11:09:00.000-08:00

One goal, one laughter from the lore
One flow, one swansong from the shore

One smile, one cuddle from the sun
One dance, one salute to the dawn

One day, the green will be watered and poise for a kiss
that day, the children will dream and dream for a bliss

One touch, one caress from the hue
One wing, one soaring to the blue

One giggle, one chuckling of the rain
One future, one budding of the brain

One day, the young will find their voice when we give ours
the morrow will look its best when they get the hours

One goal, one laughter from the lore
One flow, one swansong from the shore

Floating Like a Super Woman

2010-05-21T12:14:00.000-07:00

The pain assailed crudely, bent on tasting blood. It burnt like fire, bite like ice, and darkness became the king. At that darkest hour, I knew death was nearby but it was torturing my soul rather than killing it. How can dying be more gruesome than death?
My eyes snapped open amidst splashing pains and there he was by my bedside. My husband was sleeping, his head resting at the edge of the bed. That moment, desire flowed through my vein like a sparkling spring. I wanted badly to stroke his head one more time. I wanted to look into his eyes and once again soar on the magic of his fingers, but my arms failed me. The only thing I was capable was tears and it burst again and again.
For fifteen years, we had both loved. Despite not giving him a child, he loved me all the same. A medical doctor, gifted in the art of mellowing poetry, Toye knew how to spice my smile with those soft words. On our wedding night, he told me I had the best breasts in the whole world and nicknamed them his little beauties. Each time he wanted to prepare me for what was to come in the evening, he would pick the phone and call me from the office.
‘Hi darling, how are my little beauties doing?’
I would chuckle. ‘They are not doing badly. They are even saying hello.’
‘Tell them I have a special treat for them tonight.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I am going to perform some searing magic on them.’
‘They can’t wait for their master to come.’ I would say and we would both laugh.
And much more later, I would watch with fascination as he paints my nipples with edible colours, kissing them with a yearning. Some other time, he would come to bed with ice cream, smears my breast with the cream and the excitement would linger.
He loved me. He loved my breasts and we loved him in return. But unfortunately for all of us, his little beauties were infected with cancer and they were taking me away from him.
He seemed to have sensed my tears; he lifted his head and moved swiftly towards me.
‘Please don’t’ he smoothed my brow.
‘The pain. Please make them go away.’
Tears gathered in his eyes. ‘I will if I could.’
‘But you can.’
‘But how?’ his anguish mounted.
‘Make it easier for me.’ I shut my eyes. ‘Kill me.’
‘What are you talking about?’ his voice trembled.
‘Please do it. I can’t stand it any more.’
‘Stop it! How can I kill you? How can I kill the woman I love?’
‘I am suffering. The woman you loved is in pain.’
‘I believe in miracles.’
‘Then be my miracle. Do this for us. Let me go in peace.’
Confused, he left the hospital and my pain lived on. Alone, I thought about my past and my dreams. About the sovereign God who watches while scores of women die everyday of breast cancer.
The next day, my husband came back. Without saying a world and with tears falling from his eyes, he injected peaceful poison into my soul and set me free. I floated like a super woman, reaching for immortality.
I died and my breast cancer too.

Oh Rain!

2010-02-24T11:08:00.000-08:00

Rain o rain
thou art my favourite refrain
on my lips
you taste better and I slipped
farther...
farther and farther
until there was no pain

MY night, Your Day

2009-12-17T11:04:00.000-08:00

Don't tell me
why the sun deflowered the moon
and the rain the noon

Don't tell me
why the dew caressed the leaves
and the spring the green

But tell me
why your day kisses my night
and my night your day

Dear twin sister

2009-08-03T05:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Twin sister,
By the time you read this, I would be dead and gone. I know you will shed tears of agony over my wasted life. I know you will ask why I did it. why why why?
Why? If you look at me, then at yourself, you will find the why. Look beyond ceaseless times and seasons, you will see the why wrapped in fated doom.
Together, we grew in one womb. We swam in the same blood. We were destined to be one, a mystery of creation. And when the time came for us to finally see the world, you went first and I followed. We were like a song that would never go wrong. But remember, I go awfully wrong.
At the mother breast, it was always a healthy competition. You drank, I drank too. I cried, you cried too. We were dressed like one. We were fed like one. Oh yes, we were loved as one.
And then, you began to toddle round the house and I did not. With time, you were walking and running and yet I could not. Four years and the truth dawned. I was born a cripple!
We are one, yet we are different. When we were kids, you had so many friends and I had none. You were loved by many but I was pitied by many. During the school inter house sports, you were always winning the race. I could have represented the school in debate contests because I could speak better than everyone else. I was denied of those opportunities because I have no legs. You took all the glories and I was left with nothing.
Everyone keeps saying that I am the prettiest, but the boys think otherwise. All the love letters were heaped on you. Remember what happened when we were still teenagers? Mum and dad traveled and we were left alone in the house. I crawled out of our room into the sitting room and what did I see? You and Dave making love. At sixteen, you already knew love. That night, I longed for a man’s touch but none came. Who would make love to a cripple, anyway.
I am angry! But not at you. Not even at God. I am angry at myself. Maybe I choose to be like this. Maybe I brought this on myself. Maybe I go wrong somehow somewhere. I don’t know, really I don’t.
But I know. I know I am going to die and now. I am going away. Away from this unwholesome wish for you to be me and me to be you. Away to a place where I would finally find my wings.
Adieu my sister. Adieu…

A Sonnet?

2009-07-23T08:38:00.000-07:00

Stuck in the gut of a guzzling lawn
Ghostly memories strummed bland string
Crushed by spiced terror, caged by sassy spring
I sank darkly like a netted pawn

Rippling stench of hell rendered harsh songs
Their tales nothing soft and sweet could bring
Fleeing from fear and struck by sour fling
There echoed my fate like galling gong

But swiftly, there arose a flawless flute
It sang; summoning lost wits to a final fight;
Panting and punching, faith put to flight
Shadowy fear, so viperous and now so mute

Stuck once in the gut of a guzzling rust
I ruffled and bite until victory here burst

...For My Congo

2009-05-29T09:13:00.000-07:00

In large numbers we trooped, communally fleeing another round of genocide about to burst at the Eastern part of the country. We were all free Congolese but now, we have been torn from our homes and hope to become refugees in our ownland.
For two days, we had journeyed, daubed with dust and weariness. Thousands of little children, now disrobed of innocence, lugged on their battered heads mountains of tattered mats, heavy bags and other bits and pieces. Reduced to mere skeletons, this unquenchable fire had forced them all into swift maturity. Unlike their mates in other parts of the world birthed into the tenderness and greenness of supple spring, they were born into gushing guns and vile violence.
Most of us were women: married, widow, cripple, old and pregnant. And we bore the greatest chunk of this burden on our cracked backs. With bitterness, we reaped the works of male monsters, whose selfish war drove us away from our security and rest. We were mothers, scattered in pursuit of what our world could not give.
Hungry and worn, most of us wanted to stop by the way and rest. But we dared not. No thanks to distant guffawing of armored tanks unleashed on us by friends and foes alike. And in this muddled chaos, a great deal of us were worst than the blind, for we struggled to identify the true face of the enemy. The rebels clamoured for a taste of the national cake through the grizzly rage of the gun; the government resisted their rage with the blast of the bomb. And we died, everyday, we suffered.
Drooped, some collapsed by the way and were quickly put back on track by others. But of course, there were some who could not make it; the rest of us became stronger for the others. We were determined to survive where millions have perished.

I was starving quite all right, but I had no heart to think about myself. Rather, I was thinking about my two children. While Sabila was walking weakly in front, carrying a bulky bag on his ten year old head, my daughter, just nine months old was tied to my back. It grieved my heart to realize that I could not protect my kids from the evil of this reckless world. Just like I could not protect their father.
It was just like yesterday. My husband was taken away from me, forced into the land of nebulous shadows and muffled dreams.
That morning, mistaken for a rebel, my husband was shot several times and he died right in my arms. The memory of his death was stained with blood and horror.
And sad enough, I was not the only witness. My son saw it all. He saw death on his father’s face.
Everyday, I feared for him. Since it happened, nightmare lived in my dreams. In one of those nightmares, I saw Sabila carrying a big machine gun. Like a warrior, he descended in the midst of so many government forces and began to shoot. He killed all the uniformed soldiers and did not stop at that. He proceeded to a hall full of innocent school kids and fired on until there was none alive. These bizarre scenes continued until I woke on my bed with a start.

“Mama,” Sabila’s weak voice brought me back to the painful world of harsh reality.
“What is it, my son?”
“It is my stomach. It hurts.”
“I know it does. But don’t worry, we would soon get to the camp. There would be enough for us to eat.” I consoled him. His lively countenance had all vanished. Once, his flesh had been as smooth as the moon. But as I looked upon him, what I saw was a different tale.
“But my legs ache too. Can’t I rest them a bit?”
“Be patient Sabila. We would soon reach our destination.”
“You said that more than one hour ago and yet we are still here. Are we going to die like father? Mother, tell me.” My son said and that hurt so bad. At that moment, I wanted to curse the fertile earth for bringing so much hell into our lives.
God must have seen the agony of a widow, for at that instant, the UN and AU refugee camp came to view. Like fellow travelers, excitement flowed in me like spring of water. At last, my children can have something to eat and drink.
Immediately we reached the overcrowded camp, I filled a bottle with enough water. I sat on the ground and gave the bottle to Sabila. While he was busy drinking, I loosened my wrapper so I could free Skunda from my back and give her water to drink.
At first, I thought she was still sleeping. But when I shook her again without a response, I panicked. I screamed her name like a mad woman. Some aid workers came and took her from me. From the grim look in their eyes, I knew my daughter was gone, killed by this senseless war.
Under the sympathetic glare of many, I rolled on the dusty earth and cried. I wept for my daughter and her father. I wept for all I had lost. I wept for my Congo.

Dear Diary

2009-04-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

May 2: Dear diary, something strange happened today while I was having my siesta. I felt someone kissed me deeply on the lips but when I opened my eyes, no one was there. I still don’t believe I was dreaming ‘cos it felt so real and …heavenly. The lips tasted like iced candy and the tongue like strawberry. One moment, it was there in colorful cluster, the next, it was gone. I shut my eyes dreamily hoping it would come back….
May 3: You won’t believe it but it happened again. This time around, it was in the bathroom. I was having my shower when I felt the lips again. Consciously, I surrendered my lips, responding to its candied sweetness. Almost immediately, unseen hands began to explore my overflowing nudeness. I moaned quietly when magical fingers tasted, tickled and thrilled my fallowed nipples. The searing tongue moved downward, past every beckoning distraction and settled on the centre of my fertile sea. I cried loudly as flaming tongue devoured my depth. When the tongue stopped its tender assault, something else more muscular and awesome dived into the blue sea. I trembled under the weight of the harmony. It lingered for a while and when it stopped, I was too spent to leave the bathroom. Who could my unseen lover be? An angel or a ghost?
May 4: I was still busy thinking about my unseen lover when I felt his soft touch.
“Who are you?” I asked and waited for a response. What happened next was a wonder. Gentle breeze blew in from the window gathering and twirling until it formed an unbelievable image that made me gulp with desire. He was the tallest thing I ever seen. Jet-dark hair tumbled down his shoulders like a dazzling waterfall. His bare chest was full of muscles and lush hairs. I saw dazzling stars in his eyes. How I ached for his touch.
“Who are you?” I asked again, certain of what he would say. I am your guardian angel sent to show you the path of pleasure. I have come to fold you with the brimming magic of heaven searing breath of passion.
“I am… your imagination.” He said and I panicked. That was no what I wanted to hear.
“My imagination?
“Oh yes.”
“You mean… you do not exist?”
“No except in your imagination.”
“That is not possible! You made love to me and it was so real.” I went wild.
“Yes, because that is what you desired. You felt what you wanted to feel.”
That statement dashed my dreams. I rushed forward bent on holding tight to him and caught nothing but shadows. Have I been making love to myself through a twisted imagination? Dear diary, am I going crazy?

Flipping and flapping

2009-03-26T11:50:00.000-07:00

Twisting and twirling in the belly of this strain
You move gaily to graceful refrain

Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair
You sweeten now like sugary clair.

Fanning and stirring, this tender flair flourishes
Passion blazes, mellowing echoes without straying stitches.

Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair
This strain you love and sure will blare.

They Fell Too

2009-03-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

They fell

from gangling slips

and muffled dreams.

They fell

from worled ways

that could not stay.

They too fell and fell

but no one was there

to tell.

For how long?

2009-03-07T10:33:00.000-08:00

Right now, I don't feel like writing. My spirit is down. Months after serving the nation, I am still here without a job and it is killing me.

For how long

Will this smile go wrong.

For how long

will i wait for the pretty sun?

I hope i won't wait forever.

Beauty and Child

2009-02-17T07:12:00.000-08:00

My name is Beauty and in two days, I would be 200 years old. Actually I am a tree
As an old tree, my years have witnessed series of events played by man and fate. I was here when cursed with hatred, ambition and fear, Hitler sought to put the world in chain. Oh yes, I was here when tribal war crushed the backbone of a nation. I saw it all, the pain, the blood and the betrayal. And at such times, I had to wonder why man refused to be like the trees, peaceful and contented?
Beauty, what a name. It was given to me by someone I loved and who I wish could have lived forever. Unfortunately, he died a week ago and I would forever mourn his mortality.
So many years ago, something happened that I will never forget. That morning, I woke not only to the sweet caress of the early morning dew but also to the piercing cry of an infant. It could not be more than a day old and there it was helplessly naked in the frosty cold. Moved to tears, I shielded the precious thing with the best of me. It was calling for love and I had to heed the call. I took care of it as if it was mine; I was glad it survived. I named the strong lively boy Child.
Child was a joy to my heart. His laughter made me smile and his tears made me cry. He loved playing on my branches, feasting without care on my fruits. I thought this would go on forever until he told me one day that he was going away.
I was sorrowful. “Why are you going away? Have I hurt you?”
“Oh no Beauty, you have been more than a mother to me. I just feel am old enough to take care of myself.”
“I am going to miss you.”
“Me too.” He said and left.
For a very long time, I heard nothing from Child. I was almost giving up hope of seeing him again until one sunny afternoon. I looked across the street and saw a tired looking middle-aged man walked by. I recognized him immediately. It was Child!
“Child.” I called out to him. “Why not come and play with me like the good old days?”
When he moved closer, I realized he was really sad. I asked him why.
“Life is hard Beauty. I have just lost my job and I need some money to start a business.”
I felt his pain right away.
“Don’t worry, Child. Look, I have so many fruits. Go ahead and plucked them all. Sell them and the money is yours.”
He was so happy. He came back the next day and all the fruits were plucked. He went away with lots of money in his pocket and I was glad.
I didn’t see Child again until fifteen years later. Now, quite elderly, I need not call out to him. He came to me.
“Hi Beauty, thanks for the last time.”
“It is all right child. So, how are you doing?”
“I am fine.”
“Except…” I said and he laughed.
“Except that I am yet to fulfill my childhood dream of sailing round the world.”
“That is not a problem, Child. Why not cut some of my branches and make for your yourself a ship?”
“Beauty, won’t that be too costly for you?”
“Don’t worry. I would sure grow again. What matters is your happiness.”
With a grateful heart, he built for himself a ship and sailed away. Of course I was happy. Finally, Child was going to have his childhood dream come true.
And so time, like the wave of the sea, moved to and fro. Child came back an old man. He limped, supporting himself with a walking stick and brimming with grey. I hardly recognized the ninety five year old Child.
“Oh Child. You are so old.”
“And weak too, Beauty. I only have one wish: rest. Success and life are too burdensome.”
“Why not come over here and rest? My branches would shield you from the sun.”
He did just that and I was glad. He passed away recently and already, I am missing him.
But then, there are so many trees out there giving their time, fruits and tears to nurture so many more Child.
Am glad to be one of them.

My Temptation

2009-01-27T07:50:00.000-08:00

She was my neighbour but also my fantasy. A true beauty, her great sexy body was always a distraction to the big boy downstairs. Her ample bursts always found me wanting and times without number, I had imagined floating sweetly on them.
Unfortunately for me, she was married. Her husband was a busy but successful businessman. Business was his romance. But then, he was someone you could easily mistake for a wrestler. He was exactly like the Macho Man.
This woman loved it each time I worship her body with my glowing stares and she dressed in manners that made this inevitable. She would come to me with those great beauties nearly spilling out of their prisons and we would talk for hours about nothing. She would twist, she would turn, she would shake and I would burn. The temptation was rather overwhelming. It nearly twisted my brain.
It continued until one day. I was in my flat relishing in solitude when my phone rang. It was my woman neighbour. She wanted me to come over. I went to her flat and was still wondering where she could be when I heard her voice. She was in the bathroom. I ambled towards the bathroom and found its door opened. I peeped in and there she was, as nude as the crystal moon.
She beckoned at me and I could not resist. I stepped in and over and over again, I entered another man’s paradise. It was a paradise untamed.
It seemed she had just discovered a new song in me. She longed for us to be together and we sang with intensity. So it was until her husband found her ridding majestically on me. That gruesome day, I received showers of heavy blows from the almighty Macho Man. For two months, I was in the hospital.
I was still trying to get over the deadly assault when my woman neigbour stopped by to see me. Before I could say a word, she had mounted me. She was about ridding me to another timeless pleasure when I screamed for help.
I had to stop dinning with the devil.

The Duet

2009-01-11T08:50:00.000-08:00

lingering kisses on honeyed lips
love tastes better than sugary moon.

rippling riddles on lustful tongue
love seasons like the noon.

sizzling duet on moist plain
love engulfs with fire like hell's room.

One Christmas Eve

2008-12-22T08:54:00.000-08:00

I began to hate God at the tender age of five.
I hated him for allowing my parents to be killed in a fatal accident. I hated him for pushing me out in the rain, cold and alone. I hated him for everything.
With my parents dead and gone, I was forced to stay with an aunt, who blamed me for everything that ever went wrong.
“Kolawole!” she would scream my name and I would run fearfully to her, fully aware that her wrath could bring down the earth.
“Where is the money I put on the table?” she would roar at me.
“I didn’t take any money. Aunty, I swear.”
“Liar! You better tell me the truth now or I would put an end to your miserable life!”
“But I didn’t take the money.” Though innocent, she would cut my flesh with razor blade and rub the wound with fresh pepper. I endured this hell until I could take it no more. Barely ten years old, I wandered into the street.
The street brimmed with pain; its calloused hands offered nothing but venom and good grief. Days spent rummaging rubbish for food and nights passed under the frosty bridge tore my pride apart. Everyday, I saw fear, every hour, I saw tears. But in all these dark hours, I never saw God. I was certain he was long dead. So I thought until I clocked twelve.
It was Christmas Eve and also my birthday. The sky glimmered with dazzling fireworks. There was colourful harmony in the air but in my heart, there was deep sadness. Earlier in the day, I had wandered and saw kids like me. They were all happy because they had everything to be thankful for. Their beautiful attires glowed, and my beautiful rags showed, I felt so low. In shame, I retired to my lonely abode, wondering how the world could be so wrong.
My head was still bowed in self-pity when I heard the voice.
“Merry Christmas.” It said and I looked up to see an old man full of grey. I hissed at him.
“Leave me alone.”
“Why should I?” he moved closer with a smile.
“Can’t you see it is going to be a beautiful Christmas?”
“Maybe to you. Why not just go away, old man.”
“Can’t you feel him? Can’t you feel the God of Christmas?”
I started to my feet. “I feel nothing. He is probably dead.”
“Oh no my boy. He will never die and he cares so much about you.”
“He does not care about me!” I raised my voice angrily. “He killed my parents!”
“Am sure you don’t mean that. And talking about your parents, they are not happy, you know. Especially your mother.” I hissed at him again.
“Your mother is in heaven but she is not happy because you are angry with God.”
“That is a lie. God killed her.” I looked at him closely. “And who are you?”
“An angel. God sent me to you.”
I refused to be impressed. “Then go and tell him I hate him.”
‘He knows that already. He wants you to know that he cares about you.”
“Tell him he is a liar!”
“He protects you from the danger that rules the street.”
“I hate him!”
“He thinks about you every seconds and he wants you to know that.”
“I don’t care!”
A moment passed and he said. “Your mother sends you a gift.”
My spirit lifted at that. “Mother?”
He gave me a wrapped package. Anxiously, I unwrapped it and inside the box was a beautiful photo album. I opened it and saw pictures of myself.
In one of the pictures, I was sleeping under the bridge and a big snake crawled towards me. An angel appeared and killed the snake. It immediately brought back the memory of a dead snake three days earlier. In another, I was leaning against a wall which was about falling. An angel was seen preventing the wall from falling on me. I looked at the angel, then back at the album.
I saw how an angel put some fresh fruits where I could easily find it; tend to me when I was sick. These sights softened my heart and I cried.
“Yes you could not see it but God has always been there, caring for you. And now, he has prepared for you new parents. They would make you feel loved again.”
Through tears, I said “He has?”
“Oh yes. Come with me.” He led the way and I followed. I had no idea how but I found us standing in front of an oak door, right inside a beautiful garden. The angel asked me to knock and I did. The response was immediate, as if someone had been waiting all day.
When the door swung open, it revealed a pleasant looking middle-aged lady. I could see in her eyes that she could not believe what she was seeing.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “Darling, come here immediately. He is here at last!” she was joined by her husband. He was surprised too.
“Oh my God be praised!” he too exclaimed. “Hi my young man, please come in. we have been expecting you.”
Seeking a reassurance from the angel, I turned back. What I found was nothing. He was gone. Probably to rescue another lost boy, on a beautiful Christmas Eve.

Tired

2008-12-19T08:18:00.000-08:00

Tired

of hushed whisper
amidst swaying trees

Tired
of stolen gazes
amidst wary crowd

I am tired
of loving the moon

and not saying so

Dear Mother

2008-11-28T07:24:00.002-08:00

Dear Mother,
How time flies! How I missed you so terribly! I still can’t believe am surviving a whole year with you faraway. Can you imagine, a whole year without your sweet laughter and lovely scolding.
Anyway, how is life up there? I hope you are enjoying the company of those lovely angels. Oh, I really envy you! Chatting with those tender creatures would be quite an experience. were there so many fireworks during Christmas? What about Christmas Carol? Are you planning tosing Carols with the heavenly choir? And lest I forget, did you actually see God on his throne? How big is he? I told my classmates that God is black like me. Mother, is he?
Everyone misses you around here. Father especially. I see it in his eyes everyday. Not even stepmother could give him what you gave him. All she offers is nothing but stupid naggings and salty meals. Can you believe it? Father could not eat his meal last night? The eba was so soft and the soup salty.
I hate stepmother. I really really hate her, mother. She ruined my birthday yesterday and I will never forgive her. I think she is a witch. A very wicked ogbologbo aje at that. I saw her in my dream last night and she wanted to chew my head off.
In that dream, I was at the dinning table with her. She pushed a dish in front of me and when I opened it, it was full of worms and I pushed it away. She said I must eat it, I said I won’t and she became very angry. Smoke was coming out of a her nostril and ears. Then suddenly, her head changed to that of crocodile and I was so scared. I ran outside. She followed me. I screamed for help but no one was around. I was about running out of the compound when she caught up with me. She opened the crocodile teeth, about to chew my head off when I woke up on my bed.
I told kemi about the dream. She said most witches sleep with their legs up and against the wall when they are going for meetings. Maybe one of these days, I will go to her room and hide under her bed. When am certain her legs are up and against the wall, I will come out and scream for people to see. Mother, do you think that is a good idea?
Oh I have to go now! Stepmother. She is screaming my name like a mad woman. I think she is heading towards my room. But mother, will you ever reply my letters? Greetings to the angels.
Yours daughter,
Oyin

Abiku, The Spirit Child

2008-11-17T08:04:00.001-08:00

The first time I came to this world, I was cruel and merciless.
My first parents celebrated my birth, throwing all night party where people wined and dined. I was their first child, so they wanted to make my arrival a very special one. What they did not realize was that I was not happy arriving at their doorstep. I was an Abiku and I loved being one.
I was patient enough to witness my first birthday celebration. But the morning after the cake was cut, I decided to die, throwing the family in the deepest of all grief. While they mourned the child that never loved them, I was with my fellow playmates and we were happily ridding on the wavelet of the rainbow. Oh what a delight! Nothing in the wretched earth could be compared to the pleasure that flowed in the Abiku kingdom.
In the morning, we would float playfully in the liquid wing of dazzling dawn and suck the brimming breasts of sunshine. At night, under the bright canopies of the virgin moon, we would gather and make sweet love through times and seasons. Our king usually makes love to all the female Abikus. He knew how to pleasure us with his virility that spurts with ceaseless rhythm. Even the moon envied what we shared.
Of all the Abiku that kept going and coming, I was the most impatient. I was born more than fifty times to different parents of varied nationalities. My incessant journeys between this world and the spirit world were smooth until my fiftieth birth.
The woman who gave birth to me had waited for ten years. A year before my arrival, her husband’s parents had insisted that their son marry another wife because of her infertility. Her husband was almost yielding when I came to her. You can imagine her joy; I was indeed her dream come true. Unknown to her, I had just six months to stay.
On the day I was to depart, I was sick and nothing medically could be done to save me. Perplexed, my mother knelt beside the bed and cried.
‘Oh my child, don’t leave me. I am your mother and I love you. For ten years, I have waited for you to come to me. Please don’t break my heart. I promise to be a good mother to you.’ Her tears flowed like a river and love flowed from my heart. I decided to stay.
This decision enraged the Abiku kingdom and they tried all they could to make me change my mind. My playmates on many occasions had appeared to me telling how much I had missed. When I was not listening to their appeal, they turned violent. If they do not attempt to steal my breath while I slept, they would try to drown me. I had no idea how but my mother sensed I was fighting with something and she fought with me. After some time, the threat stopped from the spirit world and I ceased to be an Abiku.
My mother was happy that I stayed. I was glad too.

I Died

2008-11-11T10:17:00.000-08:00

I was dying and the earth knew it.
On that soft hospital bed, I battled to hold on to what was mine. I held on to life the way a one year old kid would hold on to her daddy’s hand ,the way a thirsty plain would hold on to a tiny drop of rain.
With mammoth pain, I wondered why everything was coming to an end so early. At eighteen, I was just starting life, just staring to experience the sweetness of true love. Five days earlier, Teniola had confessed how much he loved me. He wanted me to give my heart to him. He had no idea, but I wanted to tell him right there how much I loved him. But then, I didn’t. I promised him a reply four days after and that was today.
He was at the hospital today and brought colorful roses with him .I could not even open my mouth .I was too much in pain to tell him I truly loved him. Tears streamed like rain.
I was dying, dying of Sickle cell anemia. The unseen enemy was passed to me by parents and it was bent on stealing my breath away.
It was a dark fate and I was still musing on it when I noticed her. She was standing by my bedside, a total stranger. Her look was somewhat tender.
'who are you?' I asked, my voice tiny and weak.
'An angel!; Her soft voice was serene. It brought back memories of dazzling waterfalls.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘To take you somewhere.'
The message sank immediately.
‘Angel of Death.’
‘Yes and I have come to take your pain away.’
‘That is not true .You came to give me pain, to steal my breath. Oh, I hate you. I hate God!’
‘No, you don’t’
Yes I do. He gave me Sickle Cell Anemia. He gave it to those innocent kids all over the world’.
‘But he didn’t .Choice certainly did!
‘And now he sent you to fill my world with grief. It is not fair. ' Tears flowed again.
The angel moved closer and touched my brow. I looked into her eyes and was shocked. I saw tears glistened on her face. I asked why she was crying.
‘You are young and in love and here I am, ushering you away from what you hold so dear . It hurts.’
‘It does?’
‘Yes. But it is a job that must be done .You should let go of this pain.’
Truly, the pain was lofty. It was eating me alive.
I finally let go. ‘Up there, can I still love?’
‘Yes, you can.’
That made it all easy, I shut my eyes and floated into space with her. I felt the sweetness of the grizzled cloud on my lips.
At last, no more pain.
At last, no more Sickle Cell Anemia.
I Died.

Lullaby

2008-11-10T10:02:00.000-08:00

Lissome lilly dancing by the stream
tell me , have you seen my dream?

Curious canoe crooning on salty brine
do you see her shine?

Gentle goddess floating in the sky
tell me, can my dream reaches strong and high?

Precious Petal

2008-11-10T08:06:00.000-08:00

Drops of
Rain
On patched terrains

Sweet solo
Drizzling
With ample alto

Fresh breath
Of waking flowers
On the cheeks
Of shy roses

Chilled dew
Kissing
The lips of grassy green

This
Is you
My precious petal.

Tender Night

2008-11-03T09:11:00.000-08:00

Tender night tender night
Fills me with blues
Tender night tender night
Thrills me with blooms.

Tender night tender night
Tell me a tale
Tender night tender night
Will I love again?

Ripples

2008-10-29T11:32:00.000-07:00

Supple skin
And milky liquid;
I want to gulp the world.

Bland breeze
Cuddles my lips;
I want to kiss the moon.

Smoldering ripples
Tickles my palms;
I want to surf the sea.

Joyous jingles
Lick at my limbs;
I want to ride with you.

...and there was light

2008-10-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

Darkness.
It overshadowed the world with wrath and war. With its vicious forces that stretched like the sea, the world fell again and again.
Brutality. That was the word for the massacre. With their weapons dripping with blood and flesh, the forces of the dark lord hacked mercilessly the souls of men. Countless heads rolled down the mountains of the earth. None could save it. Its helplessness was a disaster.
The enemies advanced deeper into the heart of the world, thirsty for more blood, for more victories. Amidst dark and gruesome clamour, they plundered everything they found on their ways. like swarms of locusts on the loose, they marched, raining fire and chaos. Women, helpless and powerless met their doom in the hands of these brutal fighters who raped and tortured them to their untimely death. Vulnerable, children found their innocence stolen from them, as they saw blood flowed like a river. They saw their world crumbled and they wept.
On his dark beast, the dark lord beamed with delight at the horror that sprawled out before him. This was his moment, the ultimate hour of his victory. After centuries and centuries of crafty waiting, the world was at last becoming his own to rule and ruin. His aim was to kill as much as he could and the remnants would become his slave. None would be spared.
He looked up towards the heaven and grinned mischievously. Since he was shamefully thrown out of that paradise of a palace, and disrobed of his honour and glory, he had vowed to mock his former master at every given opportunity. This was one of such opportunities and he was making the most of it.
He missed his former glory and that painful realization made him hate the maker even more. He was ambitious and proud, so what? What is wrong in the clay striving to be better than the porter? He envied the ultimate power wielded by The Maker and had dreamt of usurping his throne. That attempt failed fatally and had cost him what he held so dear. He could not forget that epic battle easily.
He missed the ceaseless pleasure that flows sweetly from the fountain of life. The crystal rainbow that lightens the supple space and creates beauty from ceaseless harmony. And how much he loved harmony. Once, harmony had flowed from him like streams of water and had sparkled round the throne of the Maker. He was a singer; his voice was like magic, mellow and mellifluent. He had led the choir and they had rendered sweetest adoration to The Maker of all.
His thought was disrupted by one of the commanders.
'My lord,' the commander bowed before him.
Rudely ;what is it?'
‘We are about to chain the prisoners and set the world on fire! We only ask for your permission.'
'Permission granted! You shall all be honoured at the great banquet. Our victory shall be celebrated.'
The commander bowed and took his leave.
And so, the earth was set ablaze and the remnants taken captive.
Darkness had won.

The captive were shown hell. They carried on their backs the bulky burdens of their enemy. With their sweat and blood, they built for the dark lord cities renowned for abominations and cruel perversions. Those that proved too weak were fed to the beast, which was as gruesome as its rider. His only drink was blood and his meat human flesh. His appetite was deep; nothing could fill it to the brim.
There were some among the captives who believed in hope and prayed earnestly for deliverance. They knew it was their trips that gave the earth away. And so, they prayed for another chance, another day of glory, when the earth again would be free, when the light would return and human souls float in ultimate victory.
Though they did not realized it, their hope worked.

Up, far above the cloud, a decision was reached. The earth must be saved from the hands of a rebel whose fall from grace was the most shameful.
There were volunteers. Mickeal was one of them. He had led the heavenly forces that defeated the Dark Lord during that epic battle and he wanted to do it again.
As an archangel, he still could not understand why Lucifer of all angels dared question the authority of the Maker. It was unheard of. He had everything, why then did he allow evil into his soul? Mickeal wished above all other things to meet the dark lord again. this time, in the battle to save the earth.
Determined, the captain of the heavenly host fell down at the feet of the Maker. The ceaseless light from the throne bathed him tenderly and he felt his Maker's presence more than ever before.
'My lord, let me lead this battle and take care of this rebel once and for all. My task is to take care of your enemies and am ready to do it even now. All am asking is your permission.'
'Mickeal,' the voice was like the echo of flowing waters.
'Yes lord.'
'You are a faithful servant and I love you. But am not permitting you to lead my host this time around. Someone else is doing that for me.'
'And who is this?' the archangel asked.
At that moment, the heaven floated again in suspended harmony as angels merged their voices together in holy adoration. This was the moment they have all been waiting for. Who would have the honour of saving the earth?
Amidst these echoes of love, the maker stood in his majesty and there was quiet, a great hush fell. In uniformed humility, every creature fell on their faces and worshipped him who is clothed in lightening.
'The lamb will lead the host and free the earth.' he announced and sat on his throne.
Immediately, it became lively again as songs gushed out like water and drenched the heaven in golden melody. The Lamb, clothed in love and power would lead the host of heaven to victory. It was going to be a very short battle.

The dark lord brimmed with anger as he gathered his troop. He had filled the earth with his darkness and poisoned its soul with its filthy breath. Now, after years of dominion, his reign was being threatened. Another epic battle he knew it was going to be and he wondered why heaven could not let him be. He had worked so hard to make the earth his own and no one would take it from him. no one!
He gathered his troop, humans and fallen angels alike; he pour his spirit and dark hell into their souls and they became possessed, ready to fight with their last breath. And so they marched. led by the dark lord and his beast, they proceeded to the great mountain where it would all be decided.
Their nightmare began immediately they got to the battleground, where the heavenly host was already waiting. Multiple lights became as sharp as swords and pierced the very heart of darkness. Some of the fallen cherubs burst into emptiness and melted away. Panic gripped the rest, and they retreated. Seeing his troop fleeing, the dark lord became furious and roared like a wounded lion.
Somehow, the roar was magical. It woke the hell in the retreating troop and they came roaring back to their doom.
One by one, the dark fighters were shown the way to hell by the superior forces. They bowed to the ultimate power of the lamb who rode gallantly on his white horse. Seeing the lamb riding his way to victory, the dark lord charged forward at him. That was his undoing. The lamb pointed his two edged sword and from it flowed invisible mighty chains. It happened so fast, the dark lord found himself bound. He had never felt so helpless and humiliated.
Seeing their master and his beast in chains, the dark forces knew it was over; they surrendered to he who they can never conquer in battle. Like their master, they were put in chains too and dragged into the dungeon.

Like a warrior who he truly was, the Lamb rode to the edge of the mountain and smiled. The earth had finally been redeemed. He lifted his sword and pointed it towards the earth. Swiftly, darkness fled and there was light.

Dreary Death (For Yinka Craig

2008-10-24T11:24:00.001-07:00

I
On this bed
Sleeps an older bird
His home was once a nest
But here, he lays to rest

II
Upon this chest
Lays a precious pearl
Yesterday, he sucked the milky earth
Today, he drank dreary death.
III
Don’t cry when you see the grave
For it is made for the brave
Life comes and go like rain
So will you when your breath is slain

Once upon a time...

2008-10-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time in your arm, I saw pleasure on the fingertips of bursting dusk and my body throbbed to the rhythm.
In your arm, time lost its urgency and passion triumphed like waterlilly.
soft moist dew trickled and glistened on flesh intertwined in battle and victory.
Once upon a time in your arm,
I found you.
I found me

Love Fell

2008-10-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

Love Fell
Love fell and a million hell burst crudely with sapphire. The earth trembles, trickling with salty brine and tepid tears nearly drown the soul.
Love, tender and sweaty, was pushed down the craggy edge of the wild mountain and she wept.
With its fluid alto, she wept for help and breath until the terror, ready and raw welcomes her where corpses littered and passions mangled.
Love fell and the earth fell too.

Love Fell

2008-10-23T08:13:00.001-07:00

wordsbody: Okore's Infinite Flow#links

2008-10-23T07:20:00.000-07:00

wordsbody: Okore's Infinite Flow#links

from God and his Demons

2008-10-20T05:13:00.000-07:00

December 5: This morning, I woke to the gruesome sonance of death. Horror seemed to be everywhere, banqueting freely on human flesh like a vampire. From the mission house, we could see as smokes of burnt houses ascended to form an alliance with the grizzled cloud. Shouts of terror, wailing sounds of guns and Arabic chanting became so regular, it nearly twisted one’s brain. Later, when the terror seemed to have subsided, father went out to see what was going on. I volunteered to go with him but mother would have none of it.
When he returned about three hours after, he did not come alone. He came with so many families who brought with them tears of sorrow and loss. Father announced to us that the Jihadists have declared war on us. Christians in Zaranda have been marked and their blood will the shed. This is happening because a Corper seized the Holy Book from a boy who was caught chanting a verse during his lesson.
Some of our visitors slept inside the church while the rest flooded the mission house. These innocent people have lost in a minute what they have gathered in years. The evil in men is indeed like a pit of hell, it swallows first the soul of good men and if it likes, makers of agony. Isn’t that injustice?
December 6: The nightmare lingers. Am writing this journal in the bush a few distance from our house. Am trying so hard not to fall asleep like mother and the maid. I love the untainted melody of the birds quite all right but tonight, their voices torture my soul.
Am alone with mother and our housemaid. Father is not back yet. Our exodus to the bush began two hours ago when we heard that the Jihadists are heading towards the church and the mission house. This news scared our visitors and they all fled in panic. We fled too, the bush was the only alternative. Everywhere was on fire. Father went back to see what happened.
I decided not to say my prayers today. Why should I honour God when innocent people are dying because of his Holy Book? If God can allow so much blood to be shed on his account, then I want to dishonour him. Mother will call this blasphemy but I don’t care. Am still waiting for thunder to flash from heaven and strike me down. Can the thunder of God be more vicious than the wrath of these wicked men? Goodnight. I hope I will not wake up in hell.
December 7: the bush is still our home; father is not back yet. We could feel the terror heavy in the air. The battle out there is nothing compare to the hunger raging in my stomach. We ate nothing other than unripe mangoes plucked by me.
December 8: we left the bush when the news came that our governments have intervened and the violence is over. On our way home, we found the streets deserted, still brimming with fierce fire of destruction. Burnt cars littered every space; most of the houses have been reduced to mere debris. The few people we met are full of tears, their faces pasted with helplessness.
My heart beat faster as we neared our home. The entrance gate had disappeared. While mother and the maid made for the church, I ran towards the mission house. I couldn’t recognize it. The glasses were shattered and the walls scotched.. I entered through the living room and found that its beauty had disappeared, burnt by the fire of madness. With tears blurring my eyes, I ran towards my room, hoping to see my journals and its sweet memories, hoping to find my simple paintings intact. My hope became dashed as I entered. Everything had disappeared.
I was still coming to grasp with my loss when I heard mother screamed. I dashed inside the church, and there he was, kneeling on the altar, still holding on to his Bible, which was already burnt beyond repair. My father, Rev. Babayanmife Crowther, was fried like a fish fresh from the river.
Right there, I knew my journey to the world of unbelief has started. I wanted to run away from God. To run away from him and his flesh eating demons in human flesh. Goodnight. I don’t care if I wake up in hell!

Your Blue

2008-10-20T05:10:00.000-07:00

Your blue,
Bathes with golden hue
And love brims
Like the fertile sea.