Lest we are fooled again!
Our expiring breath is the only
Coolant , for this blistering engine
The insatiable knife ,tire not
From its numerous heartless slaughter,
Of our dear innocent lamb.
They cannot stop , the
wrangle of more throats
For the ever gushing fountain
Has its source from our fury , slit breath.
Our vibrating legs , are not for ‘Shoki’
Or another modern age dance
But of writhing agony, from our struck souls.
We are the sacrificial lamb
Whose slaughter goes on ceaselessly,
on this lump of the dredge skulls.
My blood, Theirs, sprinkle,as
the propitiatory sacrifice
To placate the angst of some unknown gods.
Our blood is the fresh twine you see
On the eaves of megalomaniac men
For the Angels of kill keep coming
To Egypt , and no red twine on doorpost
Their Israelite shall not survive- No passing over!
I fear f or you though, Our first born
Snoring on the foamy bed of jeopardy
Where is the blood on our posts?
All we got is been spilled , under duress
With gun pointed to skulls ,and fluid poured into the abyss jar of
So what will be left in the carcass we will
soon bloat on the skin of our muddle waters?
Yet , when the deck goes down
Our waifs must make sure they stand up erect
Even though we are now suctioned , beyond
the realm of pity.
Our fluid drips out its remaining droplets
whence , we still pick their clarion calls
with our proverbial dog ears
And dashed off to work.
For we fear a fall , we still fear
The splatter in these heck
we fear rubber bullets, who threaten
to shatter our diamond skulls.
We fear for our chickens , who will
soon hash on their fragile roosts.
so we slip our tongues -our worded lips
With padlock of fear , and rein of indifference
With plaster of non of my business-
They dumb lazily around.
We grit our teeth , we swallow our hot breath,
Our stomach linens , suffer the whole burns.
we care not to validate the gospels
We neglect the malignant damage,
and shun the hooting ill cries
From our unconvinced progenies.
so we became a puppet in many
of your conjuring hands
dancing naked , to every dick and harry
in the market place of shame.
When the field withers , we are the touted legends
When the roses sprout out proud
We are only fag’ends
When the golden notes are shared
We are the quarantine in the tin
When the land is scarce of gold dusts
We must be the patriotic prospectors
Who must yield the national call
To enrich our nation lean treasury.
IV (stage less remonstrate)
I remember that morning
Gurgling go up and down
Masks of frail frown
Complemented with wailing placards
All around the town.
Until they show up cool again
Despite 3days of intense talks,
With packages of salads gummed
to their left hands
The ward leaders came
and they successfully hijacked the cries
Offering fluffy serviette
To swipe off our ocean of tears.
Then, like knife to a bread trunk
we were splitted apart
into rippled of conflicting tongues
” my fellow congressmen, loose your belt
and please go back to work.
the lords are coming soon… x3″.
Is the song they reiterated , and it kept
on blaring its a maiden to our ears…
They melt our angst,
But only flew knew theirs went swollen
At work , dawn and dusk
We work like locked lipped 18th century slaves
in the scorching sun of white lords sugar plantations.
In this fuming factories, we kept profusing bloody sweats
- a libation to appease the gods
To bless more,
Not us, (but our gods remember)
To cash load their purses more
we scoop ,mop cleaning smooth
Like the cleanser , for their poverty
We combed wells, drilling hard for cash oil
Night ,morning and noon.
They squander ,salt away , ‘apas’ hoard away
the oil revenue
We are the men of gaunch looks
producing the juicy fresh food
They are men of heavy jowl with nothing
They selfishly guzzle our inheritance
We the victims ,suffer for these prodigals,
vagabonds thoughtless acts
They bite the cash , till the account got sore red
We are the end with no meet, as long
Their meet is with no end.
They split the fought hard honey we have milked
we are the sufferers of this careless deed
They eat with indifferent dissipation
We suffer the resulting constipation…
v ( CLAMMING OUR RIGHTS)
We shall rise again
We are wise, not insane
Haven”t our grey headed men gone
To discuss raven black headed men future?
Haven”t epileptic pulses gone
To resuscitate free eloquent heart hopes?
Haven”t fading heart gone to strengthen our souls?
They have gone to melt our frozen dreams
with some cold breath
They have, yes they have gone!
Lest you and I are fooled again
Lest we are blinded by hoax rays
Lest some foes, come with olive palms and gloves
of friendship handshakes
Before we welcome the devils visit, in angels facade
Before some thieves loot us in vehicles , of
Before they demand for our empathy , with some
Lest we allow some lions prowl into our midst
in sheep skins, and dove heads
Lest they dave in dry loaves , to suction
All our scarce soup
And lest we let Jacob’s food buy our birthright
Forever ,and right away
Before the momentarily hunger,
Cave in for stomach infrastructure
Before we acknowledge the imminent
Penned with stolen feathers
Dipped in selfish ink written with
Ingrating smiling letters , beckon us
to take them out.
Before we are robbed by the idea of ‘kleptocracians’
Before our heads start connecting
The tricking rhythms of their glibly drums
Into tickling our ears for a dance again
Before the squeaky gongs and theatrical
gimmicks invite us for a show of shame
Shall we be wrong to query the
Sacred lords , whose cows have
devoured all our forbidden fruits
of their fate now?
Shall we not seek for fecundity , after
this long tiring fallow?
shall we be right , to query what
Or wrong to ask for the right?
Maybe we shall temper justice
with mercy on the scale of their
fawning perishable items
and blaring dance able jingles and tunes
Only if it shall be fair to elongate
This chain of servitude , beyond
the present clan of ours.
But shall we , must we dance a dance
a dance of slavery again?
Munch the fortunes of prosperity
with our mouth of covetousness?
Shall we stick to statue promises
on colourful postal evermore?
why would your dregs always foam,
but end up residue of their
Tell me ,shall we , must we?
How long should we fall prey
to the inviting beauty of a cosmetic surgery?
we will deify some eunuchs gods
Castrated Lords… who cannot impregnate no dreams?
Could it be an effrontery if we
probe to know if they are the factoid
Lords or masking ones?
If for once we let their true deeds , be the litmus test
And we the citizeneries, be the shrewd scientists
As we watch keenly the changing indicator
Show us the real colour
By then, am sure
You will all anonymously declare , who is
fit to rule us!