Why I Hlp

Ahh m'ogbe ooo
Wetin happen? Kilode?
I provide help nioo.
You provide help?
Bee nio oo.
who you help?
An Igbo man from the air
Is blessed not thy that help?
Look, you'll understand not.
why not?
I chew greed and vomit help.
Have you not heard of Shooresha.......?
I have oo. i help to get help.
so they say?
Yes. Very True. So they say.
Yeh! una too follow the way?
My school fees i pay.
Me to, my customers' million cents
Even me, my next rent.
Did he not say: Only with your spare?
I pray his magic again breathes.
Should i say Amen if i too didn't help?

Note:
Mogbe oo: I'm doomed
Bee ni oo: Yes
Shooresha: a Folklor Myth of an Hyper-helper

TO ALAAFIN

Kaabiesi ooo our Alaafin privileged,
Agbagba Ijoyes you're acknowledged.
Remember you're not 'Ogbanjes' of knowledge
less privileged also drank from the college.

Ifa chose, awo spoke, people merge,
before them you knelt and pledge,
Akoko was there and the verge
prayers shower before you emerge.

walk by your people's passage
see souls you manage,
hope in shackles , see oro aje in bondage.

yesterday flood swept our village...
trees begot not orange
Barn famished of yam storage
gone is our days of oil yam porridge.

Are we no the jewel baggage
 That Olodumare instructed you manage

fly this eagle out of fear in bondage 
inhale this poetic adage
this is the heaven's message.

NOTE :
Kaabiesi ooo: paying homage to the king
Agbagba Ijoye: high chiefs
Ogbanje: spirit possessed child
Ifa : Diviner 
Awo : chief priest 
Akoko : symbolic leaf for king installation
Oro aje : Economy
Olodumare : God
  
  

Abiku

You abiku !

Why do you come and go?

Go! And bother no more my soul.

Your ghost was here,

Before I could pen your image,

You blow off my palm oil lantern

Again You fade into the air.

Many of your pregnancies I miscarried,

Be born now,

Be not a premature 

and die no more.

Let your rhythm  sooth minds.

Be rhymes, bitter sweet like lime

Be an alive paint  of emotion

Let your angry tempo speak for justice

Be an imagery of a white pigeon,

Be nutrient word for malnourished minds,

Let your verse heal like balm,

Be alive in me and die no more.

A sinner saint

.... And I call her poetry, ‎

A paint,

An alive imagery of a canary,‎

Whose song gossip emotion 

When she is a gentle ocean 

Or, a flow Of  liquid fire.

A spontaneous flow of mind

From the throat of the pen,

Slithered metaphors twist life

From the surface of a paper :

Life in an irregular metre 

Now pause , then play,

Reverse may be the case:

To ant, spider is a prey, 

Antilope's dinner, tiger's heart,

Saints swirl in a bin of stain

Where they wash plain,

Sinners are the Saints in the paint.