A PROPHECY !

                                                             A PROPHECY !
Each time I retire to my couch pensively,
watching my curtain sway rhythmically,
your ghostlike image appears dramatically
and I flinch at your countenance instantly.

The clairvoyant you's image in now full in size,
gluing perfectly to my sight.
pretending not seeing you is a might,
so i surrender to seeing your light.

Oh "Decent Wino!" you've gone far in today's lager
but i can see your swagger as you stagger.

I smirk, but you smile.
Happily, "these words" you flow to me like Nile,
in an extremely creative manner,
embraced by a well furnished stanzas.

you point to me and say:
"Writing" is your Rite !
Oh ! your right that will make you swallow delight.
This delight will make your mind travel like kite,
fly high in the sky till it gets out of sight
and to a sight where poetic sires
(that are dressed in white that looks bright)
unite and dine at night.
A site, where they only chant:
"Writing is delight."

Oh  "Poetry!" what a prophecy
 you have brought visiting today.
I'll live by your words again and again everyday
I'll always be guided by your legacy.

AN EPITAPH TO OUR LOST JEWELS

**AN EPITAPH TO OUR LOST JEWELS***

Oh my heart hurts !!
Oh my heart bleeds!!
Why would you make our serene sod sense "this"?
Why would those "glees"
Of our future be ceremoniously set ablaze?
Why would you transform our modern age
To a murder stage?

Oh my heart hurts!!
Oh my heart bleeds !!
What insanity are igniting in our society?
Are you daft of how this modern world will perceive your identity?
You actually dent our society in an attempt to cleanse it.

Oh my heart hurt !!
Oh my heart bleeds !!
Are you so daft to know that;
Nature talks what heaven says?
The sanity that sanitises "DO NOT KILL" needs no pastor's sermon.
Those words are written in block letters on the sky.

Oh my mind hurts !!
Oh my heart bleeds !!
Our defending arms,
You ought to have those vampires in your palms
Before they staged this gloom harm

Oh my heart hurts !!
Oh my heart bleeds !!
May your souls rest in peace
Our lost jewels.
It stinks we lost you to one of our dark fates.
Your apparitions will always gleam in our faces.
***THE END ****
In memory of our brutally murdered chaps in "UNIPORT"

LET'S UNITE FOR DELIGHT

I sight a ‘height’ that is gleaming high in the skies
But, ‘Unity’ is the flight that bustles us to its light.
We can only footprint ‘its’ moon if we plight to unite
Because, ‘Unity’ has in its pocket: the enthusiasm to ‘this land of delight’.

Are you not always amazed about how Army Ants,
Tiny Ants, count so much pounds
Of achievements through utilizing united effort
And united determination that ignites the fire of their comfort?

Unity is a ‘guest’ we all need to invite
And entertaining this ’guest’ on our site is our right
Kissing delight when you don’t unite is a might
Because unity breathes life into a serene delight.

If we are all ready to charge to fleecing delight,
Then we all need to unite to detain delight.

NIGERIA 2012

                                                    NIGERIA 2012

Our land is green, our sky is blue.

Our moon is orange red but our blood is blue.

Our soul is white and our body is dark but our hair is black.

Compare these colours with rainbow,

Now imagine how beautiful Nigeria is.

Which of these do you call a coincidence?

Different languages, same moral values, same

People that shares the same culture, same

practice and same doctrine.

Beautiful people, dresses decently and

Always wear a lapis lazuli worth of smile.

Even when dark clouds dot our sky like the skin of a leopard,

Nature is always friendly with us.

Look at how our sun and rain had co-operated.

Look at the calmness of our morning dews,

On our dark soft tender skin that feels always new.

Look at the streams of “Honey Wells” in our soil,

Imagine its fertility even when it comes to growing crops.

Look at our constant moon illusion,

as a result of our elegant atmospheric condition.

Look at how our enthusiasm, strive, patience and tolerance

Stand as the genres on our unity.

Look at how our cuddle embraces our struggle,

Look at how we bubble even during our hustle

And how they all melt away our troubles,

Like the cloud of a day that almost rained.

Happy birthday Nigeria. A land that houses erosion of honey and milk

coupled with people of the same ilk.

A SEED SOWED WITH GREED

A SEED SOWED WITH GREED**

A Town crier in my mind
always stops at the gate.
Every morning,
he comes,
Sounds the gong
and says:
"What's the fruit of a seed sowed with greed?"

Your people chose you to lead
Because they all agreed
 that you will succeed
In transporting them to a land of hope
That they indeed need.

But your greed for wealth and power
will not take us past this bridge
Of ethno-religious, moral and spiritual crises
that is blocking our  path
to a land of promises.

"What's the fruit of a seed sowed with greed?

Your youths want to lead
Because of their greed for wealth
not a greed for developing the land,
 just as the ways of their ancestors.

What's now the future of a seed
Sowed with greed?

This greed that you breed
causes me pains as I breathe,
Each time that my mind read your deeds,
with speed! my mind hurts and bleeds.

This soil is endowed with fertility
it will grow any seed that you bread,
 to a peak! that exceeds your imagination.

Why not channel your greed 

to one that will make the land succeed

for any seed that you breed
On this soil of immortal fertility succeeds.

THE MIND OF A WRITER.

                                                    THE MIND OF A WRITER.

The mind of a Writer is the eyes of an eagle
that walks miles high in the skies
And never misses her pray

The mind of a Writer is mightier than all legendary swords.
As it can start a war and also envelope all thoughts of war 

that is roaring like lion in the minds of the people.

The mind of a Writer paints the most beautiful pictures
As it is brighter than the light of the day,
Faster than any 3D camera lens,
even more colorful than a rainbow.

The mind of a Writer sees the future before a Fortune Teller

At night they dine with the metaphysical world.

The mind of a Writer can listen to noise that silence makes,

Can eavesdrop rhythms in the thin air,
The rhymes in the ocean waves,
even the cry of an unborn baby.

The mind of a Writer is  immortal like ‘Time’.
A member of the past when they read,
A portion in present when they critical think
And division of the future when they  write.

No wonder! Robert Frost’s image never froze,
Williams Wordsworth’s words always worth it
And people are never done talking about John Donne.

Only the eyes sleep at night
But to the mind, it’s a might.
The mind of a Writer never dies.

MY MIND SINGS.

               MY MIND SINGS

Oh my mind sings.

Oh my mind sings.

Every diction in this poem, I have carefully picked.

Because my mind travels to a ‘Peak’

where life treasures secrets carefully leak.

Oh my mind sings.

Oh my mind sings.

Every time I think, an instinct

 tells my that my mind sings.

Oh a silently loud song, my mind sings.

Oh a lyrically balance song, my mind sings.

Oh my mind sings.

Every time my mind sings, it lyrics

kisses me with pleasure and times

weeps me with displeasure.

Oh my mind sings.

Oh my mind sings.

Every time my mind sings,

Life’s eternal secrets it bring

Sometimes, this exposed secret stinks,

and at times, like gold it blings.

Oh my mind sings.

Sometimes, like my blackberry contact it pings.

And a times, like my mood it swings.

Sometimes, it eternal joy water I drink

And at times, unlimited sorrow it flings.

Oh my mind sings.

Oh my mind sings.

Not A Minute Without You

                                                           Not A Minute Without You

To 'YOU' that introduced me to this:
endless battle of love,
every thin air I breath speaks of you,
making me always imagine the picture of you,
that is sitting,wearing a sweet smile,
like that of an ocean in my heart. I sigh.

As the miles between us pile,
no moment has gone awhile,
without me thinking of the qualities
of an angel in you. i smile
and fly,making me high,
because your image always come by.

Your smile never dies.
Even during our imaginary ring fights,
the patient you I always sight.

Your thoughts in my heart
taste like juice in my mouth
as it turns to words.
Every morning, I'll read them like psalm,
it lyrics crested at the back of my left palm.
In my life, you brought no harm
Not having you is the harm.

Every sound that I hear,
any sign that is near,
even tastes that I fear
plus the thin air in my breath
points to me and say: "You are there."
"My exposed and out going angel is here."
My lips will pronounce with care
because those words are pearls
that i need to cherish even when I'm in tears
                                              **** THE END****

TO OUR MANSION BUILDERS | Tunde Abdulsalam

                                 ***TO OUR MANSION BUILDERS ***

Our leaders, you ought to be our pillars,
Symbolizing our Caesars,
Instead of being our freedom seizure.
What's your responsibility as our country ship sailors?

Instead of attending to your people's health,
You enjoy draining the country's wealth.
Building more than your needed castles on earth,
That's your definition for success, I bet.

Your people wake in pains and heart ache,
Striving and struggling for their share of this national cake.
A cake that is naturally baked
Legitimately for the people's sake.

Please strengthen our mansion pillars
That's your primary responsibility as our nation builders
                                          ***THE END***

Written by: Tunde Abdulsalam

******A DINNER WITH DEATH******

       
    A DINNER WITH DEATH
    Death covered my eyes from behind with his palms; in pleasure I asked which of my friends is at play. Sonorously, his thick voice revealed his identity. There, my breath acceleration tripled and immediately came to a halt , I needed to remind myself to still breathe. “Do you mind following me?” he said. in a persuasive manner. “Not yet time.” my swift response echo.... “This is not your journey to the morgue, just a dinner with me.” He rendered in form of a lullaby.
        One needs not to be told that his aged crypt existed even before the Tower Of Babel. His well furnished apartment is designed   with dried skulls. Drops of blood from hung fresh skulls make the floor looks like Noble Carpet is his rug designer. On a set of skulls, he offered me a seat. But, my expression reveals that in his house, I'll prefer standing till eternity. My curiosity revealed to me that blood is the content on the mug he was holding. “Let’s have a drink.” He offered. But, he needed not to be told that my belle will remain filled till thy kingdom come. Though, the immediate gaunt in my physical expression shows my blood is draining rapidly. “Ask me things you'll like to know about me, I'll be glad to supply you with answers.” He altered giving me a wink. Then the question an answer session begins.
           “Why do you make us get our precious body buried or cremated?” I asked wearing a curious gesture. “Oh that?” He responded with a smile. “Recycling souls for the production of new ones is an inevitable system that keeps life going.” With hast, I asked. “Does that mean new souls can't be created while the already existing ones live?” He stood and moved closer to me. “Don't you think this world has it size and capacity? Manufacturing new souls with the existing ones will only get this world overcrowded.” He continued. “Do you think this planet belongs to human alone? Have you not read about the presence of the aliens? The world of animals is another thing you have to put in consideration. Don't you think the micro organism will become visible and imagine the numbers of them you'll inhale in every single breath?”  Argumentatively, I responded. “If that be the case, an old soul should be a better replacement for the new ones.” He leaned forward holding my shoulders. “I am only a slave to Fate, Chance, Kings, Despirate men, Dot with poison and Sickness according to John Donne's perception about me.” I gave him a look that suggested a partial agreement to what he said and asked.” What's your perception about poets like John Donne, Emily Dickinson, William Blake amongst other poets who had written one or two poems about you?” He zipped from his mug and said. “In my constituent, there is freedom of ideas.” As sweat rolled down from my forehead, I asked. “When will you hijack the chariot that transports my soul?” "I will when the time is right.” He said, in a more satisfactory tone. “What then do I do to prolong that time?” I asked with my voice braking .He freed my shoulders and said.” I am inevitable like I told you earlier, just live life fearlessly and......” “Does that mean I should risk my life by daring Gunmen, bombs, unprotected sex, or even dare swallowing poison?” I broke in his talk. Sonorously, he said.  “My dear,  “touching my chest "I will be glad to kill you if you look for me in every ways or manners.” He continues for any soul that experienced birth, Death has become inevitable for such soul.”  
BY:
ABDULSALM JAMIU .B          

THE ENEMY AROUND | Tunde Abdulsalam

                                        ******THE ENEMY AROUND******

Your BOOM !!! Keeps sounding aloud,

And it pains majestically walk around.

Offering our people as sacrificial lambs,

There your joy is announced.

Are those innocent bloods

Shed to appease you gods?

You ought to have receive some hugs,

In satisfaction of the already taken litres and jugs.

Your hiding under religious umbrella stinks,

In fact, the re occurrence of the word "Peace"

In stanzas of islamic chants

Gives it its aesthetic rhythmic patterns

We are Nigerians,

Our Unity Stands.

                                          ******THE END ******
Tunde Abdulsalam

I PROPOSE | Tunde Abdulsalam

                          ***** I PROPOSE*****

I propose to you a purpose
Fulfilling this purpose, I suppose.
This care in my heart I disclose
All the posts of my life you're imposed.

Your beauty glows
Like the breaking of a festive day
And it presence pile up my joy in abundance
Like its yam harvest in may.


Your image becomes new in my imagination after every eye blink
Like the tick of a clock that has no limitations

Your smile makes me free
Like the breeze of a sea
That can never be locked by a key.
The honey in my life you produce, my bee
I wish life and it contents is just "WE"

Written by: Tunde Abdulsalam

*******OUR HOME****

*******OUR HOME****

Our home is our zone,
Our own, the flesh that covers our bone.
An identity that can never be cloned,
Even as sorrow echo in it tone.


Come! Come get me out of this hell,
Pleads our pearl in the well.
Help ! Help me back to my throne,
In pains it continue to groan.


Agony is the rhythm in  the voice of our lost pearl,
Our dear lost jewel.
Our joy and happiness is in the cell,
Please ! Believe me, I swear.

Our home is a shell to  our soul,
The "Capua" of our Rome

LIFE

********LIFE********
Life is like a comic satire,

That is costumed in tragic attire.

Its static posture,

Reveals its dynamic nature.

Life is a teacher,

That lectures like a preacher.

Life is a Soldier,

That forces man to embrace his good bad fate.

Life is a fairy tail ,

That is woven in style of women's braids.

Life is a landlord to nature,

And a Godfather to its creatures.

Life is a mansion,

Constructed of bricks of conventions

Life flows calmly like an ocean,

Yet, strings bitterly like a python.

Life stages man's path,

Till death do them part.

Life has a complex plot.

Its introductory scene opens with birth,

And the goodbye scene is death.

******THE END*****
ABDULSALAM JAMIU B.

****PSYCHOLOGICAL DISABILITY****

****PSYCHOLOGICAL DISABILITY****

Tick !! Tick !! As the clock sticks to its responsibility,
Tick !! Tick !! Its alarming sounds stuck my heart.
What's on the minds of this pharaohs of our Egypt?
That keeps them comfortable with this wrath.


In an "Eden" where people's face wear insecurity,
Their merriment seems always intact.
Knowing fully well that it leads to destructive path,
For our joyful sorrow hearts. 


This "spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions"
Is arrowed so they can face the fact.
Their minds play a significant part,
In our journey to our "imaginary world of Arts".


My philosophy: their psychological disability,
Is the genesis of our economic instability.

***********THE END*******
ABDULSALAM JAMIU B.  

BANKRUPT BILLIONAIRE | Tunde Abdulsalam

‎                                     ***BANKRUPT BILLIONAIRE***

A bee that produces almost 3 million barrels of honey daily,
Still unable to cater for its people.

As her calculated errors tangle,
Poverty is charmed around her wrist like bangle.

An "Ibadan". "Running splash of rust and gold"
Now run splash of rust metals only
Though, her medium of income remains multiple,
But her people and hardship still mingle.

Her celebration of lost lives yearly,
States her vision and mission clearly.
unconsciously,
Her level of sorrow increases fearfully.

Yet !! Her bangle of wealth sticks around her ankle.
But, her economy enjoys the struggle.

                                                              ***THE END***

Written by: TUNDE ABDULSALAM (poet)

NATIONAL TREATURE BY TUNDE ABDULSALAM

                                          ********NATIONAL TREATURE******

I picture a treasure,
That is not properly nurtured.
The privileged celebrates their leisure,
As it guarantees an insecure future.

An endowed country of natural properties,
Enjoys celebrating its people in abject poverty.
Do you think withdrawing your disciple's liberty
Will enhance your monarchy?

This treasure that you do not nurture,
Keeps a smiling face at your failure.
Though, it real features
Are yet to be captured

Your inability to nurture is insanity,
That might dine with you till eternity

*********THE END******

    TUNDE ABDULSALAM

That is not properly nurtured

The privileged celebrates their leisure,

As it guarantees an insecure future.

An endowed country of natural properties,

Enjoys celebrating its people in abject poverty.

Do you think withdrawing your disciple's liberty

Will enhance your monarchy?

This treasure that you do not nurture,

Keeps a smiling face at your failure.

Though, it real features

Are yet to be captured

Your inability to nurture is insanity,

That might dine with you till eternity

*********THE END******
ABDULSALAM JAMIU B