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Graffiti II - Nana - Poems For Review - Nairaland

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Hope Has A Son (II) / Doomed(ii) (2) (3) (4)

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Graffiti II - Nana by filiks(m): 12:40am On May 24, 2013
All prior dances line up
Behind the last dance.

Even pacifists must cry
For war against something
At least against mosquitoes.

Uneasy lay the head that wears the crown
Two analgesic tabs later he was up again.
Easy

Let the left nipple see
What the right nipple sees
For that is justice.

When the minister handed the rubber,
The teeth of his soles gave way
And he fell flat on his back - backsliding.

She calls often to warn
That he call her no more.

We are two tear drops away
From ah-Noah Tsunami.

She has cried enough
Let us let her let him love her.
Ah!

The manifesto was a vibrant pass
But nobody to give the nodding shot.

The rapist ruins a family
To make a new one.

There’s a stranger at the door
Armed with an arsenal
Yet begs to enter
Put simply, the house is too crowded.

Give generously to the burglar
He needs a handgun.

Her mother’s daughter, please open up
For the old general
You’ll be a rich widow.

Him no know book?
Cheque book nko?

He who pays the piper
Bemoans stolen pipeline produce.
So they figure, why pay the piper
When you can simply vandalize the pipes?

Grin Wide, Grin
Grin Wild Grin.

Put your grammar in your ‘pidgin’-hole
You will speak it at the next road block.

Poltergeist up north!
The truth will literally BLOW your mind!
I’m not talking what has been – Laden
I’m talking what is B – Haram

Let’s play fetch
Go up hill for a cert
Come back in bits
We’ll cry to the bank with six-digit cheques.

Let singers sing
Let bards tell tales
Let musicians muse
Let poets pen
The money remains in their Caesar’s circle.

Africa’s armpit
It’s a pit under the arm na
Shouldn’t it stink for want
Of wash?

Money
Messes with the aperture.

Rack focus from money
To man
And the sin gains interest.

The stone the builders rejected
Is in the white house.

If secret thoughts popped up
Uncontrollably
On foreheads
Then we would enjoy watching the news.

Poetry is not my thing
Politics is not yours
But I puff with poems
And you “pass” at the polls.
I guess we’re both amazing with words
Or they’re high to let us
Puff puff…pass.

Moments add up
To memories.

(Sometime in 2011. Enugu.)

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Game Well Played / Yeye O! / To My Val

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