Hello folks! Welcome to my poetry blog. I’m glad you could drop by to catch a glimpse into my world of thoughts and imaginations. Here, I will be sharing with you a collection of some of my quiet moments…my thoughts. For a start, let me say that poetry is something that I really have a soft spot for and this is not far from the fact that I have a strong sense of admiration for poets and poetry. Thus, this sort of tilt my interest into the world of poetry and I decided to adopt it as one of my leisure pursuits. Though I must say; the guy has no background or whatsoever in literature. It's just my thoughts flowing through my pen and keyboard. Like the British Poet, William Wordsworth once said: “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility”. And also, a Nigerian poet, Safianu succinctly put ; “Poetry is the only medium that understands a poet’s thoughts, imaginations, feelings, mood and all what not”. Hmmmh!

I just hope you will find them fascinating and inspiring. Your comments will be highly appreciated. Have fun!!!


CZARINA
I must sing of you.
I must chant your name
And revere your beauty.
You, the proud colossus
Of the black race,
The czarina of civilization.

I’m your proud son
And your blood runs in me
With nobility and contentment
And your strength;
So sturdy as the Oak
Is rooted in my soul.

Africa my Africa
Africa, the proud custodian
Of black placentas,
The abode of virgin riches:
Adorn from head to toe.
Africa, so chaste and wild.

Africa, I must sing of you
And my children shall chant
The hymns of your praise.
O’ Africa, the birthplace
Of my forefathers,
The sanctuary of my heritage.


A BEAST CALL MAN
This is not the world
Of my mother’s tale.
This must be a strange land.
A strange land of massive tragedies,
Of bloodbath, wars,
Sorrows and horrors.

Here, I hear the sad drums
Of cancerous hatred
And see the shrapnels of mistrust
And injustice
Whirling playfields
Into war fields.

And the victims
Are women and children
That are hurt and hunted
Raped and ravaged
Blood-stained and saddened
In flocks of thousands.

This world, I must tell you
Is a canvass bathe with blood,
Crushed bones
And minced human flesh.
The creative insanity
Of a beast call man.

Thus, this is not the world
Of my mother’s tale.
This can never be the world
Of my mother’s tale.
For this world is a mad stage
Control by mass murderers.



WARM BOSOM (for the homeless child)
Waifs and Strays
Hither and thither
Like leaves in fall
Enshrouded in thorns
And thickets
Of gory woes,
Affright and entombed
In lonely torment.
A severe life,
Amidst flocks of pains
Walking through torturous
Aisles
Yet clinging
To a charred remains
Of a dream;
A hopeful future
Out of the streets
Unto a warm abode



NOSTALGIA
As days merges into nights
And nights into days
Heralding the epilogue
Of my sojourn
I’m clasped
With a weepy heart
And my soul is raided
With hoards of emotions
Tinged
With pangs of nostalgia
For soon I will bid farewell
To a land atop my breast
A land acquainted
With my rites of passage
A land where I took-off
My garments of innocence
And girdled myself
Against the dusky terrain…



A GRIEVER OF LOVE
I
Here I am
Yet again
Sorrowing; my emotions wailing
Like a mother in travail.
Yet again,
Sourness nesting atop
My numbed heart
That was hitherto abloom
But now lamenting
Solemnly,
In thorny anguish.
Here I am
Yet again
A mourner
Cloaked in aloneness.

II
But yet again
Whenever love beckons
With it sweetness along
Tread I must, walk I must
Down the accustomed aisle
To the tranquil isle
Where sweetness lingers
And warmth abound
In the bosom of my beloved.

Blur

thanx for the motivation mak