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There were four of them – Leke, Kolawole, Ibrahim, and my younger brother Tobi. They hovered about as I wrestled with the cock. The sneer in their eyes and the ridicule in their words as they spoke made me feel weak and utterly helpless. My mother stared from afar; shaking her head, and looking at me as though she was seeing me for the first time. I held the cock tighter.

Tobi had killed a cock earlier, same with the other boys. They had, at some point, gone through the ritual of killing their first fowl. I was yet to kill mine. I was the weakest among my friends. I was shy and introverted. Tobi moved closer, a mocking expression on his handsome face. He pointed at the cock before saying “Look at him. Look at his hands, shaking like a jelly fish. Cut the neck! ” The boys laughed and my mother shook her head again, adjusted her wrapper, and leaned on the wall. She would see the end of this drama.

I tightened my grip on the cock, placed the knife on the floor, and started peeling the feathers around the neck, revealing pale flesh. My hands trembled violently as I picked up the knife and began the ritual. I made a tiny cut on the neck. The cock flapped its wings and attacked with its claws. It danced on the floor, jerking, oozing blood. I tightened my grip again; sweat pouring down the side of my face. The cock won. It eased away from my grasp, running unsteadily towards the cage, blood oozing from its neck onto the sand. I caught it, and continued the ritual furiously.

Tobi laughed. The hard barking sound was painful to hear. “Can you even kill an ant? He asked mockingly, turning to face the others. They all laughed, while I silently cursed the cock. “Look at him, mummy’s boy!” I almost exploded with anger. “May madness strike you down”, I barked at him. The cock had stopped moving. I carried it and gave it to my mother.

A week later, my mother came home, crying and wailing. I soon learned that Tobi was at that very moment dancing naked in the square. With the help of our neighbours, my father and I caught him, and took him to Okanlawon, chief priest and voice of Ifa. Tobi was sprawled on the ground, both hand and legs tied.

Baba praised Ifa, chanted incoherently, and pointed a finger at me. “Adeayo, why did you do this to your brother? He asked, shaking his bald head. I stared at him confused, and somewhat angry. “I don’t understand Baba” I replied. He gave me a stony look, before staring mournfully at Tobi. He raised his staff, and proceeded to deliver a string of incantations. He stopped abruptly, staring into space. “I see you holding a cock.” He said, pointing at me again. Then it dawned on me. I remembered the ritual of killing my first cock and began to cry, my eyes begging Baba to do something. My father stepped forward, both hands over his head. “What do we do now Baba?” He asked. Baba bent his head, apparently deep in thought. “Ifa has not spoken,” He suddenly blurted out, “We must wait for him.”

Thanks!

I was talking abt the Rain, a heavy rain. Its a poem i wrote sometime last year after it rained heavily in school and it got me thinking.. What if it rained so hard that the torrents washed away everything - dreams, hopes, aspirations.. after all, it's all we have left after losing properties..

The gentle breeze coming in through the window did little to suppress my growing anxiety as I lay on my bed. The noise made by a cricket behind the door leading into my room added to this feeling. I wasn't sure what it was but I knew something was wrong. My heart was beating a little faster and my palms felt clammy. But what was wrong?

Above the sound coming from the TV in the living room where Uncle Peter, his wife, and my cousins, were watching SuperStory, I could hear a tiny little voice whispering a message to me. I wasn't sure of what it was saying, but I knew it had to be important. I jumped to my feet and began to pace around my room. Maybe I was just feeling anxious for no reason, but I didn't think so.

I looked out my window and stared at the amorphous figure curled up on the fence. Sick fear gripped me. I felt a cold sensation creeping down my spine as I held on to the battered shelf in my room. Oh..it was just a branch that had fallen of the mango tree outside my window. I felt relieved. But something was wrong!

I thought about my grades and I couldn't suppress a shiver. Things were going from bad to worse. Just last week, I scored a D in my statistics test. Then my mind switched to my growing debt. I owed money. And unless I did something pretty soon, someone would have me for dinner. At the moment I had just N250. What was I gonna do? I couldn't afford to call my parents. They had sent over N5000 about a week ago. This was probably the reason for my anxiety, or was it something else??

I thought about my many failures, my regrets, and my actions and inactions. I thought about the many lies I tell my friends each day. I thought about the Message a Jehovah Witness had preached to me yesterday and my walls began to crumble. Sister Mary had opened a can of worms; I felt dirty. I thought about how much my family was counting on me not to disappoint them. Surely, all or one of them was the reason for my anxiety. I lay down on my bed again, covered myself with a blanket, and tried not to think of tomorrow. Tomorrow will take care of itself. But I couldn't sleep. I kept turning as I stole quick glances at the moonlit sky.

Then I thought about Isioma. I remembered clearly the magic words she uttered last friday, "I love you Sammie". I smiled as I held tightly my pillow. I felt a little breathless. The sound of her voice came back to me with a force that knocked me silly. All of a sudden, my anxiety faded, my hands stopped shaking, and I felt relaxed. I closed my eyes as I eased into an easy sleep.

Last night had opened my eyes to a lot of things. Things I had turned a blind eye to for a very long time. And I know that the thought of Isioma might not be enough to save me next time!

That night, that perfect night

In our tiny village square

When my heartbeat contracted

My palms felt clammy

And my senses went mute


Haaaa!…. Aduke, Omo Balogun

Orekelewa..arewa… Ife mi

Her eyes, like rubies from the

caves of the great beyond

Her voice, a symphony that melts

the hottest of tempers..


I am lost like I have never been

In the radiance of her beauty

In the bowels of warmth & bliss

In a miasma of colours & pictures


That night, in the subtlety of her grace

Her shadow held me transfixed as I cried

tears of joy, marvelling at God’s creation..

Haa! Aduke, Aduke mi, temi nikan


I am that drummer boy that sings your

Oriki with the birds at the stream

That boy in rags without cowries to give…

But I will sing of your worth, paint pictures

of your beauty, & love you like no other..

Aduke, none other, but you..

Mr Kasali is our new fine arts teacher. No one knew exactly when he became a teacher in our school. Some say he is as old as the school, while others think he is probably one of those teachers who is as impersonal and as invincible as the air. They say he doesn't talk much!

Mr Kasali is short, round, and chubby. His ball like head rests on his flabby neck like a bird perching on a leaf. He is completely hairless. His head is as bare and as smooth as the back of my hand. His short but firm legs had the will and purpose of a soldier ready for battle. His bulging stomach is shaped like an egg, and his hands somehow appeared to be longer than his legs! His well manicured fingers were always on the prowl; they are utterly restless!! I noticed and absorbed each detail in a matter of seconds the first time he came to our class. I was staring at him like a zombie! I'm not sure if it was because I had heard so much about him, but had never seen him or because of the way he was dressed.

He was wearing a blue suit on a red trouser! His purple sleeve were in sharp contrast to his pink tie and brown shoes. His white belt reminded me of the snake that was killed at the school entrance yesterday. He walked into our class like a king. Maybe it was because of the yellow cap he had on! What a picture! A fine arts teacher indeed!!

"Good Morning Class.." he said. "Good Morning Sir!!" we blurted out. I liked the sound of his voice; young, rich, and effeminate. "I am your new fine arts teacher. Mrs Ajanlekoko just put to bed. She will be away for some time." All the time he was speaking, he smiled. It was as if he had a fixed smile on his face. After some time, I noticed he had been staring at a particular direction. I followed the direction of his eyes, and...oh my! Someone was sleeping!! I didn't need a second look to know it was Ngozi! It had to be!

Ngozi, aka "sleeping beauty" was always sleeping in class. Her mother, "Mama Ngozi" who sells guguru and groundnut at the school entrance has been to our class more times than any other parent. "Madam your daughter is always sleeping in class. I'm getting tired of her. What is the problem? Please you need
to do something!!" Our class teacher, Mrs Owolabi once said. "Madam, I no know oo..God knows I am trying my best." whispered the helpless woman. Poor Ngozi just stood there staring at them with sleepy eyes.

"Wake that girl. Now!!" shouted Mr Kasali. Isioma, Ngozi's best friend quickly woke her. "Open your eyes! Mr Kasali is here!" .."Mr who??" replied Ngozi, in a tone that sounded like she didn't believe anyone by that name existed. Mr Kasali turned a deep shade of purple. His breath came out of his nostrils unevenly. His small menacing eyes searched the class as though he was looking for something. You could see he felt offended by
Ngozi's mocking tone. "Hahahaha..you will know me today. Stupid girl! Come here!!" That short laugh sent shivers down my spine. The hard barking sound of his laugh sounded like that of an hyena. There was nothing effeminate about it. Mr Kasali looked different. His eyes blazed, and the muscles under his eyes twitched. His hands were restless. He was angry!

Ngozi walked to the front of the class with calculated steps. Her vision was still bleary. She stood in front of Mr Kasali like a statue. "You must be stupid! How dare you sleep in my class!! Ehn!.." Mr kasali barked. "I'm sorry Sir. I'm tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. I was frying groundnut." The whole class laughed. "You were doing what?" Mr kasali asked, bewildered . "I was frying groundnut Sir." she replied. Just then, our class teacher Mrs Owolabi walked in. "Ah..Mr Kasali. Good Morning Sir. Is there a problem?" She asked, her eyes moving from him
to our sleeping beauty. "I came in and found this girl sleeping. Imagine! It's just 8:30am." Mr Kasali bellowed "You this girl again! Shey you want to be breastfed? Abi you want guguru?" Mrs Owolabi asked sarcastically. The whole class enjoyed a moment of laughter once again.

"Silence!!" shouted Mr Kasali at the rest of us. "She said she was frying groundnut last night." He said, turning to Mrs Owolabi "Don't mind this girl o! Just because her mother sells guguru and epa, she wants to lie on the poor woman" replied Mrs Owolabi.

"It is true ma!! Everyday groundnut! Groundnut!! My mama no dey let me sleep for house. Na me dey always fry the groundnut!!" Ngozi exclaimed. "Speak proper English!!" Mr Kasali barked for the hundredth time. "I'm sorry Sir. But I hardly get any sleep at home. I'm either frying groundnut or guguru. My mother is always on my neck!" She cried out. "Why didn't you tell me?!" Mrs Owolabi asked. "You never asked me a thing ma." replied Ngozi. Her watery eyes held everyone.

The whole class went mute. Even Mr Kasali's hands were enjoying a moment of peace; they were not moving. "I'm sorry. I would never have imagined. Your mother is such a nice woman." Mrs Owolabi said, moving towards her. She wrapped Ngozi in her arms and wiped her tears. Mr Kasali paid them no attention. Instead he looked at the rest of us and asked "Now, who can tell me what fine arts is all about?" We all looked at him in disbelief. Even Mrs Owolabi stared at him in stupefied
silence. Not an ounce of pity for our sleeping beauty. We all glared at him. Wicked man. Then from the back came the most familiar voice in class. "Fine arts is a......"

Omoye!! She always had an answer to every question, no matter how difficult. She spent the next two minutes defining fine arts. Everyone glared at her! No one has spoken to her since that day.

That day Mama Ngozi was warned by our principal and she promised never to ask Ngozi to fry groundnut again. Same day, no one from our class bought guguru and epa from Mama Ngozi after school hours. We chose to stand behind Ngozi. Like they say "United we stand, divided we fall." Poor Ngozi. Our sleeping beauty.

Thanks Man!!

It came upon us like a flash

The clouds roared

The trees went limp

The sun ran for cover

It came; quick & fast

No prior warning

No message had been delivered

The clouds opened its mouth

Ready to unleash venom

We couldn't run; we just stared

Our gleaming eyes opened

Our mouths agape; absent sound

The clouds had disappeared

What we saw was a mighty gun

Pointing at us

As we ran for cover

To hide; under a shade

We tried to put things in place

To save a tiny memento

A piece of our soul

But it gave us no time

Then it came; quick & fast

Wild torrents

At the speed of light

Lightning flashes

At first it sounded

Like gentle taps on our doors

But the tempo increased

Above our heads

It sounded like missiles

Being shot at our roofs

We prayed, we hoped

We cried painful tears

But the inevitable had come upon us

Wild torrents; flowing like hot lava

Washing away our dreams

Our hope for tomorrow

A part of our soul

Then it stopped

As quickly as it had started

As we poured out in numbers

Lost betwixt nostalgia & hope

While picking up the pieces

As we hoped for better days

But the sound of the thunder

Like machine guns

Still echoes in our head

Nice piece bro!
I'm new here.. So i can post any of my over 100poems yet.. Aarrrrgh!

BEAUTIFUL.. GOOD JOB!

I love this poem..

Wow! Nice poems bro! Well structured, beautiful flow.. I love the mild cadence!

I'm new on here.. So i can post any of my poems for now.. Can't wait!

NICE! subliminal..

Read all of them..