DRILL AWAY


you can't move me
for i am as heavy
as an inflated balloon
and your unclothed skin
a needle.

you can try
needless to say
that i want you to try
lest i fly away
and find greater joy
in the skies.

but should you dare
to put me on my back
though i am as recalcitrant
as a rock underneath the earth
hardened by age
your finger
would be a drilling machine
under whose watch i'll give way.

I see things;
like the lady who sells
foodstuffs, her dark eyes
shining from the corner of her window
a hen gauging a recalcitrant cockerel
her trailing gaze a brick of cement
chained to my feet
while i trudge in feigned oblivion.
In my imagination, i see her
on her toes for a tall window will be no hindrance
her heavy set behind
stressfully tucked inside denim jeans
threatening to jail break,
i say a silent prayer for its success sometimes
for it's a revolutionary leader
and i am a staunch believer.
her back bare barring the impressed lines
from consistent usage of bra straps
her chest is covered by a shirt pressed firmly
to her skin with one hand
while the other props her up, to aid a better view.

i also see my neighbour;
her massive bosoms flailing like David's stones
I must be Goliath. while her hands
dances all over my body
'touch me in all places', she pleads
her eyes lightens up with expectations
her smell of hot bread inviting
she pulls my hands to underneath her wears–
a gown held closed by a line of thread–
ostensibly bare, just for this purpose.
she presses my palms to her chest
"don't you want this?" she quizzes
her widened lips revealing a decades long tradition
of daily teeth washing strictly adhered to.

alas but I am faithful.
and mad.

joseph1832:
hmmmm

lol soro soke, champ!

A HAIKU TO NOVEMBER


Harmattan approach,
But it's your moist I prefer;
A cove for the fallen.

DRIPPY PARTNER

Oh, hop to the rhythm of my thrusts
Gallivant to the sweetness of my loins
Chime to our ardous breaths a sensuous noise
Oh, my drippy partner

I will saunter on this slippery floor
A stamping ballet inside your core
Poke and stoke until you shudder for more
Oh, my drippy partner

Memories etched in and out my eye
Our romps a must pick from every pile
My legs always long for your flooded thigh 
Oh, my drippy partner

i tried to find a voice to sing
my lips part but not a sound
it's my brothers the bullets sting
but it's me who hits the ground


as we battle for a nation
one where we could succeed
but the only ovation
we receive they make us bleed


how the soil had a bloody meal
white earth has turned to red
all we did was tell our feel
and then we end up dead


no respect, no regards
for the souls our leaders killed
human beings without a heart
in corruption our blood is spilled


because we tweeted, and retweeted
hoped that they would listen
but now we stand, bloodied, defeated
waiting to be killed or flung in prison


oh my nation, you were once great
with potentials, a future's bright
can we recover? is it not late
for the oppressed to see the light


in a democratic world affair
dictators pretend to rule
it's not iron fist, it is clear
when your leaders didn't go to school


i stay puzzled how we got to here
where lives do not matter
but it's time to overcome the fear
and let their party scatter






© Jigs Lionheart

The Fright of Every Nigerian


may your first visitor
not be as untrained
and blinded to the
wails of his fellows
and deaf to the dead
bodies that litters
the streets as the
authorities

for if he who knocks
is battered from the cruelty
of his masters
conditioned by slavery
hardened from
picking up crumbs
like a bird's beak

treat him as you would
the messiah should
he visit
as you would treat
the sovereign one
glistening in his
radiant wears
for your visitor
owns your life
simply at his master's
behest

should it be him
Solomon in all his
infinite wisdom could
barely advise you
enough
no, not Solomon
he never chained
men in their schools

if it is him, make peace
with your deity
for your time
which had lingered
since you drew your first
has decided to
make a showing
to ensure your
next dozen breaths
are your last

for if it is he
uniformed
armed
a member of
the Nigeria's
armed forces
he will
slaughter you so
because
his master said so.

#EndSars
#EndPoliceBrutality

© Jigs Lionheart

The morning began with Peter walking down the road, trying to whistle to a tune.


"Neighbour wey sabi," I whispered as I watched him with interest.


He seemed as self-amused as ever as he galloped down. As soon as he sprung into clearer view, I could see him shortly attempt to whistle and then erupt in a burst of muffled laughter that seemed self-mocking. No sooner had he stopped laughing than he resumed his effort. His mouth pushed forward and his lips formed a close 'O' as his chest heaved and sunk in futility. Rinse, repeat. Only pausing to catch his breath.
I tried to guess what was going on in his head; perhaps he'd found entertainment in his failed whistling attempts, maybe a new girl at the office had him excited, or perhaps it was just a Thursday--another day in Peter's life. Whatever it was, it had Peter sticking to script; I had seen this routine playout for the past few days. With very slight variations.
I indulged my thought process in many possibilities, and let it take me to absurd inferences. Self-aware and revelling in how the "wake-and-bake" was stretching my imagination on the subject.


I was perched behind an uncompleted building I'd discovered days back as Peter passed by. This spot was especially comfortable. Everything happened with a peaceful, predictable choreography/rhythm. Bird chirps echoed as lizards occasionally rustled and leapt, through the walls and onto the carpet grass laid out across most of the floor. Sited at a good distance from the road, it provided solitude from the noise and entropy everywhere else. I was completely shielded from the outside while simultaneously having an unrestricted view of the road. This made for a great place to smoke weed and engage my faculties in the early mornings, away from prying eyes, sensitive nostrils, and busybodies, or as I collectively call them; neighbours.




It happened fast. I must have been distracted by a lingering thought, as I autopiloted to light my quenched weed. But in a second I was jolted to the present by the sight of something amiss. Peter was on the ground with both his arms spread wide apart. Three strange figures towered over him and one seemed to be giving him a pat-down while Peter looked like he was writhing in pain.


It immediately registered to me that he just got robbed and was probably stabbed in the confrontation.


I upped out of hiding & made towards him as fast as I could, roaring "thief!" as I paced.
But I was too late. All three had dissolved into the corners before I was even halfway close.


I got to Peter and he was barely moving. His head was sitting in an unnatural position. A gaping wound on his throat was visible to the sun and the soil beneath the upper half of his body was drenched in blood. The slow jerky movement he initially had quickly eased to a halt as I stood there in shock.


And then I started shouting, looking left and right, moving from one spot to another, searching for any help, any vehicle to take us to a nearby hospital.
None was forthcoming. I got to the closest junction, saw a Police van some minutes after and I waved them down.


The policemen came and one observed Peter and pronounced him dead. This piece of news sent a bolt of grief down my spine. I wasn't left with ample time with which to register it before another policeman sent a slap to my face. A chubby one rushed to my back, bent my frozen hands behind and a metallic clink erupted, notifying me of the restriction of my hands. He ran his hands through my being and fished out a lighter, a halved bag of weed, a couple of Naira notes and my Nokia torchlight phone.


"Igbo smoker!" He said. "You done kill am abi?"


"Officer nor be me o!" I wailed.


"Shut up!" Yet another said, a slap accompanying the spittle he had sent to my face. "See igbo for your hand."


That was when I realized in horror that the weed was still in my hand. I dropped it and received a slap, then a couple of fingers forced it back into my palms.


"O your igbo! Ol am!" The chubby one behind me shouted, dishing out slaps to either of my exposed cheeks.


I tried my best to protect my face from their slap-trained palms, but it was useless. I looked at Peter on the ground, the Policemen hovering around me like sharks who had perceived blood and I knew my fate was sealed.


"See as your body dey smell igbo!" The officer continued. "Criminal! Where the tin wey you take shook am? Where am!"


"Officer na help i..."


Slaps, punches, and kicks rained on me then. I was at a loss. I tried to cry but the tears wouldn't come. I instead kept shouting for help that I knew wouldn't come until I couldn't. And when my body couldn't take the beating anymore, I passed out.


The next time I opened my eyes, I was being thrown into the back of the van and someone was saying "He kill am finish he wan pretend! God done catch am!"


My neck felt like a brick was placed on it, no matter what I did, I couldn't move it. I could taste the warmth and saltiness of blood in my saliva. I was numb. I drifted away.



#endpolicebrutality


© Jigs Lionheart

NARROW PATH


she will dance
she will sing
with any chance
she will weep

she will clap
filled with joy
as her narrow path
saves another one

she will groove
as her eyes dim
her screws will loose
life is sweet

he will slide
he will ride
as her narrow path
saves another chap

HEAVEN


heaven is where
my ascension
and descension
culminates in the eruption
of warm liquids

Why do you say nothing?
Why?
Why are you so comfortable being abused,
Being looted,
Being impoverished,
And yet, you say nothing?
Why?

You voted in a democratic government
Your president has demonstrated
Nothing but dictatorial laws,
But yet, you are silent!

The basic amenities they were supposed to procure
They haven't provided it.
You still purchase them with your hard-earned money.
They have now gone on to increase the price of such things.
But yet, you say nothing. Why?

E nor concern you now.

Okay, it is not in your place to talk to them,
Of course, it is not your place.
But is it in your place to suffer?
What do I even know?

People like to trend for all the wrong justifications.
People trended we are tired,
They trended enough is enough,
You contributed zero voice,
Oh, but it's BBNaija and you're loud.
You picked a critical time to be apolitical!
You sit in front of the TV
While they share your future behind the scenes!
You're not unaware
You just don't care. Why?

Okay, people have been talking for long
Nothing has come out of it.
Did you talk when others were talking?
Did you lend your feet to a solidarity march?
Or your voice to a revolutionary shout?
Or clench your fist with the poor to say:
Afa, Government people. We are tired. 
Did you?

Oh no, but I'm one in more than a hundred and forty million people,
What does the voice of a single man in millions count for?
Oga, madam, one plus one is two.
Our people like to say
Na cooperation dey make pot of rice full.
You are thinking of yourself alone,
That is why you're not talking,
That is why you're silent,
That is why they have the audacity to loot and go scot-free!
That is why they have the mettle to hike the prices of anything they want
Because they know you will only grumble.
Time will pass, and you'll go back to suffering and smiling
Don't you think it's time for a change?

Don't you think it's time to revolt and say for real that we are tired, and back those words with a mean face
Clenched teeth, clenched fist
A ready for anything stance
A shout of defiance
Don't you think it is time?

Our fathers made the terrible mistake of accepting everything;
Look at where it got us.
Some of us are fathers and mothers
Think about where it will get our kids to.
When will we stop being silent?
When will we start being loud for the right things?
When will we start demanding for what is rightfully ours without fear of suppression?
They can kill a man, they can't kill an idea.

Whatever you are doing, give a shout of defiance
And say enough is enough!
Say we are tired!
Start demanding for your rights!
Start demanding transparency in governance!
Start rejecting the peanuts they dole out as minimum wage!
Start asking for what is truly yours!
Start asking for a better Nigeria!
Start asking!



©Jigs Lionheart

if i passed you these words myself
i did it passing you a near empty glass
with beer droplets running riot at the bottom
led by the tilting of your young fingers

guide these droplets into your mouth
like a mound of your favourite dish
for a peer do i consider you to be
different generations, but same times

know my father passed these to me
but in different terms, mere words
a term i later came to regret
for it birthed my very first disregard

though no fault of his, my father was smart
and when he did speak was it in parables
in coded words that needed no hacking
like hiding a password in plain sight

in simpler terms will i pass this down
in more simpler terms do i charge you
to pass down same orientations
for not teaching was how we stopped learning

whatever you do in life, my good son
there are a billions of rules governing it
but one fundamental rule should you not skip
endeavour to enjoy yourself

let not the wailings of sad people
nor the happy shouts of successful peers
wear you down - treat all the same
as you will a pinch of salt

for doing more has been known
to be the grassroots of distress
no, the hurts will come still
your only duty as a man is to be strong

do not cower to feminine admonitions
or succumb to external yearnings
if you feel the need to soak garri
in the presence of rice, do you

a lesson i never understood on time
again, due to no fault of my father's
for i was a slow learner, i was told
an opinion i have gone on to rubbish

son, know your numbers
for while you must enjoy life
numbers will take you everywhere
around the world, with respect

for it's numbers that will ensure
you chase your dreams and stay happy
it's not a priority, but essential nonetheless
lesser value than water, greater than opinions

for poor people don't have opinions
just thoughts trickled down from the rich
irrespective of how i end up, i guarantee you
your daddy is rich in his own way

conformation is an abomination
unless it is to achieve a goal or interest
your hardest test may this be
be rest assured you will be fine what you do

never sell yourself short, dear child
you are a Lord of all things
demand for what's yours, for wiser men
have said closed mouths starve

lastly, do not stop reading
for so doing will you be self aware
know your deity, know your history
know your rights, know yourself





©Jigs Lionheart

joseph1832:
how come?

it's one of those ones i couldn't find a title for.

joseph1832:
JigSawKillah. Your last two poems don't have titles?

no.

UNTITLED



i will whistle a tune
on my way to you
there will i be soon
to feed on your stew

UNTITLED


…broken
in a thousand pieces
but
pieced together
by the warmth inbetween her thighs…

TALES OF A RUNG


Its proclivities dither
Around satiny walls
Soused floors splintered
For more, her beauty calls

Its size the dames will wonder
If it's right to sate a lust
Its birthright's to sail and plunder
So it might just gain a trust

Its recalcitrance is appalling
So all must wield with care
A pipe, when always falling
Morale is replaced with fear

Yet, it is loved and hated
It births life when stood upright
Makes a man shine or faded
The rung has a vast might

GODDESS ON MY BED


I will worship thee, o' goddess on my bed
Your beckoning finger do I trail, set to pounce
Your limbs parted, a solicitation to my head
"Your spittle moisturizes I like elites on poor towns!"


O' goddess of the fair planet, I approach
Your bony thighs I navigate past with my hands
Two fingers part your walls, a giant in one stroke
I get to work and let you cry, though you never had a chance


Goddess in a black skin, do my black hands caress
Your hips, your ribs, while your arms kept your legs raised
My arms toured your lips, your neck, and ended on your chest
They squeeze tipped balls to my goddess, at her temple my tongue will praise


Finally I prod! Every thrust taken in with glee
Her position is not constant, quintessential NEPA style
Inhabited by angels and gold is the land I see
As two gods became one, to push each other wild

Ndi Amaka




"As I dey follow you dey talk laik dis, she nor wan leave my troza!" Obuko yelled into the phone. He has been on the phone for 30 seconds and I'm sure whoever was on the other side is shaking terribly. He howled like he would kill both the person on the phone and Amaka.


“Make una telam o! I go kee person pikin o!” he shouted into the phone, whilst stealing a glance our way. Amaka didn't even budge. Neither did I and my clique. 


It isn't like we didn't want to help Obuko out. In fact, our hearts are bleeding for him. But Amaka has made it clear that whenever she's fighting anyone, we should steer clear. Adamson, my friend had received a punch that nearly blinded him once trying to separate Amaka and Ghenero fighting. That's not the worst of it. 


There was a girl called Chioma I was eyeing some time back. She had my mumu button for some time until Amaka unintentionally severed the battery connection by battering both of us. No shame. I admit Amaka has beaten me. And in my defence, she has beaten a lot of boys in the area as well.


 So Amaka and Chioma had a little beef whilst fetching water from the tap which supplies the whole neighbourhood with water. When NEPA decides to favour us, buckets and gallons are lined up in front of the three taps, and it was run on a first come first serve basis.


Amaka came later than Chioma. But Chioma can be lousy, so when Amaka had whacked a child's bum for spattering sand her way, Chioma exploded, since the child happened to be her, Chioma's sibling. She hurled all sorts of expletives Amaka's way. I watched the whole debacle within earshot. Amaka didn't wait for Chioma to finish her outburst before pouncing on her. A voice in my head suggested I sat that one out, and I should've listened. Chioma was pummeled so bad, she fell and crashed into the line of buckets and didn't get up on time, thereby receiving another heavy slap on her face. 


I ran from my sitting spot to help Chioma. To save her, or so I thought. Brethren, I was pummeled too. Before another slap could touch Chioma who was feigning unconsciousness so as to get away from Amaka's beating, I held Amaka's hand, and violently shoved her away. She fell down, and when she got up, she gave me Edge's spear, Randy's RKO, Roman Reigns' Superman Punch! I pretended to look for a bottle or something to fight with, then disappeared into a corner, watching the remainder of the match. 


Chioma was picked up and used to scatter the long line of buckets and gallons. Nobody coughed. Nobody interfered. And after Amaka was done, she placed her buckets in front of the line instead of behind. Nobody opposed.


Amaka has a long list of victims who had interfered and came out different or berating themselves for not minding their business. So when Obuko kept screaming into the phone, and silently crying for help from us, we couldn't utter a word. He knew if someone doesn't step in and take away Amaka's attention from him, he's set for some beating. 


“Tok to am o!" Obuko yelled again into the phone. He then passed the phone to Amaka and said: “Your senior broda wan tok to you.”


Amaka collected the phone with one hand, her other still holding tight to Obuko's trouser. "Wetin happen?! So if me and my boyfren dey fight, na you be the judge abi? As I deh respect you so, respect yourself. Abi you wan buy this wahala?!" She terminated the call and placed the phone inside her bra. 


I watched the horror on Obuko's face and did nothing. He was dragged back into his one-room apartment like a child while he was shouting “I go kee you o! Make una telam o! I go kee person o!”


We didn't hear the door being bolted as Obuko wouldn't stop shouting. He suddenly fell silent as sounds of "DOO! GBOOGOON! GOOM! KPA!" replaced his voice. It went on for 30 seconds before the door flew open, Obuko out with it. He didn't stay on the ground for a second before he ran away, following one of the many corridors in our face-me-i-face-you habitat.


The rest of us didn't want to continue from where Obuko stopped. We disappeared, faster than even Obuko. 


Two hours later, we stood close to Obuko and comforted him. He had ice pressed to one of his eyes, a stitch on his head, one each on either side of his cheek, a torn lip with dried blood. Tears flowed uncontrollably from his eyes. 


"If nor be say dem temme say make I nor dey beat woman," he said, still crying. 


The boys and I looked at each other and nodded in pity, then replied simultaneously, "we know, bros. We know."

A MINER'S TALE


On a night underneath the beauty sky
Under the earth in miles, her finest cry
Salty fluids, lusty flesh, metal bones
I dug and dug, until I touched stones

CYCLE


Burnished with wax,
From the tree of life.
Being pierced is its tax,
Then will it feel alright.

CHARMED



Mind oblivious of its duties
I dash out to a pinkish sweet
A vampire, like in the movies
But, I only come alive after I eat

harlos:

So long that I can't remember how to spell your name.
Hope you are staying safe

Lol yes, bros. How You?

J2381:
you started writing dark poetry. What inspired you, Jiggz?

the idea of going out.
I sat on a fence one night and it occurred to me.

purples25:


Lovely.

thank you, Miss.

they laugh, but i fail to see the joke
i tried, but i failed to lift the yoke
this life, i just strain to see no hope
one drip, two drip, that's how I'll go

the stress, ate me until nothing's left
i'm blessed? maybe the cursed is my breath
i pledge, to take it off and i'm bereft
one drip, two drip, that's why i'm slow

i sat, in a corner of my room
i'm sad, and i ponder on my doom
life's fast, like virtual and like zoom
one drip, two drip, my eyes are closed

i drift, i glance at my savior
i grip, then rap my last prayer
my wrist, i slash with a razor
one drip, two drip, passed out i go



Jigs Lionheart

harlos:


Guy.... There is more to enjoy in this life o.
All this are test of time
E go be Ma 4

my man! how long has it been?

It must have been the hunger
Said the man looking at the mirror
Eyes sunken, throat looks longer

It could have been the garri
Five days without it already
Water is all his body now carry

Where did it all go wrong
He would ponder, palm on chin
It was every election day, all along

It is also because of the masses
Himself inclusive, mindless sheep
With whom leaders wipe their asses

How long would he stay like this
Even though he had decided: not anymore
He approached the rope tied to the ceiling



- Jigs Lionheart

PunFuMonQ:


I see you love poems and saw your last battle, somewhat impressive.

Let’s do a flex, whenever anybody sees it, they judge.

I no longer have access to my NL mail.
What's up? If you want, you could drop your mail and I'll message you.