Dance of Innocence

The past like a raving wave
beats incessantly on the mind's bank
nagging thoughts from yesterday's grave,
lay siege of our anticipated tomorrow

tethered dreams, hopelessly battle
every battle, a web is spun
until we are fettered over again
by those thoughtless webs, we spun!

Who says innocence is a vice?
Let him probe the guiltless stare of babies
who giggle playfully at mother's painful writhe
after biting so hard on her tender tits!

yet, mothers still curdle them close to her heart
knowing that moment of ignorance must be forgiven
for such guiltless acts in innocence,
are the greatest show of love.

for our yesterday lurks in the corner,
waiting to snatch every moment of happiness.
when we look, we find emptiness
but the past is that trailing shadow,
that walks life's mile with us

Therefore, roll out on life's dance floor
and let us partake in the dance of innocence!
for we worry for tomorrow's music
that never may be heard
while today's rhythm waste away
and none to embrace it!

Maiden No More

She prides in the robe of innocence
Hanging down voluptuous frames
That pokes at virility
But to remain veiled
Her immortal task
For in such mask
Lies the masquerade’s pride

She the prey of distant poachers
That prowls the forest
Partitioned among themselves like coat of colours
In morbid curiousity they lust
For several moons they were lost
Fizzled in the African sun
Their treasure, her veiled nakedness

For when they found her
Wrapped in glaring innocence
A gift of lust to present
coated in colours of love
for what is love?
and what maketh lust?
the soul is the essence
the presence gratifies that sense

And with that coital resolution
once advanced to a climax
with bellows of passion
began as a glow so tender,
he treads the intricate
devoid of delicate desires
with un-bearing clamouring
rather spurred by sinful sense
he sends forth liquid mortals
leaving the ‘man below’ limb
exorcised of his emotional frailty
a glimmer in his eyes

They left us…………….
their morbid curiosity gratified
but in our heart, a wound
the African sun, never can heal

We die No More!

Tell the waiting vultures
that prowl the streets of Africa,
preying on the remains of our brothers
yanking their lifeless limbs apart!

Taking refuge in my silhouette
trailing behind wounded children,
waiting till our last breath is drawn,
and a human dinner is declared ready!

But tell the waiting vultures
that no more carcasses will litter the streets.
Our continent, no more a grave yard
where dreams are murdered, yet unborn
and visions stifled, still in its bud!

End of the World

I peered through my imagination
with eyes that could in dreams tell
of a world devoid of destruction
inscribed in my heart forever

My lonely brush dances on the smooth canvas
with each patten rippling crest after crest
until my imagination blazes a trail
a rebirth of serenity!

The moon speaks in bright palette
a language only spoken in tranquil climes
the leaves opens-up to the sun's warm embrace
a rebirth of nature!

For when this world rolls away
and our pains erased from memory lanes
then shall our long lost dream come alive
the end of the world,

... the beginning of a new world!

The African dream

Bloated bellied breeds of coloured race;
spindly, dangling frames for support;
eyes deeply sunken with no mist of hope,
laced with lashes of hunger

These are my kindreds --
frail buds of the giant Iroko tree
that fosters the tropic African forest;
now hewn down and left to rot.

Children butchered in parent-less homes
where papa nurtures aborted dreams.
Forcefully enlisted to war
against fellow brothers;
mama lays still, in a pool of blood,
sacrificed for our wishful tomorrows.

We roam the streets of Africa,
no longer terrified by death's mournful knell:
for our death lies in us
the mystery of our empty bloated bellies.

Yet, we will survive
amidst the incessant threats of penury
and the rumblings of infirmity
from one vicious cycle to another.

We wear a face, naked with hunger
and resigned to forlorn feast.
When in some distant continents,
children have enough to eat and throw away
yet, we will survive!

Tell the waiting vultures
that prowl the streets of Africa,
preying on the remains of our brothers
yanking their lifeless limbs apart, NO MORE!

Taking refuge in my silhouette
trailing behind wounded children,
waiting till their last breath is drawn,
and a human dinner is declared ready!

But tell the waiting vultures
that no more carcasses will litter the streets.
Our continent, no more a grave yard
where dreams are murdered, yet unborn
and visions stifled, still in its bud!

For our sun will rise again,
and our earth will bud,
adorned in the colours of nature.
Our barns will burst in abundance;
we will speak one language, one word, PEACE

This is the African dream.
The cause for which our fathers died.
The cause for which we WILL live!

Silent Soliloquy (Is black beautiful?)

Alive, though dead!
for though dead, yet i am alive!
accused and accursed
I am caged eternally!

Free, yet prisoned
though prisoned, yet I am free
to walk within the space
restricted by the fetters of penury!

Tethered to a stake
I can only wish for sleep
to sleep, to die
for to die, to rest eternally
from the cruel lashes of pestilence!

For if black is beautiful,
why do i suffer such shame?
and grope in endless darkness?

The traveler's gift

Navigating love’s thoughtless paths,
Like the palace fool over again.
Searching secret sanctuaries of sacred hearts,
But getting less than I bagain’d

I have stumbled on different breeds,
Of fragile mortals who spew venom
Desecrating love’s sacred creeds
For such is their norm.

Now the traveler is back,
And my travailed heart sings
For a love returned in flapping wings
But my heart, to hack!

The fragile arm of waiting lad
Outstretched with hopes for a return gift
A sinking heart to give a lift
But you chose to make them sad

You are back
With treasures on my feet, lain
Wrapped in a lurid gift of pain
My heart to crack!