I Have Seen Poverty

 

It stares at me everyday on news headlines

It glides like Lagos state traffic

It screams in the ruined town of Maiduguri

It flows like River Niger along Onitsha boarder

 

Yes I have seen poverty

 

It lives in the swollen belly of Somalia kids

It swims in the painful tears of Sudan kids

It plays with kids on the street of Freetown

She is the smiling toothless kid of Congo

 

Yes I have seen poverty

 

Embedded in the long speeches of Mallam Sanusi

It is sleeping near Abacha’s resting place

It is living on Dimba Igwe’s regular column

Google Africa you can find her in abundance

 

Yes I have seen poverty

 

It flies around with flies near many open latrines

It lays lonely in many rusty water pipelines

It hovers over us as a thick fog

It flies to Swiss banks for vacation occasionally

 

Yes we have all seen “poverty”

 

#greendiarynotes

Heart of a lover

Come home my handsome lord
The moon is out to seek lovers
Come! let’s delight in its light
Forget the warm bosom of virgins

Nectar is sweet only for a while
Honey soothes the body and mind
Leave the drunks at their table
Come feast on a royal table

Forget philosophers and their words
Would they ever understand Love?
Come and hear of your future glories
In my bosom your happiness lies

Even without riches of gold
Or the features of your body
I will be by you my love
Steady and strong

Smiling and telling you
Sweet life stories all barren years
Till the rain returns
To our heart’s delight

You are my moon and my bloom
My rain and my rainbow
My tears and my laughter
My strength and my love

 

Wandering Ghosts of the North

Hate! Hate!! They screamed

Marching through and destroying all values

In anger they touched our cities

A beautiful arson they perfected

 

The soothes settle on empty roads

A silent town of wandering ghosts

Ghosts of the hundreds killed

Their crimes nothing but fate

 

They angry ghosts of the north

Are left to wander forever

Rambling to themselves of in-justice

Silently, the world ignored them

 

(Written for the thousands of victims killed in Northern Nigeria

Under the guise of Religious “fanatism”)

Broken Spell

Life is a miracle and love a myth

Finding the perfect one is the magic

Plenty perfect faces in the crowd

Coming and going in a frenzy

Once the spell is cast

The magic begins to take toll

 

You re-live in your head

Every little moment spent together

Even your dreams and thoughts

Becomes a theater for her show

Reality merges with illusions

Then slowly you are drown

Deep down the toxic ocean of love

 

At dawn, it is her voice you crave

At dusk, it is her arms and lips

Beneath the moonlight

Her eyes sparkle like no other

At the first hint of sunlight

Her thoughts sets the day off

 

Life is a miracle and love is magic

Endlessly you spun poems about her

Singing love songs with vivid images

You see beauty in everything

Even shadows take an abstract beauty

Such is the power of love’s spell

 

One morning you wake alone

A stale smell of sweat from the nightmare oozes

You start to remember it all

How it went down crumbling

The little fights and without warning

She had fled!

 

#greendiarynotes

An Africa mother’s Advice

 

Where heads you my son?

Tonight witches shall gather

Soon the sun will go to bed

Ndubisi my son come home

Come lay in your mother’s arm

Let my love protect you

Till dawn in my warmth

 

Come my son

The moon is full tonight

Let me tell you stories

The morals you must hold

Close to your heart all your life

Let them guide your thoughts

Leading you through life’s path

 

My son

You’re a prince

Like an ant be wise

Let your judgment be sound

Let your heart be filled with mercy

Give alms to the poor

Give food to the hungry

 

My son

Fear the woman

Her love is sweet

Her heart is dark

Keep your strength

For the love you shall find

And you shall be fruitful

 

My son

I have watched you grow

Your temper is quick

I fear it would destroy you

Hold it in check

Say but a few words

Let them be your bonds

 

 

My son

Your are my strength

Do not forget me when am old

Remember the breast that fed you

And the back that carried you

Let my old bones cling unto you

Let my dry skin feel your warmth

 

My son, soon

I will be gone from here

Uphold your father’s name

Let not his legacies die

Do me proud in your deeds

From the spirit land I will smile

For even in death I will watch you

#greendiarynotes

Mother, my first love

Mother has always been there

My first images of the world

Were her pair of beautiful eyes

It keenly watched me since

Never too rebuking nor approving

They just shone on like a beacon

 

Mother was the first concept of beauty

My mind recognized on earth

Her features soft and comforting

Hers; was the first voice that sang to me

The first smile that shone on me

The first fingers that trickled me

 

Mother taught me to speak kind words

Corrected me till I made perfect sounds

Never tiring of my meaningless babbles

Always ready to hear and smile

Many mornings she woke me before twilight

And read me bibles verses till twilight

 

Mother was my first instructor

She taught me to read time

The hours, minutes and seconds

When to eat, play and sleep

She taught me the changes of weather

The myths behind storms and rainbows

 

Mother guided me through my first steps

She held and steadied me

Till I was strong and firm

I watched her closely everyday

And imitated her facial expressions

Her smiles, laughter and rebuke

 

Mother prepared my first meals

And for many years too

So her dishes formed my taste buds

How I always hunger for those manna

Mother was my first everything

My friend, my confident and my lover

 

 

First kiss

I remember that night well

It still makes my head swell

Though many years ago

Still vivid like a moment ago

It was night’s depth

By two white candles lit
Surrounded by empty desks

And mesmerized by books

Breeze came without warning

Then thunder and lightning

Off went the candles along

Sure the night would go wrong

She sighed, casting her eyes around
I inhaled her whole now

The shampoo, deodorant, her fragrance

It filled my senses

There was a strong arousal

That got a little sensual

As her little fingers found my hair

Emptying my lungs of air

Her soft lips found me first
It was our very first

The rain always reminds me
What It felt like to be you and me

POETRY IS A WOMAN

One of those lonely nights
When warm arms is greatly desired
The cold so harsh my skin cracks
In desperation I took to poetry
To ease my every pain
Nothing formed in my imagination
So I drifted off into an illusion
Soon my pen hit the floor
Around some dark corner
A guitar stood against the wall
Sorrowfully I pulled at the strings
Melody in harmony with my soul
Around me I saw beautiful maidens
Slowly we sang my song
Tears filled their eyes
In their sorrow I captured my pain
In their eyes my being reflected
No words could describe
The perfect picture painted
Here was poetry written in a maze
I was dazed by the warmth
Conjugal bliss without a touch
Enchanted by the magic of the moment
An aura of woman hood
I drifted back with a smile on me
A blank sheet staring back

‪#‎greendiarynotes‬

Nigeria: when will the shameful image of the police force change?

Welcome to Nigeria where the police harass indiscriminately the very people they were paid to protect. It is so common an occurrence that most people try to avoid any confrontation with these force men even when necessary for crime to be averted. The profession of police in this end has become a money hunting venture where every crime including no crime has a price once the police apprehend you.

If you happen to report a case to the police station you will be charged a fee before action is taken regarding your case, you pay according to the weight of your case.

If your vehicle is stopped on the road and one of your document is missing “that is when they decide to check” you pay according to your status. If by chance every paper is intact still the smiling cop won’t relent till you part with a small bill. Numerous cases of bus drivers shot because they refused to part with as little as 20 naira has been swept under the carpet. Such action is even viewed upon as norm in our country and the families are left to bear the blunt.

The primary objectives of the police in this country has at no time received adequate attention from the men in uniform, in fact there were many cases of police aided crimes during the era of high way robbery. Thank God for the improved banking systems and transportation so that traders no longer have to travel with huge sums under risky conditions.

The several efforts of past administrations to reform the Nigeria police have woefully failed as our police has remained the same crime infested organization. So long as the thousands of little check points remain around every nook and cranny of this country harassing free moving citizens, exhorting them this shameful image of the police will remain.

N.B. we must not the fail to commend the efforts of few police men who have served the nation diligently. Men who have sacrificed their life so that the law could be upheld and human life protected, it is people like them that give us hope for a better police force in the future.

The policemen and the bus driver

They live on this particular street
Just further down after a junction
One big family of boggling belle men
Clothed in black and strapped with rusty guns
Here they make separate laws
Every passerby must pay tax

Through same route the bus driver
Ply his trade, seeking daily bread
With his bundle of painted metals
That threaten to always fall apart
With all his might and strength, he hustles
Struggling all the way to make ends meet

Each time the bus driver passes, he pays
Without checking papers and luggage
The men in black wave him on
Happy and contented with their loot
The driver mumbles as he drives away
Wondering what he had paid for?

Over the years, the looting became a norm
Norm the men in black took serious
Come what may (Condemnations and counter laws)
They fend off the other man’s meager income
Yet leave him at the mercy of real criminals
A duty, duly paid for. .

One day the bus driver had nothing to give
He begged and begged, but the other men refused
Hardhearted and in-movable they stood
Angry, the bus driver turned on his ignition
Angry the men in black cocked their rusty guns
He shifted gears, they pulled their triggers