LINES AND VERSES

These streets don’t give cold shoulders Like the opulent streets of Maitama Or the flowered crescents of asokoro But awakens you to a medley of wannabe dreams A flat, a shop – storeys emerging from a shanty! In a striking dissonance beauty transforms the beast The people are warm, the law is far You could smell the inner ghetto in your backyard And watch dreamers covet you in their dream While the louts eagerly await yuletide raid A path meets a roadway, power lines tempt balconies Someone fails to toe a plan Another builds on a sewage line, raises a fence Against the river, the river waits upon the rain Different sounds from different homes Different colour for every house The road turns pool when it rains While the river reclaims its lost land JUDE IFEME Subscribe to POETICALLY SPOKEN by Email Get the My Triond Articles widget and many other great free widgets at Widgetbox ! Not seeing a widget? ( More info )

The king makers unveil a new worthy son Teach a young monkey a few old tricks And let the best of the rabble whine or pine Let the followers of unscrupulous creed Master the craft of an age long greed A march on the hill, a march in the creek A march, and tear lines a side of the cheek … The fires give way to a dark purl of smoke The angels take home more luckless souls The law and its makers are left in a choke Another worthy son lose a faith in an oath Surrounds his sins with a fresh band of rogues Fistful and furious the battle endures… A fellowship of men, a pile of defeated ideas! A conquered people dream away Faraway, a mullah calls – the church bell rings Another day is born, perhaps a new king That may see not the calling of his time – Since the oldies still defy death, death visits Very the young The earth endures all pain, the earth swallows our pain The wind rages again, the sand blown away The toe of our buried rift looks around in glee Which wa

I look beyond the hoods of my eyes Nothing but these thoughts of mine; No guiding stars, no hovering skies, Try my feet on those paths I have made, yet I am a stranger To these things I own. Every man chooses to stand tall Be unbowed by their daily wars But someday a man will crawl To look at the world and see myself That’s when I am mostly lost. 2011© JUDE IFEME