Showing posts from February, 2012


Years Before these twin hills Adorned the plains of your chest I paid your price, In coins And hours, bent On your father's farm. Today, On this virtuous sheets You become mine, I reap the wages Of a heart that loved And a back That ached for love. I have counted The  jigida  on your hilly waist And these sheets, Stained with the brush of passion, Bear witness That I met, betwixt, a wall, Not a trodden road.


  You lie face to the wall And I know, you've strayed again: Your guilt smells like fart. The voices come now Filling the hollow that is my soul, One silent, the other loud. I feel their hands Prodding the holds of my heart, One warm, the other cold. Should I yield To loves's tugging fingers Or the icy claws of revenge? Or should I let this sin pass Like fouled air Blown away by a gentle breeze? I sleep now, with this thought: Soured love is sweetened Only by the sugar of forgiveness. .


I. Must I Paint the visage Of my love On the canvas of Naira bills Or shall you Cleave with my heart And empty this cup Of Cupid's wine While I sit At your feet in supplication? II. These trinkets I place before thee This day, See them not As the rainbow of my love For a thousand colors there be yet In the pastel Of this stricken heart Squatting At your feet in supplication. III Does The green grass Over the fence And the bird Flying yet in the bush Hold a promise Of love more fervent Than my heart Doth offer At your feet in supplication?


I stand before you empty, Circumcise My heart with love Or dis-virgin it With the bile of rejection. Write notes On this empty slate That is my virgin heart And pluck me on love's strings: A lullaby or a dirge. Mold me, Soft and willing, I'll be- The formless clay In your hands Waiting to be shaped. I shall be What you make of me For now I am But an  emptiness Seeking to be filled.


Little boy Thinks he can prance In the fields Where many have roamed And lived not To know the feel Of sharpened blade On a hairy jaw. Little girl, Says she can dance To the music Of the creaking bamboo For her swells and her curves Hold more men bound Than the fetters Of the jailer-man. Boy and girl, They dance in the fields Moving to the music Of lost hearts But they know not That the fields and the music Be their grave And their unsung dirge. The gods of the land, They watched As the seeds were planted In the mounds Without the blessing of greyed voices. The Gods spoke And the verdict of death Came on the wings of lightning.


I sing- A love song for you- With the lips- Of my stricken heart. You do not hear- Because- I move only- The lips of my heart. Do hearts- Not have ears- That they may hear the lips- Of another heart speak? I walk- Past your window again- Singing another song- On the lips of my heart. I'll pass again- Tomorrow and the days after- Singing till you hear- The words on the lips of my heart.