In the Wild

I came from the green and leaves

Sand, water and mud

Hide, thick like Loxodonta Africana

Skin, black like the infinite abyss

Years dusted away with the beast

Out west, a man without a mission changes

I came from the forgotten places

A little past the the now bleeding Congo

where end time dragons pester and plunder

.

full circle when you recollect

Of wood and sugar

Across the desert, they came

Face slapped with an imported cross

..

Two ancient horned beasts

leading the blind to the valley for slaughter

white robe floating on elevated water

Destroying my own pigment

While exporting my own heart

false narrative

twisted tongue

Mind castrated

herstory forsaken

The land of the big waves ridden

with cancer

The taste of black for so long

in the world tasted bitter

No one cares for us

Souls scattered across the Atlantic

….

Now,

I seek mine and mine only

Culture belonging to me

Lands inherited from oral history

Livvin

Around the city

The noise of celebration

Looting! some call it

I don’t care

We’re here

Standing on bricks

We’re here

Concocting smoke bombs

Dazy sights, throat coughed up

We are here

focused

fighting

restless

through the confusion

of this new age:

pilling old constricted adages

down, on and over our souls

Beyond skin

Finding love in different eras

To be free from the within

Finally after so long

Yeah! at night like this

The moon runs into hiding

The wind, effortlessly brave

Soothing with ambition

finds the well: infinite

And the Youth will drink

To forge a new voice

bringing all out from extinction

Old Soldier, New War

During the times that have come by, I pray for war to come. Not these new modern warfare. The old kind. Those ones stationed between battle noise and mud trenches. The zipping sounds of mortars, as empty bullet shells illuminate the blood heavy war terrain. Soldier boots marching through old places that were once called new homes.

Yes, I pray night and day. Night and day! Yes, for at night sleep refuses me and tosses me in between my past memories and a future I remain nameless.

………………………………..

These drones are empty vessels. They are transporters of bad news and death. For our souls do hunger for a reason to accept sleep, but no! Not these ones. These silent birds made with fiber like materials only look down, fall flat, and never return up.

Like thin dots silently scattered.

Only if your hands be wide as the oceans floors and you bring them together then one might see how much these dots have cost us.

…………………………………

I grow sick by the hour. Every hour eaten in silence. Every chance taken just to remain still. I grow deeper into my own anger. Madness beckons daringly close ….and I fear I will welcome it back home.

Commander Bull. ENTRY #204881

Battlefront Shagari Sector, Year 2098

The Crying Guitar

Tears from a string

Another morning preaching the word ‘disaster’

Fragments of recurring wrongs

Southern dilemma

Hands held high

Buckets filled to the brim

Colors mismatched with red and gun powder

Feet of soldiers, prints of herdsmen

The fuss going all night

Bringing the finale to the break of dawn

Last time I write these words, I pray

 

The Crocodile City

ON THE ROAD / KADUNA ABUJA EXPRESSWAY
The city stank of death and utter desolation. Many dirty gutters were scattered all over the city showering their many unwanted blessings to those who dared to breathe.

The city was abundantly filled with platinum lies;

“Records of misdirected words

Mixed with a rejuvenated beast

Marked with a line of ill

Too ill to spill puke

Too insane to sniff coke

How far, too long

Till she shakes off her pride

And then all that was wrong spins around

Back along that same place

Where honey tasted better than sex

There she lay, the Queen of the night, deep inside the city of crocodiles.”