Favours as Trust

 

How often do favours come to man
And he fears,
Lest they stray him to pomposity and self-conceit.
And favours could roll down with profusion,
That, if he chooses to forget himself,
Would think them the result of his wisdom,
or rather his cunning,
As much as they are his entitlement.

As a mien of nothingness, man is
Vulnerable at conception and delivery,
Even so, as he toddles the smarmy landscape
Of life that he naively feels to control.

And Trust looks loose, desirable, reachable,
And, therefore, happily beheld
With the eyes of a starving herd to hay,
Or the carnivorous type to their hapless prey.

The receiver of Trust  may weigh not the how
And wherefore of the burden,
Or his want of personal strength,
To deliver.
Nor may he be concerned on the risk of default.
Every favour is a responsibility assigned,
Confidence reposed,
A weight to discharge and account for.

Of fading wisdom and posterity

 

With super-abundance of food
Yet people are hungry,
No elder seems available to say:
“Cook the food and eat”.
All are thirsty though they are by the river,
For none is there to say:
“Fetch and drink your full”.
Although every house leaks,
No voice is kind to entreat:
“Why? Mend your roofs!”.
Education is all farewell “Eludetus”,
No collective courage
To make its domain “Hereditus”.
While remedies abound, all are sick,
As though all are afraid to say:
“Let’s treat ourselves”.
With dearth of leadership, age seems a burden
That, often, even legends are left with baggage
of wisdom with no space to share.

The Sage in all of us, and in our societies,
Is now a shabby, unneeded enigmatic being,  
Who should but sit, passively, staring at everyone,
As though gazing at players in a drama
Whose next scenes are a subject of perplexity.
He should speak not, except where instructed,
To beseech children to sally forth to their bidding.
His harmless demeanour, should only but
Elicit a “what does the old man think” murmur.
Where he came about, the steep snags-laden climb to his age,
not a bother,
He should only be a subject of pity, or perhaps, scorn.
He is to be referenced by his appearance and, often, his age,
Everyone’s duty, or so it seems, is to
Consign him to ignorance of the modern,
And, therefore, be accorded no voice in it.
This society which lives fully on caprices,
Where everyone ‘knows’ everything,
Their strength being used to fight but themselves.

Unmasking Covid-19

You were a menacing predator,
Who tiptoed spotlessly,
One sly step after another.
You were a virus without border,
Who covered entire spaces,
One sinister step after another.
You were an inglorious extremist,
Who unnerved the global population,
One innocent being after another.
You were a stealthy slayer, as
People consumed your toxin,
One fatal sip on another.
Your symptoms were “Covid”:
Common, unpretentious,
A cough here, a blocked nose there,
A headache, and/or a fever,
Signs of common ailments.
With innocence, people even wanted to cheer,
But, My Dear,
Victims chocked and gravitated to expire.

Blurry news of deaths, sadly, became clear,
From the West unto the East,
Where mortality was high,
And the South, where Covid became a scourge
Adding to the baggage of poverty and internecine conflicts.
Covid’s commands were gloomily “Covid”:
“Everyone, equally, to mask their face”,
“Equally, to stay distant from each other”;
“Nobody, equally, must travel”, and
 “Communities, equally, to be encased”.
So, spaces were closed,
All gatherings were stopped,
Normal lives became stalled.
It developed the authority,
Charted the ominous track,
And demanded broader obedience.
It allowed no differing opinions, and
Penalised all  who dared not to defer.
Indeed, with all due respect, you, "Covid",
Are a twisted feminist.  

  

 

  

 

Of Ziyad

“May the fingers of tyranny allow me some peace
When I dig and stay in a grave”.
So, dug a “grave” Ziyad did and goes to sleep “in peace”.
Or so he thinks, since he feels to be no longer a slave
of his environment, and of the politics of his state.
And so Ziyad goes and comes back to his chosen space,
Assured that his new found peace would not cease. 
He would stay in his grave and sleep as he so wish.
Questions were asked: “Why would Ziyad be such a cavefish?”.
“To live in a grave as though it was ones birthplace?”.
Busybodies convert his condition to a workspace.
Well, may such be someone’s headache, as for Ziyad
He strives and, at sunset, retires to “his grave”.

Nay, no freedom is there, after all, in “freetown”,
“Ziyad has abandoned his townspeople”,
the news adulteratingly filtered to the Crown,
Who ordered him to be dragged to the village steeple”.
Hauled he was, cloths tattered, blood smeared.
“How dare you intrude”, said Ziyad, “and disrupt
the Royal Council that I preside over , in my sleep, as a Sovereign?”
Laughed the King, who taunted Ziyad for 'hallucinating'.
“Laugh as you please”, a serious Ziyad rebuked the king,
“But mind your burden and your nauseating
insentience at the fragility of the powers you so cling.
While my fantasy ends as you woke me up from sleep,
Your reign withers off as you go to your final sleep”.

The cold in December

I always feel to be strong against the cold,
Which makes Funtua ‘dreadful’ since time old.
With the heightened harmattan haze from November,
Funtua becomes the ‘coldest’ Hausa plain in December.
The natives cherish this peculiar geography,
As a distinct part of their history.
‘Funtua’, you would hear it being said,
Is ‘where the cold makes the night seem dead’,
This is where the umbilical code of cold was cut.

However, I have been to where crushing cold,
Would but make Funtua’s to hastily fold,
And retreat speedily in search for shelter,
 “Gaba da gabanta”, as everyone jostles helter-skelter.
‘For every  cold situation, there is another much severer’,
Cracks on my skin, which appear drier and clearer,
Stand like a colony of maps horribly drawn,
My children would giggle as we exercise in the lawn,
Seeing dad’s legs covered with such funny cuts.

I feel like to say, when I see how
The piercing cold squeezes every bit of Vitamin D
Off my friends, whose heads also bald for want of Vitamin E:
‘Oh, blazing sun! Your shiny Excellency!
How I long for your 38°C,
I swear I can do with your 40°C,
When I could freely bask and feel thirsty,
Then eat those foods that are truly so tasty,
And have a dessert of our coveted kola nuts’. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Road worthiness

How we drive our vehicles,
Our Achabas and Okadas,
And weave our way across our roads,
Paint the true ‘us’,
Our tumultuous inner self.
The story of a family of road users,
Everyone a friend or a neighbour,
A colleague or a leader,
In confusion with themselves.
The sane the stranger and outcast.
As a ‘dutiful’ bunch we are happily reckless
In speed, as we flout the traffic signs.
Alas, there may be no signs.
Heedless, as we brake and as we turn.
Rash, as we speed over the ‘round-abouts’.
We disparage fellow commuters
As we sprint to beat the traffic light,
Where there are lights, anyway.
Everyone ‘joyfully’ exhibiting anarchy.
Neither age absolved, nor gender.
None worthy of the other's ear,
Or sympathy,
The leader, the follower,
The politician, the public servant.
Were sanity on our roads a manifesto,
Leadership would’ve led this twitchy family to stability.
Let’s  water this seeming bottomless pit
To save it from being a pit, fit only for the poo.

Longing

How devotedly does a young man behaves when he feels to love? He paints all the pictures of what he thinks represents his situation. He could, for example, pose long winding questions:

“Do I look for age,
when I labour for days,
And months and years,
Head up so are arms,
All worries fully borne,
My heart happy at most,
Wishing, Nay! Needing,
In the most privileged palms,
Securely to be caged,
in a purposeful love?”

He could go even further to create a beatific imagery of his targetted love: 

“A distinct spectacle.
Does nature get tired,
In providing you with vapour,
And sunshine to guard your texture,
Not to stifle your roses?
No! My dear floret so bright!!!
Blossoming with flawless fragrance,
You sway right and left,
In early morning bliss,
To rest only when there is no more breeze.”

And when the response to his desires is not forthcoming, he could plead. He could envisage what he thinks may be the cause for 'his love’s’ non-responsiveness and proceed to address them, persuasively.

“Don’t turn away and sigh,
Don’t Look bored and tired".
I quickly observed her,
Enveloped in a quandary.
She shrugged,
Searching incisively,
Needing more assurance,
"Are you not just a wanderer?
A malevolent freebooter?"
She discreetly wonders.

"Perceive the sun when it goes west,
And the stars quiet in their nests,
And the moon when it stands best,
They all work perfectly lest,
Any should cause injury to the rest,
I should think we signify a harmony,
In a twisted environment, an irony,
No one stimulates a disharmony,
Even if they live in ivory,
Or may have been to Germany”.

Of course, none is suitable for her attention but he. While prodding for consideration he often uses all the armoury of his strength to make a formidable appeal:

“I feel I am the butterfly,
Ordained to surround and fly,
And chase abominable flies,
Either set them to hurried flights,
Or get their wings all blight,
From you my flower so bright.
Can I, poor me, be wrapped in this fitting cloth,
And cover mine self in this world-wide space,
Then walk, tic and tic, with majesty as the clock,
And announce, ho-hey, that I, indeed, am loved?”.

Everyone should hope that these are genuine thoughts and offers which are meant to engender a long and lasting marital bliss. Then, all should wish them well.

Transience

When you look carefully back,
When you were on mama’s back
When you toddled and fell back,
When you happily began to walk,
When, being rude, you received a smack,
When you played with friends in the dark,
And made your dress all black;

Do you remember your school years?
While boarding with your peers?
Those moments, you were all cheers,
When you played and laughed with tears,
There were, as well, moments of fears,
When you had to run downstairs,
To hide from seniors and their sneers.

Do you recall when you started to work?
As a novice, you often got stuck?
Then you ascended due to your hard work?
Others would say this guy had lots of luck.
You created a spirit of teamwork.
You developed a successful network,
Of friends like a true Young Turk.

Life moved from one stage to the other,
You got married and became a father,
Begot one child after another,
Sisters and brothers growing up together,
Happy to have got a dutiful mother,
And the company of a lovely grandmother,
A family that prays for their forefathers.

You worked so people could have light,
You laboured all through the night,
I cannot recall seeing you fight,
Either with people or for your right.
Noble character led you to limelight,
As simple as good morning or good night,
Life can after all be a hallmark of delight.

You became a kind of celebrity,
Always wishing for prosperity,
And the need for giving charity,
Your kindness was surely a rarity,
It was easy to feel your sincerity,
I will align with you in solidarity,
So we could leave a mark for posterity.

Then, life winks its wide eye,
After you made the stakes high,
As clear to climb to the sky,
You retired, it was an emotional goodbye.
Slowly, you faded from the public eye.
Many years hence and I heard: ‘who is this guy?’
Could time not make age to stand by?

Then, I heard that you have died,
Was it true or have people lied?
I then noticed how everyone cried,
I praised God as our ultimate Guide,
There is no place for anybody to hide,
Those guided and those who misguide,
Leave your hair perpetually dyed.

Appreciating our colleagues

Two colleagues, Mustapha and Matilda, having completed their foreign service, were treated to a farewell party at the Embassy of Nigeria in Brussels, Belgium on the 17th July 2018. Praises were showered on the duo for their hard work and good naturedness. I missed the occasion as I was engaged in an official assignment. I however decided to make for my missed chance by composing an "Ode" to state my admiration for their dedication.

Everyone sees pleasure on your face

Good Matilda and Groovy Mustapha,

As you receive showers of praise,

A recognition of a rightful place

For the vigour with which you grasp,

Your work and the values you clasp,

You related well with the Mission,

And its staff to ascend the vision,

of a prosperous and secure nation.

Accept the good wishes of all.

Rank higher and higher, stand tall, 

His Excellency has said it all,

You stood like a very strong wall,

You worked well in answer to your call,

We are sad that you are leaving our fold,

But happy that you aspire to unfold,

Potentials you devotedly got tenfold,

Make your work ethics a stronghold,

So others could mimique your foothold

Changing the climate

Once upon a time, through all climes,

Society was Peaceful and fragrant,
Occupationally responsible.
It protected nature as it would children from danger.
Humans remained humans, and animals animals.
The weather smiled in hearty approval and responded

With courteous disposition.
Dry seasons fetched the Rains, Winter the Spring,
Ushering abundance and assurance.
Trees grew taller, grasses greener and air fresher.
The expansive wild ensured no animals went extinct.

The great sea keeps the Alps and Atlas in strategic juxtaposition
So no one rocks the boat.
Travellers reached destinations and returned Safely,
To the merriment of compatriots.

Then enters Globalisation where

Ominous possibilities proliferate.
Furious technologies of Space and war
Alter the fabric of nature, un-taming its bowels,
Exuding, among others, a repulsive bile:
The ubiquitous climate change.
Green House Gases ooze to deflate the Ozone. 

Warmer temperatures melt age old glaciers and
Acidify oceans.
Unto the world unrolled the quadruple phenomena of 
Tsunamis, Fires, Draughts and wars,
Which lacerate the earth,
Add tons of heat and socio-economic scars,
To keep everlasting fountain of tears
On its once beautiful face.

To allow this edginess of man who breaks his back 

To perfect skills and tools to annihilate,
The Earth converges its experiences,
Shortens its distances.
G.M.O. then determine our lifestyles,
A.I. makes a sea change of them,
And on our humanity, our sense of Justice.
Elsewhere becomes everywhere.
Conflicts swell among erstwhile harmonious communities.
Righteous peoples displace and maim
women, Children and the old.
Deaths from unfathomed ailments
No longer were alien.
Humanity’s poor feels technically at sea,
Their cries rising in the wilderness.

Woes in pictographic clarity are reported
With mirthless smiles and tear-less eyes.
Modern society moves with extraordinary revisionist fervour,
To question its basis of existence.

Orphans

He appears topsy-turvy,
Not measuring up to his class,
His mind seems hollowed,
Emptying at the bottom what enters from the top.
Children giggle at his jumpiness,
His clumsiness.
He has few friends
Or no friends.
Is he really a daft?
His mind wiggles with fright
When he recalls how his father
Was hacked in the middle of the day,
and his mother taken away,
When his village was ransacked
by the insurgents.
He was suddenly orphaned
And made vulnerable.
But for his rescue he recalls not
Where and how he wondered
In the wilderness of his native land.
He is now treated well
With kindness.
“You are handsome my child”
Will utter his new father.
“It will be the last time you experience
The sound of any blast”.
“You will forever be safe”.
He would be held by the hand
When he is carried to the school.
He would be sat by the right
When they eat at night.
He would be checked upon
When he sleeps.
He brightens up
As he attained ten.
His teachers were amazed
At his new found intuition.
He understands all that’s taught to him.
Children found him pleasantly cheerful.
Many of his mates and others,
Orphaned through different circumstances,
were similarly treated by good Samaritans,
who, though scattered, have
Homes away from theirs.
Hearty display of humanity
Which but develops greatness out of adversity.
May God bless they who cater for orphans.

Guard thine loin

Stories were told to children,

Of the years past,
Which were dry and hard,
Occasioning tight harvests,
Inadequate to feed the folks.
Life, between the seasons,
Was passed with hunger and pains,
Uncertain of the future of kids,
And women and the weak.
Of everyone.
Fear was the mother common to all.

Then the sky appears high,
Clear and blue.
The sun rises and shines.
The weather blows warm air,
Inviting the clouds,
Bringing hope for the rains.
Happiness spreads again,
And again, and again.
Confidence appears high,
Among the Inhabitants,
Who prepare for the farms.

Use the rains wisely.
Cultivate all crops extensively.
Grains, tubers and fruits.
Manage your produce cautiously.
Use what you need.
Forget not the needy.
Store excess “for the rainy day”.
Let no rodent pilfer your stock.
Stand guard against scavengers,
Lest they take you back,
Deeply back to oblivion.

Mercy

Respect they who live with infirmities,
including poverty and inequities,
caused by sleaze, misrule and plagues,
those with disease who can hardly ‘breath’,
those with faulty limbs or with none at all.
I do not infer those who fall,
In the abyss of poverty that is tyranny,
custodians of greed and debauchery.
I do not surmise maladies induced by mischief,
that will forever remain a source of grief,
And a burden with no immediate relief.

I mean those whose lives are put on line
of life’s battle field infested with mines.
Struggling for normal lives,
often held by ‘sticks’ and ‘knives’.
Yet they move on in tranquillity,
Bearing deprivations with equanimity.
Most think they bear no pains,
since they entreat not anyone for aids.
They own everything as they seek to find,
Peace as strength for their body and mind.
Better being calm than going wild.

They project greatness of intention,
Not to dirge over their condition,
But strive for lawful sustenance,
within what their ability could countenance.
‘My condition’, they say, ‘is but a test,
to make me great of character and grace’.
Those may be physically malformed,
but we are morally deformed.
They do little in the positive way,
We do more but in disarray
So we are continually entrapped in rage,

We are well formed in physique and health,
And basking in unlimited wealth,
With jobs and wages well ahead of the rest,
We build appetite for all that is best,
But we grumble and look sideways always,
following ways to circumvent decent ways.
We impose, on our fellows, awful situations,
Yet block their chances of getting solutions.
Those hardly get what to cover their head,
They eat just in order to forge ahead,
and hopefully put their minds at ease,

We eat and belch without shame.
We feel not to share in the blame.
Our bloated guts and sleaze,
Appear as eloquent symbols of our greed.
Is big necessary though it engenders regrets?
I thought a blessed little could make us great,
And help us to achieve our noble goals,
of developing hearts of gold?
Let’s positive fragrances permeate the air.
Flowers of sympathy should stand clear,
to make mercy our goal and charted sphere.