POEM: Through the eyes


Through the eyes of the past
I saw fear and anger
How metals clashed with bones
And how fires melted pure souls
When tears were manure to grounds
That bore our marks and earths bound

Through the eyes of the present
I fear for my anger
How automated minds will spill
Blood for fire and blood for water
Love will find its boundary
And murder for its flaming cause
Where words will find its own curse

Through the eyes of tomorrow
I want to see a smile and tear
Of joy to stay and wean peace
In war or words, fate shall not tire us
Pain shall subdue its sharp edge
Around the curve of life we go
To twinkling stars beyond blues
To loved ones who died with no clue

Through your eyes
I see fear and saw anger
Through your eyes
I saw joy and see sorrow
Through your eyes
I see the future of yesterday
The past of the present
I see a whole new eye
And eye that loves
With lips that curve.
Yes; through your eyes



 “In our traditional African society we were individuals within a community. We took care of the community, and the community took care of us. We neither needed nor wished to exploit our fellow men”.  These words were spoken by Julius Nyerere, spoken to a western future of the African society, what capable thought to ignite such strength, such unity, such courage, and such words.

 Africa has grown to be a gun a friend of mine once said, with Nigeria as its trigger but what are the bullets made of? The 21st century has been all about greatness said on the lips, but not acted upon even a little tip of it, Legends like Marcus Garvey, Jomo Kenyatta, Haile Selaisse I, Mandela, Martin Luther King Jnr are all the finish bullets of a onetime fine Africa, people who in the shadows of despair lifted us to where there was light, and as descendants of these foreseen greatness, how have we lived by it?

 These years are so desperate, we fill our cups with corruption, bribery, terrorism, wars, and they keep on been longer on the list, there’s no little sense of humanity in unity again, a seed of beauty now matures to be an ugly tree, our fruits keep been bad because we will not see the future as ‘they’ did, our leaders have eyes opened as though the forbidden fruit has been plucked, when a man leaves his home to learn how to take a million lives for the sake of others with no cause (terrorism), it used to be wars and all about them safeguarding the community of African welfare, tradition, belief and dispersion. Let alone our participation in world affairs, we have high esteem for recognition and not for the name we bear “Africans”, been repute with no thoughts of home, fulfilling that community our fathers have flagged for years, painting our pride lost and removing awareness of greatness and fearlessness in us, we have now learnt to fight to survive, survive in the shadows, possessing greatness and flush it with despair. Have we lost it all?

 It’s now time children are brought up in the ways of our fathers, but who will teach them? The western world has clouded our path to redemption and has filled our bellies with lies of the new world as we lay on soft deceptions and smile with intentions, so I guess it is true then when Jumo Kenyatta said

“When the missionaries arrived, the Africans had the Land and the missionaries had the Bible. They taught how to pray with our eyes closed. When we opened them, they had the land and we had the Bible”

Nevertheless Black is said to be evil, black is war, and been African is all about been black and just as the participation in the recent World Cup Competitions by Africans was of poor result, it takes down a note that God may not be hearing our black cry because of our black hearts. If you believe our redemption is missing then it is true, ‘The ugly ones have been born’.

Rigmarole Intentions, My new year’s release

Where I falter to become further away from procrastination and overwhelming pasts, time has grown impatient with me and she wants my head on a purple linen with honor to my father and in reverence to my blood. What then have I gathered when falling wails will soon drench my dry home and sickening memories will puke ill thoughts. Where has destiny gone to, I ask too?
This wasn’t the notion, it was not the same sketches from the drawing board. I will put up mysticism on a shelf of blurry gates, the same ones guided by the snake of virtue (truth). My definition shall finally weigh more than thick feathers or gold, I too the armor of coin in person bounded by the chains humble to the earth as to the potter’s dust. Where else shall eyes not see if not wondrous glory with elevating stories, like victory, defeat and faith. I shall feed too on fears and fate your own will with wisdom. In the lost parchment of desire we will star up and stir the skies, pair up and touch the prize, let us paint with melodic notes and notions, put up lotions of self and I, where men fail and hero’s perish. Let I stand on the pylon that Redemption shall speak forth with an accord every is to listen to. Words, Words, Words.

OPEN CHRISTMAS LETTER TO SEN GNS PWAJOK (member Plateau North Sen Council) on issue of an undone 1year project


Its a cold Christmas morning, I’m sure in the north pole its frosty, well I couldn’t sleep well last night and now I’m up very early because I’ve been thinking about you and its pretty surprising considering the fact you’re not a lady with heavy bossom as my friend Vincent will say, hmmmmmm! Its high time I just tell you how I feel.
See I’m not a politics fan or freak but I like when things are done the right way especially when we have the power and authority to, you know precisely the point I’m trying to make here (if you attend Right way ministries) *chuckles*. Wait the present administration is ruled by your uncle which I don’t know how you relate or is it by blood? Let’s just say tribe, yes! Tribe, and to think of it you are a wise man and an aspiring young man with a lot of blurred visions at the moment because you cannot be a Senator for just a regime and not think of assuming it again, especially not in Nigeria, Lai lai! It doesn’t work that way, you now in your big mind should have sat for another term and then do the goody goody you can do, like involving all these vibrant youths who will kill themselves for you at the moment with something to keep them going, but No, you won’t, in fact if you don’t know there’s present division amongst your tribesmen and been a senator representing them I expected you to have brought unity to them but No! Okay that is not a problem for you abi? But biko what have you even done? Tell me oh because I don’t even know, I’ve grown all my life in Jos and I’ve seen a few things but haven’t seen a thing you’ve done.
Okay that aside sef, I’m sure you’re happily thinking of how much Christmas party you might put on later that is if you want to celebrate since you’re still the talk of the town after people have painted their houses with your face insulting us and staring blindly through those eye glasses you wear, are they medicated? I hope they are because you cannot see clearly enough that whosoever put you up to this messed up situation just ridiculed you and your tribesmen, see I know power is like two fools on a sit but please stop acting it, I even heard rumors that you’d  be dropped from your present aspiring pool, hmmm I wonder where you’ll swim to cause its like a 2-0 thing but that’s none of my business
Okay back to the real matter, let me close this and open the real deal, See ba Mr Senator you picked up a transformer and dropped it in our area, yes I said you dropped it cause you ordered it, And yes we got your message, you want light to be fixed in my area so we can say yeah you took care of your people but sir, its been what 15 months since the transformer stepped it toes to that position and no better light still, its like an uncooked rice served to children, the transformer has not been fixed. I don’t know if you are at fault or the MDG you hired in fact at the moment I don’t care, all I ever wanted was light and you lifted our hopes and shattered it to the floor, that’s not fair, how will I promise you that you will have the Governor’s seat by 2015 and don’t help you campaign or rig it, you see its not fair, even at the moment where you have political ambitions sef, don’t jeopardize this oh, let me give you a little illustration you see all of us that grew up with brothers as siblings when having our bath, I’ll scrub my brother’s back while he scrubs mine, it’s like symbioses, very mutual, do you get my point, so its either you come and carry your transformer back or fix it for us, you know what they say one beans spoil the others, do you have any idea how many residents you will be helping out? See now this Christmas period is a disaster because there’s no light to iron, bake cake or even watch TV since my parents weren’t paid salaries so that makes my Christmas boring. Now that you are senator you have not learnt to complete your project, is it when you become governor? You know the funny thing is that even some people staying around here with me will still vouch you’re a good man because you are their tribesmen, sha when they grow and start understanding things the way they are they will know that its not because Elisha is a name close to Elijah but God chooses his Moses. Oya lemme go back to sleep and I hope this time I sleep well since you have become the Grinch. Merry Christmas sir

Her Pain ‘Tape the Ape of Rape’


So he composed his notes
The same cover on deeds like coats
Guts over fear in hell’s doom
And conscience dead to the sad boom
He waited patiently for moons to shine
And nights fine
And waited
He waited
To hear footsteps fall like deeds to the ground
Then in delight of insurance he’d mound
With fists in eyes and shouts in hand
Slowly victimizing his mind’s stand
Until he pulled
And pulled

Out the covering of figs torn too shallow
Where he pierced until it was hollow
There he fed his satanic pleasure
Innocence stolen, frightened measure
Not once or twice
More than once or twice
She too remembers
Like meadow in the gardens outcast
How nights were soon and mornings were fortune

Yes she remembers
Everything in its embers
When that moment was lost to lust
She’d grieve for her mishap and how pain was sharp
Piercing through shields of maturity and clarity
When mothers overwhelmed and contend
When she has her future taken before her own nurtured
Eyes behind sounds familiar to tears
Her companion became invisible before
‘Had I known’ I’d be evening where there I
Cursed nights cause fight was not mine
Her pain
She painted
In memories distorted within the fear
My dear
I have missed you
Tied to the ropes of destiny I do not understand
Under the tree of chance and choice
The bandit of gone and ever
Eternal and hit thermal
Forgery and its believer
I want home and not stone
This not the end but middle
Even in the dust of disease
I will love you my dear
I hope she hears my songs
With no chorus and stanzas
My dates with no numbers but words
He can’t bury your seed
He can’t take you away
He’s not death
Is he?
Tell me its okay
We’ll move out into a space of erasers
Come home sister
I feel your sorrow has tilted my life
And I’ll forever fight till the end
Until vengeance has eaten its cake
From the life of pain I shall bake.
When from this tape how I take this ape.


So much has been born since the conception of your demises, the flag is still green in turns of stained black, as proud as our name is we try to stand for who you all have made us become, is it the oil or mineral resources? its like now a brood of wildlife,  we now live to not hear those stories: survival of the fitted.  The blankets of sorrows in the past years has not been easy, children missing? Or is it the ‘our money eh’ that is stolen and pardoned to be returned in half or sometimes forgotten.  No! You did not fight for all these certainties,  the rapture finding doom of your hoses on this roof on fire is now fueling. In the ashes of your sweat we will not despair, whether we’ve been lied to as the new generation or not we will not give up. Our hands will forever clench onto the sands we were moulded from. Nigerian from birth and Nigerian to Death. Happy Independence my dear Fatherland.

Dedicated to those heroes whose songs have never been sung or yet to sang.



At first, it sounded like dawn, as thou I awoke the sun
A fringe dreaded in the loquacious treat of the flowing throne
I found your guild in the stones precious to a mother’s son
Dancing to the nights the dates sent into my memoirs I had thrown.
I thought we had just tonight, a rhythm of love, beautiful eyes
We rose in the ardent swing of pure heights
Watching as flavors melted our differences of ice
And even if I left, it wouldn’t be right
Been a couple of years I graciously found what’s been missing
Listen to it, Little like an Anne echoing from pains toiled in the hate
Spinning in turns, I drank truths to feel its pissing
Kissing it hard to fate its wielded great
Forever I applaud your steps to me
Even through mud and canyons you found me
A lonely string so we could be stitched
Forever we fall through life even to her ditch.


Bless me father!

This is not confession on how my sins are filled up stirring redemption in her cup, I heard if you have a lot on your mind and find yourself here, you should talk perhaps the one they call God will by some way answer, So I’m just going to do same.

FATHER: Tell me what’s troubling you my child


A lot Padre! You see how the tune from a distorted piano controls the progression of irregular sounds?

You know how the bird in the air complains of too much wind that carry its frazzle wings away

I’m at the point now Padre, my soul now feels heavy     ‘pause’


FATHER: My child speak, free yourself from this burden, he will help carry it for you.


I know how the truth is just but a senile history

A journey of aches and conflicts

I’m indebted to life’s unfair seats

Cause it has placed me among the path with shadows and no shade

My lips burn from thirst of applause

My fingers itch for snaps of approval

I want judgment passed to be the day

Good in its sense

A calm wind against my sense

Of understanding.

I use to dwell in the lands of dicey pens and reticent nights

My quail was of legendary fluid

I was a phoenix of words, never counted second

I, the first watchman who made the best in time

I, first fabric in fig leaves

The brethren from cheers

My credibility was words over swords

I, speak and hurt the deaf.

Clouds of appraisal were not my assistance

I was too oxymoronic ‘deafening silence’

I could be the airy and lighted room of intellectual accolade

My lips were wreath

Of lust and affection

Of lost and perfection

I was a god and a goddess

Same as time

I was a secret covering to the valleys

Like skies above the clouds, your

Darkness were my judgment,

I wasn’t just a clock of attraction or

An aid to instrumental that pirated nods

An adaptation to the indifference in attitudes, I was

A seed from a poet’s tree

A self-art of poetry

I didn’t know wait had gait

Or fate had a gate

Change was a state my traits plait life served to me in a plates

Padre! I was all mighty

And close to the almighty ‘pauses’


FATHER: Are you not still this definition, my child?


I have sum up days when circles were firstly lines

Parallel to defeat

My stories don’t initiate immediate glory

Now I am an aged Eruca

I don’t metamorphose

I have lost my sunlight of growth

The photosynthesis is just but a retardation of my wealth,

I grow backwards

Leaf back words

And call it miseries

I miss series of nights

With no holy rosaries

The spinning curve of laughter

Wakes my drowsy works and exhaust understanding

While they’re under standing below tease and

Untrue breeze

Of shame, pain and residing craters of volcanic lie

I am now a failed piece

A mist taken to spread over

Beauty and nature’s fragrance,

I am curse of steep pedestal

Cruise to auto prime rhyme

Yes! I signed with her kind

A grail of conspicuous swell

Light to the wind and cross to fame

Muse has fallen like meteors on the sun

Rain of plain seat

This is a disturbing song in the ears of the crowd

Who wants the thief to skedaddle?

And curse into existence like a fade

Into death

Even when noise comes from my busy mirth

Let it be a reckless glitter of haze unseen

To the temper tempest thoughts

I want to beat drums

To talk in drums like talking drums

My wrath is a fear’s pose

I am but a flowery burst of mere mortal in need

Of just 6 letters wedded in a part of a word

Padre! Don’t absolve my sins

Lift off the pins

Tied to this draggy rings

Your son seeks wisdom

These are words from a poet who is cultivating his tree of poetry

Padre! I need more wisdom

REDEMPTION #FOZ (Fire of Zamani)

Looking up to the STARS AND LIGHT, I thought about all the KOMOTION in MY LIFE, so I got ON MY KNEES to PRAY for MERCY.
Just then, my master walked out of the dark angrily. I SWEAR, that was the first time I feared death but then I remembered what a PERSON WEY SABI  told me… “if man die today, man NO DIE TOMORROW“.
Grinning wickedly and TIPSY from WHISKEY, he whipped me hard, repeatedly called me the N-WORD. I couldn’t  take it no MORE, so as a KPAKO that I was I showed him the ABOKI inside me.
Seconds later my heel was pressed against his throat. “hey whitey” I said, looking down to him “I’m no Nigga. My name is JAMBO!!!”.



Past the trees and the grasses as stretching as sun flowers reaching for the skies, I swept my bag through the woods and came across her, the description of what used to be the myth in legends, the smell of grief was still fresh and as I passed its half-mast flying mailbox outside, I climbed on to its four but two missing wooden staircase flight to the verandah of blood, the wood was still so old she made lots of noises as I stepped on its different expression of wooden noise, pressed the doorbell which played that loud tone like a Sunday Microphone having to scream so its adjusted to fit for transmit and then suddenly the door opens, I brought out my brand new 22 cocked it as my sister flew in through the backdoor, the last thing I heard witch say was HANSEL AND GRETEL. . . 
In the beginning he created man. The image of him, breathing in his likeness, and so to the earth we were gods, in heaven we called him God, a creation of high animal understanding, a fusion of intellectuality and profound Sanity, we were dust in his eyes, a snap of dust. Our first Parents came in with no sense of sin, immorality, anger, lies, deceit, wars, envy and even jealousy, we were just like God, and the male didn’t know she had power in the protruding mounds that stood on her chest and the line that separated the two halves to what some men call “the greatest place on Earth”. We were born free, so we had so much freedom.
Abnormality sunk in after the first bite, you know the story. . . so now I now have to wear em jeans, nice shirts, we saw nakedness as taboos, all of us partook in this feast, the atheist, Christians, Muslims, older, younger, white, black, we ate the forbidden fruit and caused sorrowful ideas we nurture. The sorrowful idea of nature, the Slave Indwelling Name (S.I.N) SIN. The freedom now tied to a book of life or death, the sanity now stained with disgust, a more reason to define you, to define me as dust. For we now desire to do what is good, but we cannot carry it out. Remember this use to freedom we were born free.
He does not show favoritism but he loved us, enough to smash the commandments a million times and still wrote new ones, he burned the old pages, he gave us chances and we angered him the more, he showed us how in imperfection we could amend and love him, he re-incarnated a man, and we still didn’t believe Eden existed and murdered him to shut him up, a man like us in all things but sin even as he hanged like a thief on a tree crucified, so in that he made us understand anyone who died in him will find him. For creation was subjected to frustration not by his own choice but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage of decay into glorious freedom. Remember we once owned this freedom.
Now in the essence of freedom I won’t be a saint in your eyes, I wouldn’t preach about Marin Juana and belch alcohol, or quit drinking and have a red eye from the jungle. Rise up people, Rise up readers and listeners. He will give you according to what is done, what have you done? Wisdom can still be found in him, in him understanding dwell, somebody said Freedom. But that one man hanged with stretched arms so you could be reminded there’s freedom in him and in his waiting arms you’ll leave a free born. Do you want it?