The Pains of a father.

There in tattered clothes he sat,
Lost in the confines of a deep thought,
To himself he muttered; “this must be the devil’s wrath.”
Life had brought him nothing but oats of pain;
Penniless as he was, this made him insane.

He had amassed all the degrees,
But to success he seems not to have paid his fees.
Darkness had spread across his destiny,
All his fat dreams had been made tiny.

Trickles of tears dropped down his wrinkled face
As he stared at his youth in a frame which hung on a wall,
Those were days of grace-
When he was a student at Awo hall.
Time had stolen his dream-
Which had been made a shallow stream.

All nights his bed was cold
From the warmth of a mystery unfold.
The feminine chord that held his love
Had flown like a wandering dove-
In search of pleasure and a greener pasture,
In awe he cried at his miserable torture.

He looked on at his sleeping children,
Together they had wandered in penury’s den,
He had brought them their misfortune
And they their future seems to be in ruin.
He seems to have seen God from his ceiling
As he whispered words of supplication;
“Lord, make these little ones a cure for my infection.”

To him smile never seems to exist.
He has been subjected to shame
As debt is next to his name.
Years he had survived –
Brings his hopelessness revived.
One cold night he had thought of murder-
Too tired of his life to go further.

What example will he be to his children?
“A suicidal-poverty stricken father!”
He resented his children calling him such
And vowed they must survive the scorch.

As the clock ticks to dawn
And night to the unknown it seems to run.
With hope he went off to work,
Even if it is to whisk loads at the dock,
To survive and secure the little one’s future.

I’m proud to be me

They said I was black
And you were white,
I am not bothered by color,
I am proud to be me.

They said I was wrong
And you were right,
Let their conscience be the judge,
I am proud to be me.

They said I was dull
And you were wise,
My works will speak,
I am still proud to be me

They said you were tall
And I was small,
In the fields of success, size doesn’t count.
I am proud to be me.

They said you were nice
And I was rude,
I am proud of my actions,
You can never be me.

They said I was poor
And you were rich,
My days are still to come.
I am proud to be me.

They said I was a poet
And you were a warlord,
The pen is my sword-
I am proud of what I do.

They said you built a mansion
And I live on the street,
Did they question how you came about your wealth?
I am not bothered, I am proud to be me.

They said I am me-
And you are you.
We are two different being
I am glad you will never be me.

WHEN THE DAY IS GONE

When the day is gone,

I look back at all my works undone.

A friend I promised a visit, and-my loved one I promised a day out.

These promises i never fulfilled,

it was not my fault cause the day seems so short.

When the day is gone,

I stare through the office window-

just to catch a glimpse of the sun sailing home.

The once busy street deserted,

market women biding one another a restful night.

The street touts running after men in suit-

for part of what they have made from the day.

When the day is gone,

my heart breathes of what tomorrow will be.

"Will it ever be like today, or it will be quite different?"

That's not all that matters,

but a feeling that I am getting closer to my grave.

I remember yesterday today,

and have always felt anxious about today yesterday.

My childhood experience was in yesterday,

my youth is in today,

and my old-age will be in tomorrow.

When today is gone,

all these will be dumped in the dust bin of time.

I sympathize for my soul,

a time when the bell will toll,

and will be left alone through the mile,

my friends and my foes,

my pride and my humility,

will no longer be when the day is gone.

When the day is gone,

and darkness spreads across the sky,

I shall pick my bags and fly-

homewards to all tasks left undone

OSAN (ORANGE)

Glaring tempting eyes,
Soothing ravishing smile.
Thirst bud quencher; tongue’s soothing stimulator,
Do drop and embrace the earth’s call.

Orombo; incomparable among fruits.
That’s what mother called you.
Oyinladun Osan; Orange tastes like honey.
That’s how the street hawkers sing your praise.
Omi aladun; sweet flowing water
Awelewa to fi ori igi se le;
A beauty that made the tree her home.
Do drop and quench this thirst.

Awo loju ma peyin da;
You who men look in the eye and never turn back.
Children stare eager to climb-
And reach for your affection.
Big round bursting ball,
I can fell a tree to have you.
Oh! Do drop to extinguish this desire.

Aso l’oko ma binu;
Never gets angry when pelted with stones.
Restlessness you brought to the tree,
You made the humming bees your guard-
And allow the birds suck you to ugliness,
Is it, so we can’t have a thirst of you?

How can beauty bring you pains?
Awelewa, a sun Kun se eje loju,
Your tears bring forth blood.
Kindness brings you curse.
Do drop to stop the children-
From pelting you with stones.

The tree trembled-
From the hands of the passing wind.
Floating drops of leaves on our faces-
Still you stood staring down at us.
Ma wo loju pose; Never hiss when you look at her,
Or your belly might turn sour.
Our foots are weary-
We lift not this basket of disappointment.

WHEN I LOVE

When I love,
My soul merges with yours.
Always eager to have you next to me;
Sitting and staring together at the rumbling sea.

When I love,
For you my heart will always be,
Eager to feel your touch-
And the sweet smell your air brings.
Since we've vowed to wrap ourselves-
In this warmth blanket of love.
Together our heart shall wander on love's pilgrim.

When I love,
I am proud to be the man I'll always be,
Holding you close and given you love's dose.
Through the stormy weather,
And in the scorching sun I shall be your guard,
No amount of pain shall drive me sane!

When I love,
I drop infatuation in the sea,
And kneel begging for your plea-
To accept this token of love I've got to give.
I am a captive in this battle of love,
Please do set me free!

When I love,
I will hold you dear,
And never mind the harmful spear,
You entrust into my palpitating heart.

To the uncelebrated soldiers

(in memorial of soldiers who fought for peace)

Men of war-
Who bore this gallant blood.
Brave and bold as ore,
Sacrificed to cleanse the world-
Of hatred and oppression.

To those brave men
Who slept in the cold arms of the valley
And made friends in the forest’s den,
Feeding on water and barley-
As their souls rise and drop-
Like a withered crop.

Men who went in peace
Combing the deserts of the north
Cracking and crumbling all evil’s fort.
The brutal civil war in Nigeria,
The dastardly genocide in Rwanda-
Come to halt with your passion and palpitation.

Men of steel
Stirring this wheel
Of freedom, from Freetown
To the deserts of Sudan.
This day brings forth your crown
As we envy your courage as a man.

Men who journeyed
Among the eerie sounds of grenade
And the spits of bullet-
That made the cracked and the damaged
And this weary gauntlet
That made you prisoners with a grade
And not a shameless renegade.

We know you
As you lie still
As an uncelebrated soldier
Just to show a true son-
Of the land you are.
Let this be your epitaph-
That; here lies a gallant soldier
Who risked and died for a cause.

copyright lekezeal 2009

Dear Israel and Gaza

I thought the world would wake-
To laugh and munch another year’s cake.
I thought it would be the sound of fire arms-
Which kids chase themselves with without harms.

But the cry of a mother-
With a blood stained child on her arms,
And a father in the rubbles of his shattered home,
As mortar of birds hover around the cities of Gaza and Israel.
Let the world hear, another year and another fear,
Is what we have bathed ourselves in.

Man! Oh men of the world.
It’s too early to settle scores with swords.
This blood bath, this trauma-
Will bring the human race nothing but doom.
Why leave scars of hatred on our kins- to carry about on their skins?

Is this a contest of the most powerful?
I can hear the clicking of guns and not glasses-
And men making a toast to crime.
I can’t see wine or water,
But stream of blood and brutality.
When will we sit and tell tales of glamour
And not stories of our follies and woes?


Bulls no longer graze the farmlands
Armored tanks have taken up their place.
No more farmers to cultivate the crops
But soldiers of war trimming and killing
As every pieces drop-too scared to look death in the face.

“We will kill them back when we grow”
Innocent children vow to avenge every wrong-
And make them reap every seed they sow,
Those who maimed their friends and fathers.

Fire in the air!
Sound of death everywhere
On houses, on mosques and hospital
Rains of bomb too horrid and suicidal.
Across the meadows, and the once peaceful valley
Is no more a safe haven, but a dreadful alley.
Souls are falling, soles are bleeding.
Still the world looks on.
Spirits are rising
Far from earth a brother is gone-never to return.

Dear Gaza and Israel
Let your children sleep and snore.
This gospel of callousness they want no more.
This atrocity will bring no laurel,
But thorns of discord and disdain.

copyright lekezeal 2009

The last day in school

The last day in school,

we thought we have had it full.

Cheering loud as we stepped out of the hall,
those that will succeed and those that will fall.

Heavy splash of water and powder on our heads,
"we are free like the uncagged birds."



Songs rent the afternoon air,
as we hugged with our faces breeding no fear.



Cost accounting and auditing were last,
those that spied and those that were fast.



The outcome of our deeds we couldn't foresee,
still we hugged and humed like the rumbling sea.



No more long walk to the lecture room,
nor the long hours draped in books,
still we hugged like bride and groom.
The brilliants and the dullards,the gents and the crooks.
Together we cheered on the last day in school

We belong here

We belong here
Why fear and flee?
This is our land
Our fathers toiled and tilled
The soil to bring food to the people.

We rise like the tall baobab
And wage wars like the fierce sun
In scurry and fury
Towards the battle line
We built a fountain of hope
From the weedy fields of destitution.

We belong here
And hence shall lie our bones
Protected by our own soil
And not of that where we live like a fugitive
Let them erect walls
Between themselves and the people,
They shall only make things worse.

He who relish in the flames
Of avarice shall be consumed by it.
They have ruled us
And made our backs a place for their loads.
The cry of the people,
The sweat of the cripple
Shall bring them to justice.
Those who made life miserable
For the people and call themselves leaders.

Where thence do we go?
We are not cowards
Nor are we weak to claim our rights.
The schools are for the rich
What heinous crime is it being poor?
They ride with our money
To the white man’s land,
Drink his beer and wears his clothes.
They come back to tell-
Their people they were remote
And made the laws of the land
Too harsh on the people.
We won’t leave, here we belong.
Let them hear
Even if they are deaf
To the plea of the people,
In the market place, in crumbling huts
And those who made the farms a home,
We will not run from those we fed
And made rulers over us,
We have a right to the luxuries of life-
They alone have subjected themselves to.

Yesterday market women were flogged-
Chased away from their stalls.
Children whose fathers could not-
Afford the school fees were chased home,
Someone was relieved of his job-
And police men have turned into scare crows,
With the aim of destroying our corn-fields.
We won’t keep quite,
Even if we are being thrown into-
The dark room or being shot at.

No jobs for the youths
Kidnappings in the Niger Delta.
Tribal wars and everyday conflicts