The Sin of my Coat

When I return from this conscious slavery, I will tell,

I will tell of a subjugation, the spite and silent disdain

I will tell of the avoidance and the exclusives space on public bus

I will tell of the common embarrassing quiz and the suspicious looks

I will tell of the erratic change of mind and the one ninety degrees turn for my sake

If I return, I will tell so many

 

If I return from this distance voyage from home, I will tell

I will tell how it is not over on their minds

The agelong differentiation, the battle of supremacy, the venom of little minds

I will tell of the pretence smile, the cynic look and the preference and denials

The tanning of my coat is my sin for they understand not my geography

 

If I return from this second deliberate offering of my will

I will tell of my endurance and restrain, the quietude of avoidance

The sighs, the pain of rejection, the mockery the selective treatment and all

Of empty pew in church because of my coat,

Yes. Even in church where they aught to know better

 

If I return someday, I will tell.

They are not all so, there are few. “The coats blinds”

The true lover though few, excuse the myriad of coat haters

When I return from this journey of discoveries of feelings

The long war of our diversity,

The silent unspoken lies of superiority

My coat is my sin, same blood runs in our veins

 

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To my Seductress duchess

These, cacophony that beggar’s description

 

Disorder from indecent breed incubating,

 

Confusion of tongues, in lyrical hoax,

 

Filthily dressed to undress my mind,

 

Our teacher teaching theories of writs and wits

 

These promiscuous pastors parading piety with nudity

 

Lewd licentious and libidinous specie luring laurels with drama,  

 

These traditional priests tutoring the innocent as skilled orthodox guru

 

Folly forming and fuming fire on podium of cerebrals

 

These gangs of immoral breeds hovering over men with enthusiasm

 

Sick physician administering drugs on the ignorant,

 

These,   

 

Coup against Coleridge,

 

Wired Wordsworth,

 

Barron as Blakes

 

Shapeless Shakespeare,

 

With excessive deluxe paint like a red zone hawker,  

 

These fashions clogging the pump of poetic flow

 

With the garbs of a seductress

 

Allays my feet to the “gutter-most” pit of whores

 

These, who feigned folly as fashion forcing Mr. Flesh, to a quickie,

 

Teach me the lyric and lines and morals too

 

Inspire my curious heart in poetry and NOT the contours of shapeless show

 

Evoke in me a desire and arouse my intellect and NOT to lust

 

Induce me with scintillating lyrics and NOT to the nightmare and dreams of succubus  

 

Tempt my heart to scholastic loyalty and NOT to the apple of Eden

 

Conjure the parley of mutated minds with words

 

Come again to the conference in art and rags of skilled minds

 

I adjure you, be Natural

A Weired woman

she pips in fear for lateness like her peers,

hauteur cloaked with reticence,

her-boo-boo-vague, though walled around and palpable

official Narcissist disguised in rude affronts

Bravado of naughtiness in candor yet tacit

 

“Free me free me”, rants in melancholy

as  ignorance upsets sorts of sort

Insensibility of differentiate as angels often tastes the gall

By routines of cataract long glare

Sends nostalgia down their spines

 

Though forgetting the milk and candies of supposed rivals

Doubling as friends in conning angst beggarly in their nature

Nagging and ganging a gang of gossipers

Finding Mutual grounds for their victims

Causing higgledy where there exist no war

 

For a suspected compromise of morals

Or a hunting taint of a past paints on Z walls

Where decorum is not a schoolmaster

As official time wastes in visits to motels at un-break break time

With holy bible at desk view to mask hypocrisy

 

First venerable “Etis” Migrants tasted buds of vinegary as noised by witnessing chauffeur

And guilt cautioned not her thigh with avalanche of showy attire of a seductress

advertorials of “buried innocence”jagged in curved carbuncle front and back

Banging shoes in unending visits secreted in kitchen

 

double faced, loud calls to clients for managerial gratitude

as empty office fill vacuums of fast quickie (sharp-shap) appointments arranged or rearranged

Ill mannered, bad tempered not marriageable, never listen, never patient making enemies

Commandeering, verbose, self-conceited, presumptuous, stout and arrogant

Still on our minds

Over now, but still on the minds,

Leaving an imperishable vacuum

A deadly departure,

News like the hint of cosmic cruelty

I heard the curved timbers

Warped in the summer sun,

The rumors of their untimely death

Formed a rocky saliva in soured mouth

Remembering the clay, that covers their bodies

I fret.

Johnson is gone and Nelson followed

Entourage by unknown spirits

In the giddy days of self weaning,

The bars unblocked and they obeyed

With obsequious frenzy

Leaving us with memories of days gone bye

Our longings, as though watching a

Clear sweet juice freckled from sugar cane  and crushed

And a speechless astonishment of death unwanted

Stabbed through our hearts,

Like immersion into boiling water

These Lives spitted and gutted

And now, we hear echoes of nostalgia

Resounding the good days

Our memories left with voiceless wish

Of their peaceful rest

Over now, but still on our minds

My Vain search

Then I will show my power of love,

When I find my rib, resembling this that fits these joints

Like the star she blazons in nights so gloom,

Full of virtue, bounty worth in qualities

I shall hold her in bond,

Who brings the joy of life my way,

We shall finagle in friendship, illumined and cherished

Like true devoted pilgrims,

I shall spend my nights in verbiages and actions of adore

My enthralled eyes shall break sleep to satisfy her lust until dawn,

Come to me,

My twinkling star,

My terrestrial sun,

My duchess

Upon the alter of her beauty, I shall sacrifice my sea of melting pearls

I shall proclaim her to the jealousy of bystanders

And writer her emerald till my ink runs dry.

Her beauty imposed on street walls to shame shadows seeker

My love,

My rib,

This lost part of me,

Her faith is strengthen in our union

Her tears run with spongy eyes

Detesting a lone journey, she is somewhere looking out for me

To break this rocky eyes of arrogance with loving tears

Come to me my love,

Cease from wondering, chide me not away,

I shall take no repulse till my lap buries your back on my virgin bed

But I know, she will not come,

For none is fair, True, and worthy with true qualities

 

Women

Halt, halt,

Give them your hands, but NOT your heart,

For when they hover around you

You are an imminent carcass,

Loitering and flapping with the disposition of a butterfly and grasshopper combined

The sight of her should trigger alarum bell in every wise man,

They waste your time,

They waste your money,

Sup your energy and

get you into trouble.

Like a bubonic plague

Spreading devastating virus,

As a butterfly, pollinating

With the juice supped

They flutter away

Seeking other juicy flowers in the circle of moral doom

Men should never be hyped on chauvinistic egotism when they conquer women

For another trial may certify your demise

No wonder, they are called Women

For many are the woes of their men

Ajegunle

Despised

Reviled

Rejected

Object of cruel mockery.

Before I was conceived, I heard of you,

Dumps for homeless migrants,

Debased and inferior.

Was beauty ever part of you?

This throng,

That daily treads your well worn streets,

Whither?

Your brackish waters,

Home to unseen enemies,

Children splash uncaring,

Your market is a meeting place,

Young and old,

Rich and poor

Your wares to behold

Ajegunle,  the harsh teacher

Survival skills your forte,

Sharpening and shaping lives by your creeds

Ajegunle,

The enemy of state love,

A point to prove,

Creativity crams herself into your nooks and crannies,

The envy of rich Ikoyi

Ajegunle,

You must visit with vigilance,

Day or night

Hunters abound,

Roving eyes,

Seeking purse to prey upon

Their kills dissected in the crevices of Ajegunle

Where the oppressed oppress another

Atavism is a regular guest at Ajegunle

Where order is almost a crime,

Disorder the norm,

Ajegunle,

Kingdom of numerous kings

A reflection of ourselves

Poverty amidst riches,

Want amidst plenty,

Ajegunle,

Despised

Reviled

Rejected

 

v  Ajegunle is a Popular slum in Lagos

A poem by Macaulay Akinbami,

Editted By Emeka Akpe