For brothers in muse…

When I started writing poems some years back, I was literarily drunk in rhymes. For each line, words must entwine like the stems of a vine.

However, along the line, my interest in rhymes faded and I discovered that I could even write better and finer without rhymes. Lending credence to this, I have seen great poets and poems focusing less on rhymes and the results are masterpieces.

Unfortunately, I have seen and read many budding poets and poems chasing rhymes to a fault. Many lose their message in the needless pursuits of rhymes; forced rhymes at that. These days, unconsciously, I only skim through rhythmic poems trying to discover the patterns rather than uncover the message.
So, this is my one cent to upcoming poets, ditch the rhymes, if they are not flowing. Allow your mind and muse the latitude to wander and discover the beauty of words weaved together like braids on an African woman’s head. 


Wailing Wailers


Photo credit: nairaland.com

Confused breed of beings
Rooted for a grueling speedy vehicle
On a rutted route
But readily revile a dawdling but auspicious journey

Every step is keenly censored
Every utterance is termed a goof
Every oration is handed divers exegesis
And all is done tirelessly


Every avenue is sought to disembowel
And spew the detritus residing within
On any dais they seem fit or not
Be it communal or sequestered

Eventually, the fleeting vehicle ferried its commuters into murky waters
Yet, they won’t stop looking back at what could have been
What else could have been?

They are only wailing wailers
And theirs eclipse the bereaved


One-Time Plebs


Photo credit: schools.yrdsb.ca

With our thumbs
We feed them fat on our milk
And they perpetuate like swarms of wasps
Incubating an unattended chutney

Ere, they were not hungry
But now, they still won’t feign satiation
Yet, make a monarchy of our polity
Like the pre-Ptolemaic dynasties

Our fledglings flock the streets
As clouds of locusts
Stead of beams of glittering rays
Piercing the gloomy nightfall

Egos as vast as cathedrals
Bellies like reps congregating in an oval house
Their daily routine is brawling
Like gladiators in the arena

They suffer choosy dementia
Selecting to remember that they are now patricians
But not that they were once plebs
Well, that is even if they were


Life’s Classroom


This is a classroom
But no teacher
Your birth is your enrolment
Your begetters your admission officers
Your birth certificate your admission letter

No note-taking
Your memory is the notepad
No eraser
Words spoken, acts done
Cannot be obliterated from another student’s notepad


In that classroom
You could compete for top honours
In this classroom
Competition is running another man’s race
Frustration is the prize

In that classroom
You learn before being examined
In this classroom, most times
You are examined before you learn
And your result enjoys no privacy

This is life
A classroom with no teacher
Your birth your admission
Your death your convocation


The Struggle

These days,
I struggle with poems
I struggle with the gourd of inspiration

At dawn,
The flair in my pen turns elusive
And the glee in the concourse
Waxes unmissable


At dusk,
I slug it out with the ink in my quill
And just drift off
While awaiting the arrival of the Muse

Maybe the gods only want me
As their mouthpiece
And not the writing-pad


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Wishes turn kisses


Kilometres may transcend our love
Distance may comprehend what we feel

The terrain of statuses may be our date
The platform of tweets may be our hang out

Drying our tears with kisses may only be with smileys
Walking down the street with fingers interlocked may only be in our dreams


But one day
We’ll no longer share wishes but kisses
For wishes are mere vehicles that drive the heart to fantasy
And kisses are the sacred seals of the soul of love

One day
Time will bolt beyond Bolt
But this matters less
For when the heart feeds on love
Nothing else matters

One day
Texts will turn words
And we’ll no longer work for dreams
But dreams will work for us

In your smiley smiles resides beauty
That transcends the view of the sunset
So why won’t I wait?

For the day that wishes will turn kisses
I’ll wait
I’ll wait for you!


My woman
Be my peace
And not the beast
That I domesticate

Be my source of inspiration
And not of desperation

My lady
Be my nonpareil friend
And not the beginning of my end

Every cold night
Make your love the tender blanket
Under which the warmth of my heart is regulated

Make me the envy of peers
Let the mere thought of you
Ferry a limitless message of gratitude to the Creator
For making me the most fortunate of men

I crave not for perfection
But a home reeking of love and affection

A home where I, the foundation
But you, the pillar

My woman
Be my pride
And till our spines become bent
I’ll be by your side

I tweet from @sunfad4real