PsalmsInk

On the lithesome lips of the gods A favourite, was once your story, Before it got sour like a dirge lyrics Of which melancholy manifests melody. Sorry, my country. As white as snow, was your peaceful sign Till it got soaked with my sisters' blood, When roving massacres dug their early grave And my brothers' bodies lie beneath the greens. Sorry, my country. The plan was that you free till coming days From anger of hunger that births pain your vein, Before you trekked pass your own for(th)tune Into the hurtful hut of those friendly fiends. Sorry, my country. The moon read and busted to a song of sorrow, As trees of forest dance it's beat, so cold, On your face, I see a map to depression And I find no joy in writing you a condolence. Sorry, my country. #PsalmsInk #EverythingBlack #SorryMyCountry © Samuel O. Ogunyinka, (Psalmist).

...and that's how the poor boy will rush back from school, murmuring these 4 lines; “Mummy, mummy, now this is really perplexing, Last night, you dished me a sauce-ful-less word Which goes contrary to my teacher's, today, Despite my favorite Miss Betty, led the class". ...and his mum will also reply in 4 lines; “Complicated is this life itself, dear son For we see things in different perspectives, Not all advice from mother are not murderer And some classes Miss led are really misled". ...and so, the boy will ask these 2 lines, with puzzled face; “But, why would Miss lead to mislead the class Why are classes hold to fold meek minds?". ...and his mum will also reply in 2 lines; “Be careful what you'd say, son, Some, I said. Save this. Some is never all. ...and though he's getting tired now, yet, these 3 lines he'll manage to question; “But mum, why do some exist for wrongs? While few strive to right the wrong? Shouldn'

“Say to them, I am the one called; I AM Who shows the ways of the meek no harm, Only strives in thousand tribes for the wicked And a pen in my hand, drawing him a weak end, Tell them, I know my sheep, so they know me. Say to them, I am the skinless silent spirit Deafening to make men's mind bold and writ, My name; the template of the temple tosses As leaves on water of congregations like foxes, Tell them, many call me truly, but just few I hear. Say to them, I am the groom of the church The master of all, the controller and the judge, My house has no room for secret of any form Why won't I know those that follow my norm? Tell them, I see far, I see near and I see all minds. Say to them, all who claims to be mine, Tell them, I know who is a part and apart". As the ancient God used to speak, in times past, Behold! Now, he speaks, again. #PsalmsInk © Samuel O. Ogunyinka, '18.

Restless I become, like a leaf, dancing on water, When terms unspoken ripples along my tummy. . I wish I could also spit and breathe life, to walk, But, what dominion has a word over the world? . Since this wide wordy world is not my own, Only these terms I utter -- my possessions. . Behold, these countenance creatures of mine, In many minds, it shall walk, to live, after me. #PsalmsInk © Samuel O. Ogunyinka, (Psalmist).

Only a flimsy brain cheapens the power of a tongue, For behold, “in the beginning was not the word But, in the word was the beginning" -of the world, Over the sea, you maligned our beardless minds So quick, your words rambled the air, to hit our foreheads, before your arrival, Sai baba, what you said, in London... We hear you! Blunt history paints you, for those in the afterlife As the most schooled president Nigeria would ever have, But, of a least certificate is a story that calls our tears to cheek How the disowning paper couldn't show up, to defend you, on the most challenging day, Oh, you think we don't go to school, because you've never built one? Sai baba, what you said, in London... We hear you! Before placing on us the tag of being lazy, remember; Joining army at 19 to become a commander at age 21 A good-old-days that can never see light of life again, in the shade of a leader like yourself, Should we agree to being lazy, perhaps you'll

Of an occurrence that occurred in our obscure For our sake, his-tory burdens shelves, in library, Walking letters, tracing back the faded dawns For a tale that called us tears, fetched us smile. June 12: your memories still ring bell. Of a peaceful election that tore us into pieces And a justice that couldn't justify an injustice, Till we changed a prisoner in our own palace Observing the scent of freedom, from a distance. June 12: your memories still ring bell. Of a truth that was cloaked with a foggy linen Causing explorers a circumnavigation of a circle, Hustle, struggle, grumble, stumble, double trouble And fare of pain, to the rooms below their foots. June 12: your memories still ring bell. Of an annulment, a pregnancy of self declaration Declaration that gave birth to mass destruction Destruction, that nurtured our tears into a river A river that flushed us, to the joy of democracy. Your spirit is still alive, with us, since 1993, June 12: y

Staring the sky above my head Pouring out the wishes in my mind, Bring me back, the old good moments Again, I'll like to revisit my movements. Days we misspelt standard living, for “sandalili" As we jingle over an unstable branch, like a motor, Waving eagles to paint white, our brown nails And in our bare mouth, the London bridge never cease in falling down. When I remember the old good memories, Water run down, from my eyes. Memories spent under some twinkle, twinkle, little stars With our grandmother, that likes to wear skirt, Telling us the full life story of Solomon Grandy And tale of the Old Roger, who died and gone to his grave. At dawn, we see mom with bread and butter basket Then, we roll, roll, roll our boat, to check who's in the garden, Where we meet Cinderella, dressed in yellow And together, we wave aeroplane, ódà bò, to help us greet ìyá eléko. When I remember some old good times, Water run down, from my eyes. Times we gathered und

Done gone, are the tranquil days of no war When peace rest on each surface of the wall, Before our bricks turned a low-rated border That welcome forces and make minds bother. Èrò ojà olówó, Kí l'eti s'ojà yí sí? Strayed are those serene scenes of no siren When lights lighten all lives like lively hygiene, Before blue turns violent, red cease to be rose And at sound of “wao" --our adrenaline arose. Èrò ojà olówó, Kí l'eti s'ojà yí sí? Sour are our sweeter-than-saccharine stories When cheeks smile, reminiscing its memories, Before our at-hand living stops being blissful And our tomorrow slowly becomes remorseful. Èrò ojà olówó, Kí l'eti s'ojà yí sí? That our children may not, lost in this maze Let's make peace with the entire human race, For, our fright is never to end with this day We only fear our train stop before the sun ray. #PsalmsInk © Samuel O. Ogunyinka, (Psalmist).