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VOMIT MY RICE

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 VOMIT MY RICE Hi. I am… nobody. Yeah, perhaps, that should be my name for this course, because this line you are following may lead to my end, I mean if caution is not taken and I come and go and mention my real name in this, uhmm, I still care to write more, may death never cut our long story short. Truthfully, he is not as chubby as I am, but, never you underestimate the power of a taller dude, I agree I’m afraid he’s going to tie my ears to the ceiling fan, set the speed on the highest and watch me roll, roll, roll my boat across the river Jordan, like a portal’s wheel we sang about together, in primary school. We are just three in the circle; myself, Azeez and Abdulsamueldeen, but his mom will insist we call him “Adekunle”, even without her asking why we gave his son such appellation. I am a Christian, Azeez; a Muslim, Abdulsamueldeen was supposed to be a Christian by birth too, but his throat seems longer than his faith. Had it been we knew he would grow up to be this confused, w
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SORRY, MY COUNTRY

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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).
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C O M P L I C A T E

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...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'
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A PART AND APART

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“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.
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TO THE WORLD, FROM THE WORLD

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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).
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WE HEAR YOU

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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
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'93 MEMORIES

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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
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