A Love Kill to Muse

What happens when we die
He summons us to his inner chambers
looks at our friends list and family tie
No threat of hell, but he commands

What happens when we die
another family or friend dies too
He serves us a plate of pie
A pen to chose who is next to

die in the hospital after a heart cease
or back from the mosque on a Friday
or back from the bazaar after a please
after winning a lottery on payday

What happens when we die
we kill a loved one with our hand
when we tick from the options that lie
on his table of books piled

When we die we are given a chance
to help one person cross the sea
to accompany us in the house of peace
Peace is not a promise of bliss

I chose you, yaay to shortlist
I told the angels to stop your heart
gently when you wear your favourite
black. It’s euthanasia, don’t fight it
when you die you will wake
In a pool of honey and hot cake

& He will summon you to
His inner chambers too
hand you the pen to choose
A love kill to muse.

 

I am not trying to interpret this poem or any such thing…

But I feel I should narrate my state of mind when I arrived at this rather soft poem…

What happens when we die? Every household on an average, or, every one of us, on a reasonable average, loses a loved one or/and family member yearly.

It’s only reasonable to ask, how does He go about the permutation of who dies, when and how? I put myself in His shoes, and this is what I would do:

Upon welcoming you to the “hallowed” chambers, each newcomer will be responsible for choosing who will follow him. He will have to chose from his household (family and friends). That way, you save Him the stress of having to kill(choose) himself…

Some people choose the family member they love the most others choose ones they hate and others pick randomly…

And this is the trajectory his death selection takes. This is what happens when we die…

This is an aggregate of an inconsistent thought of a lowly man in one corner in Nigeria. I know.

 

 

 

 

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Miracle Indescribable

 

How I deleted the whole page
And started again like a sage
Miracle indescribable
So it ended with a parable

I tell my ears when
I get too careful with the pen
The beauty of words I swallow
I can spit them out like an arrow

How I walked into the room
And swept my heart with a broom
From the cobwebs of love I unknot
And build myself a brown nest

When it’s spring I unnest
And fly away along the west
Built a new nest for my eggs
The gift of love is in the wings

 

I Lost Her to Him

 

I lost her to him
Him of the old
Old in time and place
Place in the societal scale

I lost her to him
Now I am a meme
Where art thou? Meme-seekers
Have a laughing stock of my face

I lost her to him
That’s what people like me
Late High school and early college
Of the old and rich, we allege

My crime is young
though she is young
too. She is too old for me
the younger the she, the older the he

My heart takes a break
In this game of time and space
All my mates are fake
Now all I have is space.

Diary of a Loved

I am a master of hearts

I know how to rise

when i fall in love

it’s the art of fall

 

I am a careful lover

I make her

lose her mind in mine

& I am her spine

 

I am a soft loved like

a wool.

don’t submit your soul

I’m a fool.

 

when you say ‘I

love you’, dont

expect a too. I

don’t deserve you

 

I can’t be an accomplice

a broken heart makes

the gods

cringe from syringe

Months of Moist

crawled into room twenty seventeen

palms bruised and knees swollen

knapsack over his head

a nip away he is dead

 

so the sunbeam strikes annually

people breathing casually. But he

goes into his lungs, and plugs them to his nose

sniffs a handful of scent under the garden rose

 

the world stinks of a drunken old man

In a cheap bar, filled with talibans & no fan

why do we lose sleep or ever weep

human beings to the world are sheep

 

he crawled, through months of moist

through muds and murderous frost

it wasn’t winter, he had his jackets on

he stays ready, come rain or the sun

 

awake at night, angel and demon

are they listening to his summon

or to the sound of full bellies snore

he talked to them far from ashore

 

piteous people are united by prayers

except victims of lack of prayers

& he will never listen to your pain

but sentence you to your vain

 

potayto potahto, he said

I will die afraid if I am afraid

walk my way since I am on my way

be ready when the world is ready to hay

 

crawl of 365 days begins with a plan

the difference, between a dream & a plan

big men plan to dream, fulfill their dream

small men dream to plan, it’s all a dream

 

but what’s a crawling man in a rush world

not allowed to dream or try to sow a seed

hope is for those who live in the race

advice the crawling man just to hide his face

 

365 days on, he strolls to room twenty eighteen

his jackets on and his knees sheen

has not won the brawl, but lived the race

it wasn’t by his grace or by his disgrace

 

asked how he caught up with the trail

he thanked the Lord for riling a man so frail

others said Alas, men changed his fate

He remembers for sure, room full of his mate

All I Need is Time

 

All I need is time

I saw a bird the other day

Taking a cigarette time-out

Under the oak tree in the forest

As I approached to join her

The bird chickened out of

my approaching glare.

Poor creature mistook me for mr hunter

I wasn’t carrying a pebble or a heavy rock

Why would she think i want to hit her

Only if she knew, i wanted to tell her

I loved her beak and it’s smile, and

The way her eyes stared at the stars

 

All I need is time

I met a beautiful angel at the mall

& thought, so angels too shop

But then someone had to run God’s errands

She stood in front of me at the counter

When it was her turn, she paid and off

Before i could think of my lines to pick her up

All I had to do was to say “I like your dress,”

and when she blushes, ask “can we have lunch?”

Now she is gone and i will never

See how she chews on rice & salad

 

All I need is time

The world has been lost in the war

And there is no food on the table for a lot

But are there enough tables for the food to come?

In the middle east and the south, we want more

But how can you get more when you run

To the west at every spark

Who is to make tables for the food to come

Who is to plant the flowers to cloth the white horse

When the peace is sewn and ready to be worn

I know I have failed and I’m not, the

Father that you thought. I know

I keep eating your lunch and sending you off

And I spent all that is yours on my account abroad

I know when you said all you needed was a mat

& not even a bed, I took you

For granted, left you for the floor

 

All I need is time

To wake from my sleep

& mix a bucket of paint

Make the world pink

All I need is time

To build a ship for you

First let me wash my hand

To make the work clean

Happy National poetry day

Poets are of two kinds
Those who boldly say so
Those who sweep it under
The carpet of “oh i am not”

Poems too are of two
Those written with layman tools
Those with gods as targets
Sitting on tall stools

These kinds are unkind, to me
To Bayazid, to Al-Hallaj, to Rumi, and
To Rabi’ah al-Adawiyyah
Who are in their essences
Walking poems
Sneezing in rhythms and
Breathing on metaphors

If poems are of kinds, who
Will unite, the
Broken voices and shattered glasses
That we are

Today is national poetry day
What was yesterday
What is tomorrow
What will be of overmorrow

Poems are erratic
Some submerged in water unabated
Others lie on water
As oil.

But it is not swifter
When in rhymes, rhythms and obscurity
Nor tardy
When in enjambments and fresh air

Emily Dickinson, a keeper of cats
Wrote poems for men on carts
T.S Eliot; was a bank clerk
Whose poems transcend wall street

If poems are of kinds
Some can fly high
Others
Broken wings and entwined feathers, low

Poems and poets
Are nights and sparrows
Nights magically turn days
The sparrows free in flights.