Weird World

Good morning…

polite words said, not always meant

still! life will be the same

although we thrive to live and accept

dwelling in a centre of comprehension

every giving day never stops nor change

for me ‘living is all I embrace’

should have been born a woman

let my mind wonder towards comfort

and bring life into the world, a simple pain

I remain tormented by facts of existence

maybe I need helpmates to my uncertainty

I know I will be judged, bruised with mercy

a part deep inside wants to be heard

but somewhere between secret and silence we are pleased

many questions with answers un-given

plain to say reality is inexplicable

we stay alive to rest eternally

we cry in order to ease sorrow

the brave man destroys with his sword

the betrayal always with a kiss

some flatter or just stay vicious

it is sad love and life can never be fair

even in hunger we remain content

there is always a burden of weight to carry

the quiver of curiosity surrounds us

but deliver testimonies to look un-craven

the righteous says redemption is the price

parables are taught and most are misled

sometimes in misunderstanding we remain blessed

so we continue to leave footprints choicelessly

a predictable journey, it will always be

once we stood desperate, young and restless

then a time to watch, teach and take

eventually the bright light ending the tunnel

all measured by a twist of faith

knowing dreams can always redeem

whist, fed up of opening my eyes to everything

feeling trouble that cannot be named

are we the disease or could we be the cure to nothing

sometimes I cannot wait to die



War Scars

I had misery in large amounts

deep seated sadness ready to pounce,

That was my major

It hurt like a blunt razor

I wear my tattoo tears like war scars

frescos inked in blood colours

And at the back of my mind

there was a square, full of people in a village

unwholesome images of torching, looting and pillaging

ready to stone me to my death

the bye-products of a forgotten environment

I am of the Kings, and rings, and Egyptian pyramids

History is encrypted in my bones

scripted to rise to the throne

not to be stoned, kiss the ring

he who would one day be King

So So Thankful

So, I am so so thankful

I put my basket in the sun,

and an angel fell into it straight from the sky

I swear, my rebirth of life you are my sacrifice

 Dry your eyes; I am here to clear all your sorrows

 Tame your shames, no need to hide your pretty face in a burrow

every mushroom can be a marshmallow

I am thankful,

that you ran into me

it is ironic, how accidental a plan could be

First a stranger, now my supreme fancy

Take a picture

Can you imagine,

a most benevolent King

who interprets dreams and stays schemes

Can you imagine

A gangster on the pulpit, fulfilling his destiny

dousing butts and emptying ashtrays at the vestry

A hardened criminal bracing up to the sentence

what’s done is gone, there will be no repentence

A little girl, pregnant at twelve

it is what it is,

a child full of child, hell

Joy so immaculate

it could be compared to a nut in the wettest posse

or bosoms full like Philly streaks, so juicy

Angels portraying your life story in Heaven’s movie

Take a picture

At death, life scenes flash before your retinas

Why fight it, when you would lose it, life has no replicas

brace up to fight the bullet

as the Reaper sucks the air out of your gullet

Getting ready to creep down that narrow tunnel

Lying there on your deathbed, thinking of how you blew it

Arms and veins wired down, pumping fluid

Listening to the beep of the heart monitor

praying that it keeps interrupting yours…


One life, one love

One creed, one club

One knife, one blood

One hero, one ego

One destiny, one people

Maybe the circle of life must be a square

with good people dying, and the bad reborn like musical chairs

One pride, one aim

young mercenary, lower your gun aim

too much bloodshed,

boy soldiers kill for government thoroughbreds

Saw a youngster torture a dead dove

with a sick smile, he was loving it

Junior roasted his mongrel puppy on a skewer

then tossed the carcass in the sewers

Dead that thought

but to think that one day, he will father a tot…



Remembered the words of my father
he was killed by cancer, but he died a martyr
swore to ride to war under his banner,
flags of our fathers,
the ways of man are demonic,
he would say, while sipping local gin and tonic
passion comes from the heart, but heart comes from the stomach
it’s better to take than to receive,
don’t be deceived, giving causes jaundice
and it can’t be cured by fool’s gold
the treachery of man, story of Caesar and Brutus foretold
the blueprint of life, has become a Morse code
reminiscing as I navigate like a barracuda thru this Lagos go-slow
pedal to the floor, full throttle, with my mind darker than Donnie Darko
Those words stuck with me, even to my early twenties
when I needed a father figure the most, at the turn of the century
Can never trust the decisions of jokers, they see the bottoms of bottles of Remy
Come and get me,
I write bulletproof poetry that would withstand Semi’s
When I die, lyrics live on till they become a deity
ashes and flowers in my gravesite till it becomes a sentry,
Lord Jah, forgive me for the 7 deadly sins,
I plead amnesty,
Let my soul rest at your vestry

Witnessed core police brutality
in the first degree,
it was this morning,
this unfortunate chap got into a spat,
trying to pickpocket an innocent bystander,
the jungle justice was drastic,
he was stripped bare to the bone,
with a nine of tails cat lashes
till his tissues were showing,
then the bystander victim doused him
with gasoline, kerosene,
some jerk supplied the matches,
produced fire on the first strike,
burnt like the Spanish Inquisition
The cop observed the scene, arms folded
he did nada
but he isn’t Tomas de Torquemada
Damn! this can’t be my country Nigeria neither,
fool this is Sparta!
I need a breather… 

Just finished zoning off a Fish Called Wanda
Cruising in my Honda, with the air conditioner off,
arms outstretched feelin in the breeze,
forget what you think, my way of connecting to these streets
where it’s wicked to walk late
but the Embassy won’t tell tourists
they jack your motor, while you drive, Operation Swordfish
area fathers haunt avenues by night,
in the day torment on sight,
it is your throw of the dice,
but only one outcome,
Escort bullion vans coming through traffic,
All you hear is the report of a loud gun
Once, it was in Oshodi, everyone scattered, ducked,
old women jumping over gutters, market wares,
herd movement,
Slid into a stall, to check if I was hit
I was alright, but I spied this kid
Next to me,
He was bleeding in the chest,
And he didn’t look like he was going to make it
Only 23, and to think he came just to get his girl a bracelet,
Cut down in the twilight of his years
now he’s wasted
Kid, breathe….



A world so far from reality 

but parables are taught in order to seek 

and yet abstract is the only word that concurs 

Luscious it seems but dwells in the mind 

To the righteous they say it pays the redemption price 

so mystified, can only be a paragon 


(March 12, 1998)

Autopsy of a Feminine



 Femme Fa-tale!  

spoken from the lips of Modesty      

Wondrous to those that thrive on ego       

bearer of a continuous sequel of generations       

as some reflect, a borne to desire       

and to most; You cannot do without       

the vast says the specie of tenderness       

also an attractive life-path to all serenity       

a Domain to conquer, to love and to accept       

the feminine,       

Creatures of the heart!       


(Inspired from a deep male point of view) Jide Shadipe, “22nd sept 2007”   

*picture taken from