The Giant's Wrath

The Sun from its tent

Walking past the earth
Stepping hard, on the Giant’s Tent.

Its' rays shouting so loud
That only hearts could hear
Helter-Skelter, The moon in its premise there…
The Giant lay bare

Yet the giants stares.
Running, walking they both did
Caring less that He is bare
While weak or sturdy, yet their cheer heed,
His naked body staring at them.

Like Stage Dancers
He muses his naked Offsprings.
When the Sun slumber
Then the Moon spreads her wings;
He stays there, awaken ever
Horrible, yet amiable, he never wanders.

Waving at the sky’s Order
Yet seated on Mother Earth
Like a Sky-Scraper, Without Pillars
Its surroundings, left with fetish dirt
By ‘Homo Sapiens’ who feel so bothered
In life’s woes and lows, still in his tent
Chanting, ranting in a uniform order…

 Sacrifice, sacrilege all to appease the Giant
“OLUWERE” ‘they call out’, Defiant
Of all odds, gives and takes after the chants,
Rants, sighs, for a fortunate Path
To be threaded on, to kill off looming wrath.
Blood, surge, cries incomprehensible plight.
Belated, Serrated, the nemesis from the Giant bites.
What a world of blind insights…

 Oath in Covenant!
Make they, without care
seemingly Poisonous ‘ potent
Iroko's anger, magnificent
Even  in pains and Shame.
Like flames of fire
and floods in Mire
..Pay back time, like ‘Wired’

Anger from “OLUWERE”s ‘ fire

To
before warn
the arm comes
Listen, Covenant Not!  Soar
High for the Creator blesses
The patient ones so abundantly.
Abandon the gods for the real GOD.
Otherwise you end up in biting and with
Gnashing, as though there was never an helping hand
To save the dieing soul from any form of wrath.

Written&Edited by: Bankole Kolawole copyright(2011)

Of Peaceful Times...

..a country of a Nobel laureate for literature, yet a land of resurgent illiteracy
 - Prof. Niyi Osundare

Death toll in our land

Snatching the young and old
Infrastructures on progressive decay.

Oh! how dreams dissolve to dewdrops
As Boko spits from the hill top
Beyond the destiny of fleshly yearnings

Lured to the bed of wonder
Unfolding the sleeves of wicked religious diva
…Too many waters have passed under the bridge

The fields are painted in red grasses like crimson
As Boko, like chickens strike our innocence with hurting riddles,
Gory memories that saddens the heart….

The days are drunk with fear-vine
Intoxicating our bleeding hearts
Crumbling legs, of a time of sinking sand…

Chants of redemption, peruse his leaking cavity
And he trades our sanity for stupendous calamity
Powdering our hands in reading time-bomb!

Wrapped in hides of despair
He offers a share of kind wickedness
Inferring a G(g)od he never knew

Whence the storm of death caress our feeble toes
Where is the rest of the stories untold?
As we trample on ailing foes..

Every second seem to devour radiant dreams
Of they, that in the hands, conceive
Into thin air, like kids’ kite play.

Rinsing her cloaks with ugly tears
Doping our lads in mammoth hell’s smell
Time filled with clattering flames

A smoke without a fire?

The misery irking our hearts

In that bush, the clanging Bell of ‘Sambisa’.

Where is this wrecking to?
Why is Justice kidnapped erroneously?
Pushed, painted, plastered and battered with emotional grenades
Back, front, left and right, despite in sight

And when tranquility triumph
And ‘ninety-one’ souls beam in chuckles
For ever, for worse, do we wait or wail

…of peaceful times…

Written by: Bankole Kolawole