Monday, May 2, 2011
tensions 2
all was at peace
until you probed
the firbidden and unperturbed recesses
of life's essence
and the smile which once
lit your face
became
contorted resorted
distorted to the
streamlines of
an oblivious cacophony
all was at peace
but now the passions veiling
your soulscape
shivers wildly
in a frenzy of discordant monologues.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
the ajuwaya call
listen!
can you hear it?
the tremelous intermittent blasts of the trumpets everywhere--
audile beacons to a promiseland--
they still persist,
still rend the sky
with bland tones,
rousing a national diastole with veinal outbursts
of religious, socio-political diatribes:
listen! it's a nation's call (to be cont'd)
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
peek
they tell us
it's the breaking of a new dawn-
flaunting rainbow coloured promises
that rise with the morning sun...and i
outstretch my arms
to embrace the day
with a long yawn...
just in time to see...
it's all gone or...
there was simply nothing there!
just tall tales
and insatiable thirsts for the ballot highs
and cloaked cravings for a piece of the national cake...
no, don't you dare look the other way!
those stubborn searching eyes of yours,
cup their defiant flames
lest the stubborn unchanging winds of greed
and powerlust
they puff and huff
puts them out,
don't shut them
until you've showed them
what you saw...
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
HORSESOUL
silent strides...
dreary rush for a crush
to stir up the hungry caged stallion within;
plodding clods of dirt,
plowing clots of thoughts
in a bosom-space
my eager hugging arms have
failed to embrace,
that my reaching hands
have failed to touch
searching eyes...
these hurts
that have creased
my wincing cheeks,
my hollow smiles have also failed
to stitch the tears that lacerate them
i crouch
with the poise of the Thinker
no, this time
i'd rather let me scream within-
let this whinnying horsesoul
take the next and first
valiant thrust
towards the radiant tunnel-light
of my fledging dreams.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
what we saw when they looked
pelleting slugs
growling like castrated canons,
ripping flesh and sinews
crippling walls, bonds and milieaux
dripping-
the wishes...
slipping- the drooping sanity
rippling- the lame excuses
for primevial ordeals
nibbling at the frail edges
of a nations integrity..
still the wailings resound
while the carnage abound
and justice is bound
'cause they heard nothing
saw nothing and cared less
for what they looked at
when we saw...
look
the doors
are closed
this time around
don't know why
but i think i'd try
coming in through the windows
thought raids; sloshed psyches
from stomping my feet
in a brainstorm
the night will still come
when we no longer have any use
for eyes...
and the heart rends: splash-lights
from torched fears
tortured nightmares...
and we go way back
to a past
wrested from the
clutching arms
of the future
and
we'd chart our steps
through mazes...
and
we'll find our voice amidst echoes
and
a word that transcend words
and a world beyonds worlds
if only we'd just stay still
and
truly
look...
are closed
this time around
don't know why
but i think i'd try
coming in through the windows
thought raids; sloshed psyches
from stomping my feet
in a brainstorm
the night will still come
when we no longer have any use
for eyes...
and the heart rends: splash-lights
from torched fears
tortured nightmares...
and we go way back
to a past
wrested from the
clutching arms
of the future
and
we'd chart our steps
through mazes...
and
we'll find our voice amidst echoes
and
a word that transcend words
and a world beyonds worlds
if only we'd just stay still
and
truly
look...
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
cracks on a wounded wailing wall
The issue of carnage is not alien to Jos, Nigeria, Africa or the rest of the world. History is laden with them, and the horrendous events that characterise them seem to stretch beyond racial, religious, geographical or sexual borders. But then there are exceptional ones that have shocked humankind, that have become the epitome of grim headlines on many tabloids and the bane of peaceful co-existence among ethnic groups, religious, sociocultural, political affiliations and nations all around the world. The carnage in Jos, since its inception in 2002, exhibits its own brand of uniqueness. Although there have been many reasons behind its causes, and also many versions of these gruesome occurrences, one thing remains obvious, and that is the ever increasing death toll of innocent lives of the indigenous and visitors, as well as the lackadaisical approach of the federal government in resolving the crises.
I took this shot, which I titled "Cracks on a Wounded Wailing Wall", while I was in Jos (situated in Plateau State, Nigeria) and came across the ruins of a building that was destroyed during one of these crises. I felt that they were vestiges to the trauma behind these ordeals. In this particular wreckage, i attempted to initiate a seemingly endless journey through the window of the camera lens into the external window of the building that reveals a winding line of sight towards the heart of the crisis. In this visual context, the window assumes a metaphorical denotation which describes the subliminal pathway that transcends the physical; one that divulges a seeming omniscient route to the unseen. The telltale cracks are scars silently screaming out the pains the occupants may have experienced when the incident occurred; the physical, emotional and psychological wounds they may have incurred then. I am convinced, and i believe many will agree with me, that there is more to these conflicts that meet the eye. Understanding them and defining them realistically will take us a long way in resolving them.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
in the stirrings of my cradled dreams
stillness
still
still stalking...
passions shivering
in a stormy wind
lost
groping through dark brooding byways
for the chief cornerstone
stalking still...
but why
why must the sprouting shoot
be wooed by the
hoes
and the weeds
by the howling throes
in the wind?
stillness stalks...
and in a precinct
of conctete whiteness
you'd think it worthwhile
to read the future
on a blank beckoning wall
and when reality
finally hits you hard
with its stone
you'd only squeeze all your pains
into a clenched fist
and beat the air with it; i intend to
halt soon enough though...
when my knuckles
have drawn enough blood...
stillness stalks
stealthily....
yet no one can deny this:
even tendrils droop
when dearth drops
the dream withers
in waiting just too long
for the morning rain.
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