POETRY FOR U Gh

Serene ambience of the forest hit me, When the signs of your presence flew over my heart and made a way into the head-lump of my Inner skull ; executing a perch . Invoking a symbolic overture of a mother's nest, dully missed. You really are the worm festering into my soul. A conflagration that's burning my being, bit by bit, with your embers. Where could your haven be? Where could my search start? In whose nest could your nestle be? Labour, academia or censor? Hear the bells chiming... Hear the birds chirping... Hear the fishes flipping... Hear the cocks crowing... See the dance of the trees, Feel the morning breeze, Feel the glitter of the day's star, See the rainbow in the sky, T's the signs of love in the air. By Jokarth Agubiya

Mild was his temperament : Like a lion and its prey, Learning the art of the bow In the mist of his foe. His heart was forged By the gods As a blue whale's bone. Cooked was his mental being By the ancestral bond, And in reason lies his wealthy Speeches from the wisdom of old. In his eyes saw I the ferocity Of a wounded snake, Readying a calamitous sting. And in planning, saw I Ananse Weaving his cunning web, For a wholesome catch... "strike them hard With 'e shock of 'em lives " Was his mindset in display Yet, a silent command. But finally he spoke " give me my land, hey! Mr stranger " " give me back my birth right ". Jokarth Agubiya

Once a time in Paint    Came in the saints       Singing songs        Of holiness For the red cup        In Paint. Pomp was word    Of the day   In sermons.    Sages, lay,        Danced    To their tune, Anticipating      Manner.          But  Wolfs in sheep Clothing they    Were. And       O Paint! What a plight?      O mine!   No sooner was the         crowning Than, they  Joining the train  Of whopping thieves.

Behold Ta meri! Behold Ta seti! Now in dire need Now in servitude For loosing her pride... Behold Ta meri! Behold Ta seti! On whose plight I speak ; Lured to the kill For loosing her Kings... Behold Ta seti! Behold Ta meri! The mother whose Doors are closed To her children... Behold Ta meri Behold Ta seti The mother whose dreams are Shuttered shedding geniality, Now at the gallows... But I dream of the future When her Kings Will assume their stature, When her home will be rid Of its bonds from its wooers. I dream of the future When her children Will price the bounty Of their harvest without The invisible hand - The future when her children Will walk across borders, To share a cup of pito Over their decision for A better tomorrow. I look to the future When in want her soul Will feel no despair. I look to the future When in penury Her soul will feel no vial But joy and glory . Glory in its peak of glow, Glory for her and her home, Glor

Tribal mark is the name you're called You serrate your victims dimples, Forehead and cheeks with scars. Denoting the identity intended At first sight with your bearer. Yes, your purpose is fulfilled Yet deform is your victim, With the scars to reform. In this age of Aquarius, Familiarity and a name Is identity disclosed.

Mama tell him seh war a nuh fun ting Mama tell him seh put dung di gun ting Mama tell him seh gwaan go look a work Do likkle farmin her Someting Mama tell him war a nuh di ansa Cause it nah have nuttin to have fah Only a bullbox and ?? There is no happy ever after Gangster life ain't no joke I best advice you stay out Once you’re in, death is the only way out. We need to put our shoulders to the wheel, Lift our heads above the water and wake from slumber. We don't need no gun(Price) to ra ta ta ta. We can make it with just the priceless LOVE!!!! By Collins Achuliba

What kind of a teacher are you Mr. Teacher ? What kind of a teacher are you madam teacher ? Do you mind teaching the children their past ? Teach them not to believe the fictitious books teacher ! Give them knowledge of the conscious heroes Mr Teacher ! Teach them of the conscious self. Tell 'em to such for the facts teacher... So... So  they won't become like me... So... So they won't forfeit truth when it's stares at them. So ... So they won't shun their ancestors. So... So they won't shun their ways Mr Teacher ! What kind of a teacher are you Mr Teacher ? What kind of a teacher are you madam teacher ? What kind of teacher are you father ? What kind of teacher are you mother ? That you teach your children to get lost... That you teach your children to travel far away... That you teach your children to look not for you. What kind of teacher are you Mr. Teacher ? What kind of teacher are you madam teacher ? What kind of a teacher are you ?

Peace... Peace... Peace Where's the Haven for you? When is the search for you? For we long for your fruit To savour it's nectar in haste Peace... Peace... Peace Where have you been? For we need you off-late To pamper you and taste Yours sanctimonious love. Peace... Peace... Peace... Why have been so late To come home and take Care of your loves? Cause we've missed you with hate.

Love floats like a boat at sea Within soul mates with ease, And breaks in seconds like eggs ; Dropped  on the floor, within disparates. It's strong with the pulse when lively And shreds like a tree, struck with lightning It tells the stories in the beginning, and Grows fat with the facts in history. It broils with the hurt when lost, and Bleeds with a sour as cost. It's the pinnacle of hope for the living soul, A founder of solace for the lonely soul And the sting of joy to the Journeying. Thus, love one - love all ; love more Love to cure humanity's bane.

O death, why knock at my door whiles I merry? Why at this scintillating moment? How could you snatch my gay unawares? Your mean disposition of choice needs a probe ; since you dock at my shore living none with hope but more with grief Tell me how your grasp will last? And tell me how soar it's stern stain will be?. For often, some times, some how When you launch your journeys ; To my humble abode. I sense your presence, benighted , and sometimes severe like now But letting go,  as human as I am  I cling To the very thing you need Why dock at my shores Whiles I Merry? See how your clutch has wounded me... With this scar you've left me bleeding to the very name you are. Why now whiles I merry - death?

Dekwo, Do not be baffled Do not baffled once again, To hear me pry of our tradition. For what I know as a heritage is now being threatened by a foreign tradition. Dekwo, you sent me to learn the ways of the stranger, but our ways, oh! Our ways is being threatened by this invader. His teachings ; his language and his worship he deems is superior. He says our ways, our deity ; as a worship is achaic, ancient and inferior. He says, our tradition : pass down from our forefathers, pass down to your fathers, pass down to you and now, to be pass on to me. He says, is a foil of a relentless toil. He says, To redeem us, To redeem us, His, is our salvation. To me this abomination he sputts has effected and has initiated it's roots deep down our soil. Since many son of the motherland are seriously learning his ways. Speaking as a matter of fact, I'm being brainwashed and now, I find myself confused, in a dilemma ; not knowing where my trust lies. Believing in my traditi

In the gloomy pictures of the night Comes forward a car Loaded, but poorly lit with light Journeying through the dark. Guided with such a plight Is such as we call doom. If life can even be as twice Gamble it not in that percentage wise.

Nyaaba ooo! Nyaaba! Hear me as I call Hear me, hear the plea of thy sons before thy knee. For the rains have started, but our harvest, you know; has never been mild And it's still long due, yet our fears so long over the years is due again. We employ thee We employ thee to hear us : Let the coming of the rains bring Peace Let the thundering spare our walls Let the storms bring us with naught And let the call for the sow  bring bounty. Nyaaba ooo! Take... Take... Take... And let your anger be sated. Let our journey be fair as we leave your bosom. Once again hear our plea and remember, now the cock crows only when it's crop is full.

In our presence lieth a soul Purported to protect was his goal. Lynched in mob action, cause We've failed To right the wrongs of society with aim. " in a den of a world where right is abscond and the belief in justice is in scorn, the innocent suffer at it's dawn ". Where is the love for humanity and for all? Where is the cause?, Where is the 'fect of the creation of the "system" ? If Father would loose a son If mother would loose a son If brother would loose  brother If sister would loose brother If son would loose a father If daughter would loose a father If wife would loose a husband If husband would loose a wife Where is the love? Where is the love : When we parade ourselves in church? When we parade ourselves at mosque? When we pour libation? Where is the love that prompted the creation of the system? Where's the love? Where's the cure? Where's the good in the creation of the "system&quo

The master's vine yard, our land  The land of the vine Come ye all who Labour in the vineyard  Come o ye labourers of the vine  And plough for it has rain  Labour... Labour... Labour...  Labour for the master of the vine  Labour for the master of the vineyard Labour... Labour... Labour...  Labour, for he cometh and announceth not  Labour for thy wages are at hand  Loiter not for thy wages are at hand Come... Come... Come...  Ye all who Labour for the master  Ye all who Labour in the vine  Go ye not to rest, sleep nor dine  For thy wages shall be rewarded for 'e yield, of thy vine Come... Come... Come...  Come o ye labourers of the vineyard  Come, o ye labourers of the vine  And make hay Whiles the sun shines

Make me a name That I will be named ; Cause I ain't just a name. I am a story ; a story to tell, With great impact I can't depart. I linger in the minds Of my reader Like a great leader. But I don't see How great I am, Yet I am . My course speaks Itself in my actions. And with much a-do There are so much deductions. Hmm, I wonder.... Cause my own vilify me But can there be heroes without villainy? No,... Not, not so to speak. Now I know, My cause will speak. Thus, I have a name to make.

Poetry is a being with a soul ; Breathing with reason, rhythm and rhyme Yet, without a nose Ruling with sanity unlike humanity's cruelty as a king Many a soul Wallowing in his reign Know not hate nor distaste ; Neither gore nor sorrow T's a world as the unseen heaven T's a haven of pollen To pollinate readers as sojourners T's humanity in hype : An elixir of life In humanity's dawning doom T's a harbinger of joy With rhythmic ecstasy of the after toil Poetry is life

Pretty and swift with backboobs Is kathy. All warming in the sunshine Crisp in cloths, cat walking with a glut And bearing a glow, All for this foe. Were I he : She'll wonder in wonderland ; Mesmerise in merryland, Be fancied in fairyland And flourished in bloom For a perfect groom as me. Were I he : Her gentle voice would've rain Symphony - for me soul, Her nimble walk - would've celebrated our stride, Her gentle heart - would've cares my pertubance. In my world would green be In my world would glamour be Were I he, My world would be complete.

Mother speaks a language That all her children be loving. Her wording by every utterance Is staunch in every stance, Coated in perfect warmth For her children - especially The Flints - to live in serene. Sensors plays a tune For the wise to dance along - true Listening to the elderly is well : Most especially the (dying) mothers ; For their warning is a stem, For climbing unto life. Forfeiting them is a bile That poisons your tree. The wise heed to warning The foolish is to his whims. He that's wise let 'm listen to counsel.

Love is a fountain of glee Bought with nothing but the heart Bearing fruits by heart and Eating loosely like tart Once bought, it bears Down on the soul And live on it's  prey Like the parasites and the host It bears down on the bearer And festers on like a sore Till it earns the weakness Ensued by it's host   To lighten your prey One must be of guard To subdue it's ordeal Once this is done Love can be sweet Enjoyed like nectar Once it's bought For love is like honey Bought with the heart It ought to be sweet Rather than a bile Forever in it's life.

Homeward cometh a clone Drawn to every clave Shining of merry and gay Like the home as I'd gained With memories that will never sway Forever to be my home A perfection of what stood to be love Now a home to call no more But a tail to call in folklore.

From the days of old My soul was mold In terror cold Cause I was one with gold And more close to the hellian souls My spirit is the devineth pill A remedy for a hellish kill Taken not for my purity But chosen in all eternity To bridge the gap of eternity And the family And to serve a purpose with intent clarity Mediating in peace for the spirits And for all humanity Forever to be unbroken.

Whiles I speak hoping to express my self My words surpasses boundaries Exposing me to the lamplight I write hoping to flaunt my talent ; and Whiles I write hiding behind the curtains My skill exposes me to the lamplight Whiles I sing hoping to express my passion My singing exposes me skills Bringing me to the lamplight The lamplight is a den Sheltering the chameleon Once in a million The lamplight is my horror And why I hedge on ; Fighting to disavow Yet, my skill is my being And my being is my skill And my being is in the lamplight And there I must be

I sing a song A song with a horn Blended with yellow corn With honey and for a home  To feed cutty little kitty my unicorn This song I sing Is as old a song Sung of old ; as I sing This song I sing, is the dieing will Of the ancestral spirits T'is the awakening crow Of the cock at dawn I sing a song A song with a horn Sung from old To part not it's hold Of grip on little kitty unicorn This song I sing : Is my counter rising Is my formative lapping Is my relative lighting For our time lapsing Where the tide will turn : The risen to the falling The fallen to the rising Where I will sing home With high hopes Proud of my fully fledged unicorn Like the fisher folks coming home From their sail Proud of their sails

The clock ticks... Days tips by... Weeks passes by Months passes like Seconds. And years as Days. With seasons Coming And going as men With their to and fros And passions Fighting for all; Not knowing that all Will go Somewhere someday. And none to go With But Lonesome to Die, And be buried in Loneness .

This is a poem but a dream This poem is my dream Your dream Our dream This poem is my heart Your heart Our heart This...is our heart in a dream This poem holds my land Your land Our land This poem is Africa This poem preaches unity, solidarity and oneness of the African race This poem is me, you, us ; together in the race This poem condemns segregation of our race This poem is a message to our race This poem condemns slavery, racism, nacism, fascism and imperialism This poem condemns capitalism This poem condones altruism It creates a world of socialism This poem talks of pillars like Nkrumah, Mandela, Mubarak, Kenyatta, Gaddafi, Selassie, Amin, Hussain, Sekou, Gbagbo et all... That stood for our dream This poem talks of pillars like Mansa Musa : That exposed our rich culture That exposed our wealth ; and That exposed our dream of oneness This poem creates the link to the ancestral realm This poem conceives the future, the present ; And nurtures the

The forest speaks the language of tranquil  It's rift, weeds, leaves of creepings and trees  Have a terrain more real than steel.  The colour - green is grille in, and so serene  Much meant for a love seal  Imagined the middle of the sea.  It is a playground not only for cheetahs  But a world called ataraxy.  Weeds , leaves of creepings and trees  All tell no tail than peace,  Connoting a coherent whole  For all diverse hopes.  Yet, festering is bogging her down  By the human travailing clowns  Plundering her hedonic thrill  To an aging awkly quilt ; Immaterialised in her ethos  Of peaceful dialog,  To the scorching dessert home Soon to be lost by all. 

People go, here and there Parting dawns-in any where The day - here And the time - up Then, parting is up Sorrows burst, auras lost Tears flows in parting times All we do is lounge for more That's all we ever care For the love is all we ever share People go, here and there Yet parting sings It's timely songs None is bound to make a stay Seasons come Seasons go All for good is all we know Parting joy is all we seek But sorrow tear is all that flows Wordless - mute is all we are When seasons go Seasons 'll come, when All our loves ' ll gather around Once again

Our love is a curse ; Just as a forbidden pair. Bonded in the heavens Cursed by earthlings. Our love is a curse: Carried on my chest And you, on your breast Bound by the heavens Ruined by the spirits. It's a woe to my family A clue by your family Ensnared exactly One to the other. It's speaks of a Black sheep Bestowed By one to the other. A life for a life Your love is a Curse.

Ain't you my servant? Yes, you are Yet, you act bossy Mr Potbelly?. Tell me Tell me that, you ain't one - a civil servant as the teaching Pauper, Nor the pauperised nurse. Is not your monthly a whopping sum? Tell me then, why, you're so stuffed instead your colleagues? Did not you promised to protect my purse? : Yet, out of my purse you disburse as one who is boss ; Assenting to your whims. What tail is there for your whims? : Creating avenues for looting Flints ; When you promised leverage. Tell me, mr. Potbelly? Now, your disposition is parochialism When you promised altruism. So, when your forthcoming is short-lived ; Do not cry fowl of how your service is limited to have matched your goals.  Cause when the time is up : I'll be there ; And this time to make sure, You do not join the train with your looting flints , once again .

A cake of flour A cake of flour A cake of flour I loath A cake of flour A cake of flour A cake of flour I loath Three sheep Three sheep Three sheep I loath Three sheep Three sheep Three sheep I loath Four cattle Four cattle Four cattle I demand Four cattle Four cattle Four cattle I demand.

O my loving life Whence cometh myself From this daunting height? Reeking of this sight In memory delight. How sad my plight ? beholding  this terror Of loving one, and Married to the other. Saddened by the husbandman Be merry by the stranger-man. How cruel my contentions? How bad my affection? Played at, by my intentions With the husband man. What a genuine gift of uneasiness And peril to the self. When all that is in my want, All that is in my quest Is an unconditional joy And an overwhelmed laughter  Between son, the husbandman and self. Not the incessant weary cause to the self now,  Nor this turmoil within my self Can ease me of my drift. O My loving life Whence cometh my self From this daunting height Hmm. For whatever we sought (like apathy or libido) Outside the marriage home It's anxiety we end up to own.

Sorrow ages me. Grief his brother same. None a better brother, Same their countenance. Vulgar would be me If our friendship tarry. 'e story's how do I? When memories really linger. Moving on is harder But letting go is better. Searching 's all I've got to, For finding joy 's a jackpot, Of bidden sorrow farewell And the future will be fair.

I used to walk with my head up, Priding my self with the Stars up. Now I walk with my head down, Wallowing away like a withering tree. I used to sing my heart out, Loud, high and mighty; Now I sing in mumbles, Like one who grumbles, For my heart is mumbled. Your love was the pillar behind me, The armor of my shield, and the Taproot that held me firm. Your love - my world  - Has been my home. Leaving me, it's crumbled ; Leaving it cities in shambles. Now I know, your love is my making and unmaking. Your love is a sheep in wolf's clothing. Unmasked, your love is wicked.

Love, it's love, it's love Love fain have I been. O love! Love, If love before my eyes is upon me With this sight I ever seek, and with A fair face... It would be fair. Love fame would I be, If I swim through the ocean of love With my naked eyes again. For with a flower in my hands, And leaves with admiration ; Then luck shall sing me home To my very own.

The seer is endowed And vested on his own. He's a master in the art Of the ways of the spirits And the voice of the Spirits. The seer is endowed And vested on his own. He's a master in the art Of ways of the spirits And voice of the ancestors. Seeking for answers? Here, you meet 'im And there, you get 'em. He's voice is a spear That Pearce the target Once at a go. He looks on the mirror And looks on your palm, And listen to the spirits And lo, there you go. He sings for the spirits And mime on his own And lo, off you go. The seer is endowed And vested on his own. He's mastered in this art Of words from the spirits And ways of the spirits. The seer is endowed And vested on his own.

"Kwame eii " the memory I recall of your voice as you call : Here I am now and you lie wordless. Seeing you at this juncture makes me speechless ; words have parted my lips as you lie without a word. I'm not worthy to even say a word, but your toil is more than words to soil. I've tried so hard never to cry, in other to honor you of your strive. Indeed I have swayed, but for you to be word off, I swear to be your pride. Thus, to pride you, I'll make haste and bring you home ; For your pride and rest is best at home than in lone. Knowing that will make you whole as tradition demand in our home. "Nye lanyerane".

I'm heartily thankful for the day I met a dear one as you Though distressed and grieved, memory still lingered on you. For the time spent on me, I know is meant for a few. I've waited patiently for the time of the dew; To ask the heavens if time is due for love to imbue with you. Cause for our paths to have crossed, destiny might have a cause And my granny might have wished, as I have a wish; To love you so deep and dear, for a better cause deeper than destiny.

If I could I will visit my friend : Who's abode is but far, farther than the human eyes sight ; farther to the end of the worlds , farther to the unknown. To extend my warmest greetings: to the one whose name is mentioned less, to the one whose name is mentioned in unison with grief; And the end of the human journey of life. If I could I will visit my friend : Whose abode is known to no one lively, Whose gentle visit undo the lively, whose beckon of friendship is but pain; and whose visit is but sorrow. If I could I will visit my friend : To find out how, to find out why ; He cannot befriend the living. Why his visit as a friend is not sermon , unwelcomed and fowl cried. If I could I will travel far and wide , If I could I will travel to the end of our world ; to extend the spirit of friendship, To extend the spirit of cordiality to my friend. To sit and make merry and to enquire : Why his touch is so deadly, why his visit to me is marked by sorrow and pain ; T

Oh death! why pick that which belongs to the soul of me?, why now when the heart merry?. Why a choice so mean to the living; when  that which is yours per their  choice is not in want . How cruel your pick, burdens the living : My heart ache and sorrow on your choice, No tear is left to mourn yet another. Thus ; let your grip benign the other, for your choice can not be duo in your visit.  Now, let  your firm grip on one be liberty to the other. Let my fear of you for the sicken be the joy for the departing, Let the crow of death be the dove of healing; And let the tears for the dead be tears of joy for the healing. The choice you have made is a pain, yet It's yours to prefer than us: but  now,  let it be the end ever, to have been made in this last hour of your visit to us; for your visit is no more in want.