Poetry

October 5, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Ed Kashi

 

By

Ifeoluseyi Ifeoluwapo Ifeyemi

 

 

A Drop Of Water

 

 

I

 

Now we bite bizarrely into the skins of truths,

Whose feelings parallel hurts of our skinned stature;

Praying rains of the attractions of redemption

Where a water drop does not form a mighty ocean

On the barren of our lands boasting the buoyancy of dearth

Spooned savagely by hands of a raging ruler on our throne of wealth

 

II

 

The Devil’s deliverance for a thousand times borrows the title of a sham

That we wittingly ask, how does the blood of cows fuel mega-campaigns?

Wherewith the mandate of leadership landed on your laps of lapses;

Long-lusting the blades of contrived revolution evidently evading our homes,

Of inflicted inflation and detrimental deflation working at crossroads

To plunge our noses beneath the waters of “economic Waterloo”

 

III

 

We now rap round rotten remnants like an army of ants

In a bit to feed hope to our “Buharied” bellies seeking “Goodluck”

And like the words of miserable comforters to a dying infant struggling to hold life.

He says: this hunger is for a while, while we whirl in the winds meltdowns.

Alas! he says this and that, but his stewards say these and those of our satiric state

Well how can he know, he who won with the largeness of his grazers?

 

IV

 

Ah! how do we tell him of his repugnant revolutionary wars

He whose ears error the audibility of our whelming wails

He whose mind is fixed on settling stale scores

On our suffering scared skulls stinking of recession sores,

Praying balms of Aso against the applied spirits of the west;

Whose cure cuts our healing wounds and cures their faded scars

 

V

 

There is a sermon our ears refutes with tears for it saves no soul from perdition

How can a drop of water form a mighty ocean in the barren of the Sahara

When more dusty is the soil of our hunger savaged souls seeking salvaging oceans?

How can our identity insult our father’s land like a bastard left-pointing his father’s house

How did we lose logic to birth the most tragic of all misfortunes

How did we the mandate of sanity sell to the seeker of vengeance

 

VI

 

So Mr “D” is a thief for the attractions of a rift

And we whose hands handed over dominance must milk out his peace

In the excruciating kicks of his pains landed on our faces by his host;

Host of political gladiators chameleoned by the colours of change

As we rip riddance from peace, provision and protection

Like a child son sold into slavery by his own father.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ifeoluseyi Ifeoluwapo Ifeyemi

Ifeoluseyi Ifeoluwapo Ifeyemi, is a young and prolific writer with lots of depths. He hails from Yaba, Ondo town, Ondo state Nigeria. A graduate of his state university, with a degree in Social Studies Education. He is currently serving his country as a corp member (NYCS). He has written lots of poems to his credit, to read some of his works visit his personal blogspot.

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