Poetry

March 7, 2019 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Greg Neate photo

 

By

Olatubosun David

 

 

 

Lamentation of the church

 

 

I could doubt every man’s a word but

Not a letter from men called by your name

 

We are one of those from the ages past

Shun at will, your promise of a good living

Clamouring for the best we can work out

With our devotion, confidence and loyalty to democracy

 

We are the parrot that sings the praise of our kings

On our farm roads, in the market squares

We are the village crier that cries

In hunger, in need

And through the magic of our tongue

Winning converts to our fold

 

But we are also the destitute and tax payers

The dregs of society, the despised of the kings

We set kings over us

Yet we have been unsettled or say

The whole world is burning with fires.

 

Now, if we can’t go any further from here

We should trace our ways to your promise of good living

Which we turned down ab-initio

Hence, slowly we haste to your cathedral

Where the truth dwells

Seeking succour to our dying souls

The earth burning coal under our bare sole

Bearing the shame, bearing every pain

We return to your cathedral

Our heads bowed low, our palms in embrace

In short forgiveness prayer

Omen of hope there is

We kiss your holy cross in the courtyard

Jesus you are merciful, amen

And entering, we are perplexed that

Your saints serve Satan in your sacred place.

 

Oh dear Lord!

If we have not read your laws

That you scolded the love of money

We would admit what we see is not abnormal

And if things this way go bad with our commonwealth

Bad with our political system

And yet, your prophets, from whom we seek the truth

Suddenly turn dribblers, aiming at our purse

Where else then do we go from here?

 

 

 

 

Tears in the pew

 

 

God! Your altar has been covered

With greed and strange desires

Your sacred place has been tinted

With lies and resentment

The wall of Zion is crumbling

The sheep are starved

The sheep are led astray

And the Shepherds indifferent

 

Our church is sick

But what we see is healing

Of members we do not know

And the demands of what we would have happily given

Only if we have had them

 

All of us from our different blindness

And from strive and slog of life’s weariness

We have come seeking relief and rest

We find hindrance and burden and anguish

From your church that used to give succour

 

Refresh us o Lord and send your healing balm

Our heart is waning.

 

 

 

 

 

Olatubosun David

Olatubosun David is a Nigeria writer and poet. A graduate of Rufus Giwa Polytechnic, Owo, Ondo State (2013), in Office Technology and Management. Currently works as a confidential secretary in the department of Mathematical Sciences, Achievers University, Owo. Ondo-State, Nigeria.

Editor review

0 Comments

No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply