July 3, 2017 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Reuters photo



Ibrahim Ayobami Balogun



Sequel Of Errors


Hopelessly we roam on a nameless street
And make sequel of errors unawares
From the day mama left papa’s house
To the day she adhered to the calling of freedom fighters
Who enslaved her daughter to besought wealth
With the paradise beneath her glorious venter.
They freed injustice from the prison of just,
And made home an illusion foretold
About sons that were murdered by a just judge
That preached peace at papa’s graveyard.

We lost the herald of pains papa preached
On the field mama walked through to her comfortless zone.
Why not mama give papa a stand to sit?
Why not make the crown befit his head?
I cry as we lost our virtue in the pool of shame
Like a woman who’s virginity is lost to Chaplain
I’d love to buy tomorrow for my sons
But who hears the cries of Mothers and rejoices?



The Super Powers


The world of Super Powers
Grows as the powerless weep
The Hitler and the giants-against,
The cold war and the poisonous sleep,
The September attack of a new born century,
The November inhuman blast in Paris
By masked assassins with dumb beliefs
Hastening our love to born-decay.

Live we in the era of Judas,
As man murders man with beautiful words
And suffers in the prison of Goliath
That makes him see hell on earth.
Dying man with no David in his time,
Or his David is not armed enough.
Aggressive weapons in the hands of men
To destroy all we painfully worked for;
When our rescue troops are in the bar
Negotiating our lives with vampires
Who suck our blood to the bone
And abuse our women of their pride.
No beautiful day we see no more.
Where is Moses in our time,
To save us from King Pharaoh.



The King Of Pagans


“Hail the King! Hail the King!
O people of the Land, hail him!
The wisest in our Land, hail him!
Who defeats every giant on the field, hail him!
And questions every preacher’s faith, hail him!
He debates philosophers and win
And hits the roaring lion on the face, hail him!”

“Today we present before thou, Our King
A wretched from a land you own,
A wretched with beards dirty and unkempt
With face that suggests lunatic.”
Akede Oba continued;
“He wants to debate with thou
And question your pride and your might
Over the days and the nights
Thou ruled as though you are a god
Who giveth laws as our Lord
And created us from the soil”

“I, thy King shall not withdraw
To hear a dim of his words
For he is a thing I could toy
His life without a thought”

“O king of the Land I plead,
I request thy ears to hear
The story of Moses and Pharaoh
Who made himself throne
And built a palace of gold”
The Old poor monk added;
“Pharaoh was a great and feared thug,
He had dominion over Egypt.
He dared the Lord of the hosts
And tried Moses with illusions
But lost to him and drown
With all the hosts in his lock.”

“O useless and dumb old fool,
You came to mock a coward
That I read in some old books”
The King became angry as he retorts;
“For I declare your neck be hooked
And prove to me your other god.”

“For I say unto thou
To leave your pride behind
And bow to him that made
Your body and flesh from clay”
The monk continued in haze;
“I pray to thee again,
The walls of pride are gigantic and high
But my Lord’s wrath is wide,
As He can make thou to last
A blink of eye and die.

“Until I place your head
Before my people to laugh
And show thy head to them sons
Who are yet born in the Land!”

Akede Oba joyfully cried out;
“Hail the King, hail him!
His majesty make us proud, hail him!
He’s  powerful than all, hail him!

“Behead the fool and make
His body as food for me
And his head a cake unbaked
And keep in the village square”

“Who threw stone at the Lord?
O little boy, O poor boy!”
Akede Oba announced;
“The Lord has fallen and can stand not”
He then faced the poor little boy;
“Why shouldest thou stone the King?”
The little boy retorted;
“I was but playing”
Akede Oba then faced the Monk;
“O ye man from the East!
Why shouldest be a day as this
That our King and Lord died?
Is our King the Pharaoh,
Who fought your Lord and lost?
I plead thou to tell it to us,
A god and lord of our land is dead,
Died in the hand of a small boy
Who was but playing with stone.”

“I say to all thee present here,
There is One above the earth
Who alone shall thou serve and bow”
The Old Poor Monk continued;
“The walls of pride are high and wide
I’ve seen castles that last a day and sank,
Lower your arrogance upon the earth
That conceives without semen.
The Lord, God can use His Might
To mock man’s giant in a fight
With ants and make him lose.”





Ibrahim Ayobami Balogun

I am a first year student of Sociology at the University of Ibadan, Nigeria. I hailed from a very humble background which serves as an advantage of knowing much about how people feel, especially the poor and the abused, the misused, the raped and victims of rape. The things I see around, I pour them into poetry.


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