Poetry

AFP photo

By

Abdulbasit Yusuff

Songs Of The Policeman

Mr. Driver

Why does your face become as distorted

As our rumpled khaki uniforms

When we wave at you to stop and step out?

Mr. Driver

We work hours round the clock save for nighttime

Doing our job and the Road Safety Officer’s

Checking licenses and inspecting trunks

Mr. Driver

Can you not see we are friends of the poor?

Flashy cars don’t enjoy such privilege

We don’t wave at them to stop

Let alone make small talk with them

Don’t we deserve to demand a token?

For all the extra work and service?

Mr. Driver,

Don’t judge us by our appearance

We may be dressed in all-black

But our heart shines white with valor

Oh you poor and struggling taxi driver

Why do you cling stubbornly

To your meager daily earnings?

Where’s your faith, driver? Haven’t you heard?

That he that spends from the little of his purse

Shall have his purse replenished in folds?

Of Tarantulas And Internet

Stuck in the (world wide) web

Spun by this tarantula

Dressed in the exoskeleton

Of a harmless room spider

Crawled in with eyes open

Marveling at this appealing trap

That glistened like silk

The same silk of my curtain

Slowly I let my guard down

And take off the garment of my manners

The internet, like the tarantula, bites

And its venom intoxicates

And like a man suffering tarantism

I am forced to dance like a maniac

Before the eye of the public

Abdulbasit Yusuff

Yusuff Abdulbasit is a budding 20-year old Nigerian writer. He was born in Kogi State but was raised in the Federal Capital Territory. He sometimes uses the pseudonym “Abu Harith”. He studied Science Laboratory Technology at the Federal Polytechnic, Bida and is a lover of poetry, football and popular culture.