Ibadan, the sky, forest

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Ibadan, the sky, forest


IBADAN
Rust, rusty I saw
What a marveled sight
My eyes alone so surprised
Rust on roofs of ancient boxes
Could those be houses or mere boxes?
As I can perceive from above
Ancient you are
Old, I see has become of your streets
Rusty tops scattered till the end of the earth
Ibadan, how old are you?
A question the colored man fails to respond with a clue
I yet believe you to be older than the mother that bore you
You remind me of colonialism
I can still see foot paths of the past
Now questions I ask myself
Could this be the foot prints of the colorless man?
Who I heard sold my foundation to slavery
I feel sick to think of you that way
Am happy and I start to boast of a concrete evidence
That I have a past I was told about
Rust all along, can I stop seeing you?
Or could this be forever?
Cos you seriously continue to show yourself
From your deliberate reflex ions to my naked eyes
Yes, I can’t help to notice your bronze medals
Even if I want to, can I paint you all to the end?
No, I know not what becomes of our past evidence
Even in your old age
Your bosom can still accommodate the future
Your strong teeth can still chew
Ibadan, with pride I can call you;
Rusty, shinny, bronze medal in the sun!
September, 2003










NIGERIA
“Niger” the white man named you
Larger than life itself
Your body fills Africa
Giant of Africa
You are so fertile
36 children you have
Over 400 great-grand children
In wealth you lay
In crude oil you dine
What a nation!
Full of milk and honey
Your three head children
You honor the most
Hausa, Yoruba and Igbo
You are now 48 years of age
With 36 children
Still I see strength all over you
What a strong nation you are
With over 180million people
Your vegetation is rich
In mineral resources you boast
People come from far and near
To see how beautiful your children are
Would you live longer?
That for sure we can tell
Even as your resources are misused
You still get richer and richer
The sun smiles down at you
Your seasons are lovely
From your soil we eat from
Nigeria! Am proud of you
I associate with you
Cos in you we live, dine and rejoice!
April 20th, 2006










FOREST
Trees along
Trees everywhere
Birds singing
Rich in vegetation I call green
Weeds and grasses to cure the sick
In your belly so large
You harbor roots and herbs
To treat patients of all kinds
O forest! i forever love thee

You possess a smell
Only you alone have that
In you many has made fortune
From timber, men became strong
Wild your habitats are
Hunters grow wild in you
Just to get meat for family
And money, lots of cash
During the day, so noisy and wild
At night falls, so gentle and sweet

As the evening breeze blows
The trees dance to its music
And animals sleep peacefully with air condition
What a priceless gift from Mother Nature
O forest!
Is your belly open to all?
Yes only to the wild and experienced men
With skills and heart of a lion
I love to be there
Yet the heart of a lion I possess not
Rich forest, indeed we share in your riches.
April 20th, 2006.













THE SKY
What is it about the sky?
Is it just a mare feature of the earth?
Or yet another creation of God?
I believe the sky is beautiful!
I look up and see
Just as millions do see
The spices of life in the sky
Iron birds fly across the sky
Birds of different kinds….colors
Occupying space called the sky
The sky what a beauty you are
Looking up I see gold reflex ions
The sun agree to be your companion at day
At night the moon ignites your body
Are you one of the heavenly bodies?
That nature chooses to reveal to man
You choose to cry a times in a season
At yet another cool summer
You display colors of your garment
To show humans how wealth and beautiful you are
What a beauty you are
If we had your kind of wealth
And a stainless attire just to match yours
Dinner would have been served for two
Yet your garment is priceless
What tape could be used to measure?
You are beautiful, beauty is you
Shower us with your beauty
So we can be radiant as you
Admired by all
What a beauty you are, the sky
Give the earth more shelter
Throughout time I pray!
JUNE, 2007.














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Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

femo’s Poems (2)

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