You don’t really know when to give up, do you?
On a virtuous voyage you’d say, it’d be of benefit
When falsity – gross is the course in the name to tussle, I’d admit to quit.
You’d chase ghosts like the Tom, Warner Bros’s.
Well, should you be combing life n’ film like one
You’d be mincing seahorse with hummingbird, common
Such a drama, or any form of film, life’s bigger than
This is life where rehearsal or reality one’s ne’er o’er-ran.
Well, this is your nefelibata and your own craze. What you create you’d be responsible for.
Trust me chap, should the runs, this legal run fail its well worth
Now n’ again n’ should none again come around my thought;
Red flag is used in the war front, change’s crossed us to one
Let’s hit the road feller, our discuss has yielded a worthy corn.
It’s evident, death’s really grinning at humanity at Nigeria’s end
Even tomato n’ pepper have torn their soupy virtue n’ portend.
Disgrace has mounted the face of ’em politic peoples at the tip-tops nay
Each of the populace to nurture are confused, are confusin’ ’em yay!
Much more tiny my tummy throws up this hour
This be a restraining pin-ful cage – we complain for more before, now starch is flour.
Well, no policy’s like this let’s take heart though
There’s hunger at hand, we see him wanting to kill, it’s a scare, let’s row on the canoe.
Hope’s lost since corruption looks fantastic, this I mean
“The East is easier, little work, great pays,” says Amene.
The moon ‘gain is out today’s a velvet vest, so glare to prick n’ appreciate
So lone-some in the space with the stars embarking popular strike .
The labour’s not worth your lampoon, should that be the cross of your intended debate
For pauper persons like your are they are, they face chastise; to remove from our sours, state’s pike.
Well, this land’s clearly dark, the beetles, electric we used to own bare but privy persons crush
Their maze made the decisions, the blames for all these belongs to leaders…
This would I vouch for, against those that rain-waste unwashed cash
With their maze and their executing crazes, would I solicit still not judging, they need make masses their highest bidders.
…and you call that your own holy credo right?
‘Tis what just jostlings of bletcherous remarks, chei!
Allah, be ye there nurturing silence silently nay, lest our husbands leave cows to fight!
Deoa, where lieth thee thy very dignity I was married to that day?
Wo woman, be cheerful n’ nurture nightly mute, should ye not be wallowing in pride
These vast pastures to our great forefathers ’em be n’ we go cut all to procure.
Yay, which pride, chei? Deoa, tell your rest to rest lest bloods rest around outta man’s hide
Peace, I Tkena preach o, this is war sure, so very sure.
Ta, take that aground, match it faint with the dirt
We’d slain few few hours flew, before your peaceful rhetorics, this is our land, theirs, no!
Then the credo, what goes around bites back around abound – shall visit us next be the odd chastise of death
This land’s kempt us together womanly but she shall nay request in vendetta these red milks from here reaching Borno.
So they talk of palliatives now papa, of cause, argue this blatantly, would I, with a blank backup?
Yay, Toit…, bring that paper, pace para-para let’s hear the preter-patter here papa Peter’s up!
And where’s it… Toit, papa Peter I told it didn’t I?
This one’s useless, her school’s stopped – fishes a-dam are dead n’ farms afar are reluctantly coy.
Here is it papa!*
We fixing wrapper*
Mama’s sickly suspending saliva, very red I could seeing*
Papa! must I wait and go away or something?*
Poor education, no, not just that, there be, more to that, bodies raised to aid us, be lynched by ’em
See my only daughter, poor compositions of English way, that was no brandiloquence papa Peter
Such be her grammar n’ all about like that, on the family face, she’d plait such an heavy emblem
What’s the way out papa Peter, this is hell where riches ooze in grate, ingrates, outta?
Yes, yes, deteriorated are everything in our area, now we fight the tight
Palliatives at least they’d cried to give the rest to rest, where be ours at least?
The relieve systems they’ve made, Mr Porter’s sects have looted no more letter’s we write
Slaves at 21st century we be, no, no Detta, we have come past slumbering, wake, my son, break the oiling beast.
The oiling beast, we break?
Death may do us into a bunt cake
As we break, light may come
As he comes, Papa Peter, dearth raises in sum!
Where lies your ego Uroboh born?
Experts leads the breaking, you’d man a gun
To the mother beast we fire n’ we bombilate apart
These would amount pass, past letter messages to ’em states a deadly dart!
You’re part of the past breakings I’d spot?
So literate you’d do around the town’s court
Unexpectedly it seems but your wise words
Who on earth could know n’ shun your boards?
Good, now you’d thought a better land man, no argument nor dispute
Mower now less, from the breaking, for your sick missus you’d pack n’ put
Some oil droppings home, for daughter’s fees n’ you’d sell too to feed
Albeit, Ibgokri’s packing oil spills n’ explosion came booming boom-boom till he died indeed.
(c) Jodekss Gloatkenf