iAmDiipo

You must have led a life I know, had a wife or wives Children and kinsmen I wonder how you beamed around them, or didn’t How you played, or didn’t And my question is this; Were you caught playing with them? Or away from them Perhaps, you were caught cheating your wife Petting some young lass you just met Was she caught with you too? These your eyes that shines still brightly What brought joy to them— in your time? This is your time still I deliberated Its your time until you can’t be seen around Its your time till the day you were taken from your friends And your time still— drowned in this pepper And your time till you vanish through the abyss of my gut Even now marinated in chili and seasoning I can’t help but marvel at the grandeur of your beauty Were you a he or she? What was your calling? Were you a ...

Its queer, isn’t it? To sit & write in a mall But it is queerer if you sit beside a writer And wonder what under the heavens a sane Persona would write about— In the nosiest part of a noisy mall What would she write about, a husband? Would she write about any such thing? If she’s decked thus; Black boots, blue-black jeans, black leather jacket Studded just like her nose & ears; On her head, a scarlet mane But on her mind (in her notepad) Who can guess? If she’s lost or won If she’d cry or laugh this very next moment. NOTES The palms springs is the biggest shopping mall in Lagos.

The cock crows As the cold of the night melts A wise son whispers his prayers Ere the twitter of weavers On the trees in the frontage. The busy of our mothers' brooms And the rhythm of cutlasses On the whetstone in the yard Stirs the sluggard, their clamor And beef and anger. On grasses the dew vanish Giving way to the dust Raised by troops of little children With calabashes and decorated guards On their way to the singing stream. The yellow flowers of okra Shone with brilliant smiles As the luster of the rising sun Affirms yet another dawn Another dawn of endeavors.

I will tell the police And call your mother I will write ‘The Times’ And copy the gods That you are the sweetest woman alive That you are the thief who stole my heart And kept it betwixt the roundness of your  thigh.

This is not a poem A poem is supposed to say something Or some things Do something or Think some things and not say it A poem must have ingredients like an african soup Prettified with devices and made of two or more soups A poem must have something thick just to go with it A poem must be utilitarian; Be a weapon, a victim, a voice or be the poet— Be a message Pass a message Or pass a message across Better still; pass a message across to somebody. Is this a poem?

This is fear I’d know her anywhere I saw her yesterday too Naked unalloyed Ogling and seeing beyond my eyeballs Deeper into my depths. Unsettled, I moved on Realizing I’d see him again I stood to ask the man inside me If ever I’d be without this fear `Yes, yes you will` he said. `You will be with him and him with you Forever settled afterwards’.

This rain must quench the sun This sun shall fry in fury his fingers before it pokes the earth The tussle is futile; no winner This rain will not quench the sun The sun cannot stop his wet fingers From probing the waiting earth The winner has not come So it rained It rained on the moon And made runnels This made streams Which flows across the face of the sun And cannot quench the sun For he shone still It rained cougars, foxes and zebra And silent seas flow from their scared eyes As they scampered Ducking under thickets It rained in the sun The queen labors Her cries were fierce And all in flight or fright Was still and quiet or numb It rained on the sun For a king is being borne. The winner is now here.

Two fishes met On a cold market day morning Said Supi as Nagga listens "Words on the streets of this stream Such as words that makes fib They say crooks love just like we fish And woo, chase, feel, care and give Their heart away in tender abandon Nagga was angered At such a blasphemous proclaim So he forfeited his day's profit And in a hurry left he For the graveled path to the crooks tent There he found him walking his puppy "I've come so as to know The veracity of this rumor Which thrives amongst fishes That like us, crooks love "Yes we love They did not tell you Than most vicar you know And surely better than fishes Whose love dissolves with the very bubbles which heralds it Love happens to all my friend Wise, have-nots, just, unwise, unjust, have and suchlike labeled Without bias doth he choose his victims For he does not divide folks and fishes As we do, into periods and classes Fishes and crooks can all love Truly love In fidelity or infidelity According to...

I Why do they close their eyes? Why are they so closely locked? Are they praying, perhaps it’s a ritual They are of same color Yes of same intent As the closeness of their nose suggests She is happy There is peace behind those closed eyelids He doesn't seem unhappy too Cupid has caught some blissful victims. II I wonder if they know am looking If they care what I see I wonder if they just eased kissing If they are about to kiss If they'd never unkiss If they'd always be this way Don’t they have places to go? III Are they forever? Are we forever?

Mr. Francis: Avoid sleep, get as little as possible It’s the biggest enemy, if you sleep too much Kids, when you die you’ll not sleep In the grave your eyes shall be opened; wide awake Because you’ve expended all the sleep assigned to you, You hear? All: YESSIR I was among the all, Mr. Francis was my math teacher and a bit of a philosopher too. My YESSIR still echoes in my ears every night even; even twenty years later Sleep I have a strict idea of sleep; time spent shutting and unshutting eyes­­­­­—so as not to exhaust all my sleep here—I want to sleep when I die. My sleep starts—trying to solve to an arithmetical or philosophical argument and abruptly always ends to the rustle of ants in the cracks of the wall. Pet I have a gecko named Tigre He comes out only at nights to eat mosquitoes, roaches and the spider that eats ants. I never pat...

Me It’s the same me Same old me alright You remember from part I It is me on a different evening, 365 days later I still spend my evenings with myself Friends I lost a thousand to a year (3 per day!) You know the friend in my dreams I lost her too She left me & my empty dreams Dreams I stopped dreaming altogether! Poetry My woes have doubled And so are my verses Girlfriend I need one; so I can have some dreamless nights Met a chick last week, had to set reminder to call her! Suggestions Please text suggestions to the following number 3600 only in the year 1996 If you are reading now, it only means you’re late I have sorted my life out!

Far or not; Heaven Tonight I’m having a closer look at you Broken or not; my life I’ve laid its carriage down somewhere Just somewhere where You know there’s a God still Who made and laid stars in his heaven Drowned by this starlight Wearied I laid me down On grasses browned by the heat of the day Where I can see God-made stars— They’re saying something again! What they told the wise men.

THE SLEEP OF KINGS I’s not empty headed This rum must have emptied my head I was heavy hearted This rum has lightened my head For I’m light hearted Slight-crazed, half-dazed And I will dose even before the king Any king; even our king, the king of kings The judge of judges, the Otukchawyanyah of Ijangirhiland Bring him before I go to zzzzland I’m thrice light-hearted Slight-dazed, half-crazed I will sleep the sleep of kings And snore the snore of trains I I I will Sleep in jeans & scarf &clogs And wake to piss at 12 o’clock I’m the light hearted king Who had had a day of binge.

His step falters As He staggers and gathers All within his reach Which he surely must scatter On each new encounter Free, easy and simple goes the little chubby toddler Free he was Easy he was Simple he was He was chubby still As he took his first steps to death!

We are What we think we are What we know What we do We are all of the above We are gods Yet, we are not God.

I have a wish A desperate wish— To be stranded a thousand miles from nowhere To get stuck like those Whose blurred cheeks murmured unheard wishes, Whose unsmiling mien were lost in the wake of the wind as we sped past. My friends, I must confess I envy their fate; A wrecked bus In a jungle where friendship is indifferent.