iAmDiipo

I HAVE A WISH I have a wish To a bird amongst those these eagles That fly high above I’d fly away, far away to places unknown Perch on ancient trees and watch the sun set on distant lands Live amid the pristine peace of land and air untouched by men; Driven by fears and science I’d live a life of no care for such mundane endearvours that brings pain Sleep in tents and dine with strangers Fly amid the clouds of rain and caress every colour of its rainbow Without a thought of a gold pot I’d live free, wild and easy Soar beyond knowledge known to men And watch their strife with some pity in my eyes.

What would I pay for the school that will teach me? How not to live in a past I can’t unprint Nor in a future I can’t preprint How to immerse myself into now and enjoy it Without wishing for more or less How To see the clouds and not wonder when it would rain To see a woman and not contemplate heartbreak To have faith when in fear How To listen to the assortment of voices of nature Birds singing, children crying and the rustle of leaves in the wind To say thank you for even nothing How to discern what I feel and sieve it from what I should feel How to listen deep enough to hear the voices of silence And see the reasons behind our reaons How To be honest with myself first and so acknowledge my limits without judgments And do likewise with my strengths without arrogance How not to limit my experience by putting them all into words (Some feelings would not go into words …..Words are limited) How Not to classify my acquaintances into classes How to experience people and not analyze them To...

The rich don’t use public buses They have too many cars and police escorts Only the poor like me would you find in buses like this Thinking the thought of others; There is a lady here Beside me on the left— Who has read her marked God’s book from Mark to Matthew in 5 minutes! Who does she think she is, a Sybil? The guy on the extreme right is obviously in love with his own gruffly voice— Been practicing Acappella all along—(I suggest he sing hymns at burials) Some love birds (more of love lion and prey) at the back seat Talking the talk of fools who are about to fall (into the lagoon or) in love— Saying a whole lot of nothing I, the old hungry muse is here thinking the thoughts of an idler We have two sleepers; one behind the other, one of each sex Sleeping an impossible sleep, in this impossibly wobbly bus On the third-mainland at sunset on a late October hot Tuesday Seasoned with assorted peals of vehicle horns In a mercilessly hopeless clog up!

Go from south to North You’ll hear the voices of men Their sons’ and wives’ also Some cry, some laugh, some bark Some write to make a song We all some thought we think The dead must envy this They never get a chance To cry nor laugh nor back Nor think some worldly thought The dead they envy this They never get the chance To write and make a song To make a gloomy song. July 2008

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.