sunset, evening

Clouds gather above
Casting shadowy troves
Red skies like the wine
An evening, a pretty sign

The lonely tree stand at ease
Like a fiery dog free of her leash
She swerves with the clouds songs
She enjoys the love, the attention

The hills grow up to meet the sun
Shades grow behind huts and men
Tentacles of the palm tree paint
A running masquerade on the silt

But whence travels the sun
Leaving us with grimfaced evenings
Of memories of the fine day
And sweet, finer things to say?

Red skies, white clouds
Surging winds, so loud
All mix of Heavenly hue
Soar like broth of brew

Awestruck, beautiful are the skies
When the sun set before our eyes

Can’t you see?
Can’t you feel?


muse: act now

See the leaves fall before our eyes
While the chimneys puff our smoke
Should they all fall before we see?

The wind blow hotter airs
And the sharks sail closer to us
Are they scared or want food?

The snail shells are broken
They sleep longer, they die earlier
Soon the butterflies and bees vanish

The forests deplete when we seek mean food
Rivers and streams turn black with crude oil spills
Industrial wastes lie here, there, walk to and fro

We lose our borders to the deserts and oceans
Singing patriotic hymns as national anthems
We forget the issue at hand

Erosions, earthquake, they say all are natural
Consciences say otherwise, what have we done?
Never again or is there time to reverse all these?

The oceans rise when the glaciers melt
My pain is the fact that the globe is dying
My anguish is the fact that we are killing it

I ask myself why and…
War’ are we waiting for?


Merry Christmas

This is the season of love

Let the season bring you a load of Heavens goodness
Let happiness and smiles accompany your blessedness

I wish you all a merry christmas and a prosperous new year


Muse: Under the Guava

The Guava sheds our little playground from the scorching sun
The flowers fall on our heads and gave the look of a fine bride

There is a family of brown green mantis on the leaves of the Guava
Savoring the sweet fragrance of the flower and the open air

The Guava is our citadel, it protects the termites and bees
And the flora that grew below her foot she shows benevolence

The fruits are sweet, ah- she drops them for the hungry children
When the day draw to the end her strong stem become a support to the weak

In the airy evening, the Guava stands out like a solitary king
Shading the grey moon light from our dark faces and lean bodies

In the morning the dews descend on her peaceful quietness
The wind play with her, wooing and waking her to a new days song


These Times of the Year…

We have smiled
We have loved
We have done all needed to be done
And the last fruits of harvest were sown

The harmattan is yet to come after all
But the brown clay has repainted the walls
Hot is the heat of the sun on the laborers back
But to his grain stores he must never lack
The farmlands grow strong when the rains go
With more might even the feeblest of fruits are sown

These are the times of the year when greens turn brown
And when the hawks seek the little stray chicks

These are the times of the year when the fields are dry
And mothers make pepper soups that burn the face

These are the times of the year when the trees are better companions
And the rivers a resort made to counter the hot days


Spare Poem

I fall back to my bed, each night with hope on my breast
Twinkle became the blinking of stars up the skies
When the cold that burn all peoples chunk of fat
And the sight of the solemn clouds are manna to the eyes

The grim colors of the falling darkness gather
Moths, ants, earwigs, everything find their way home
A lot; memories, hope, dreams, a night stay to gather
Where there is a will, dreams become even fatsome

The sweet twilight dance before me, a stranger
Dust of foreign lands embellish my darkened face
The weather is cruel to strangers, the sun itself a trickster
When the mornings come all become tense

The night is like firecrackers, the clouds glitter
Small stars, big stars, all shine in happy unison
A stranger retires to his bed, a dream to gather
And the wind is a lullaby and a gentle song


An Evening of ‘Colorful’ Airs

Sweet and wonderful are smell of dry air in the breezy and solitary open
LIke that of bread soaked in margarine, quasi burned in the oven

The taste is remindful of romantic acquiantances hewn to fields of Roses
Stretched afar, to where the lands open to other lands of colors and scents

The fineness of delicious scents, nose-alluring grow with the passing wind
The signal it passes undiluted, without mix of any kind, unpurified

Sometimes these scents come from the forsaken wild,
From dusts, pushed about by the browned roadside

Lonely nights come with these memories of pretty smells
Designed, packaged and yet revealed by Nature to all


Welcome December

It’s the month of icing cold
The freezing of whole rivers
and circular fall of tree leaves

When the sun rise higher in the clouds
The lands glow with her amazing heat

The cold and heat; Decembers hallmark