Spring water

When there was love

I saw the white clouds

Crystal clear

Like the sweet spring

Leaping in joyful haste

To lands that thirst

For the life-giving water


A Psalm: Your Voice

When I spoke with You I felt the rhythm in Your voice

It gave me the push to wake the solo song singing in me,

It made the ink in me flow

Guiding as I let my words sow

Your voice caged the fear in me

Showered on me pieces of life sweets

It drove me through the quietness of the cloud

And the mighty forest line swooshing loud

Your voice calls out from the mountain ranges

Letting the echo thunder across the lowly valleys

In the evening wind You speak

Light are the words You spoke

In the starry night, You sing

For a weary shepherd, waiting

Your blessing and voice has become a great inspiration

And I am thankful, dear Lord for all You have done


Masked lover

Sweet are your words and talking

Even softer are the touch of your hands

But the moments the scales came falling

It was crystal clear you never had loved


Muse: By the Waterside

Once by the Waterside I strayed

Minding the car traffic racing about

A bridge led down a couple of stairs

And I happened on the market

A stranger in the midst of strangers

Throwing wares over my face

What a mighty mix of man and ware!

At a corner a heap of decaying fruits and vegetables lay

Smell of rotten tomatoes, chilli and cabbages especially fill the air

Strange, by the heaps side a great number of livestock rummage

Tearing apart the huge dirt that stood majestically on the earth

The smell of cattle or goat urine and blood stench the air

Gathering a flock of birds and the glamorous flies above

Further ahead, smoke rise up to romance the heavens

Scattering at several points were reed on the slow river grow

From the bridge I could see the depths

Of the river, her waters and polluted pain

White crystals rushing on one another

To somewhere we can not account for

And where they turn black with filth


Ladawa: An African love song

When you look at me, it tells me many stories

I drown in the ocean of thought and love

Will it be your slim hands or the flowers you wear

Or the hair do that celebrates the African woman?

You smell like the morning dew on roses

And sometimes like mint mixed with guava!

And when you smile at me, I swing like the monkey

Through branches of abundant joy and desire

I call your name; Ladawa, my own Ladawa

Softly, you whisper back like the mambas spit

I am very obsessively happy calling your name

So let the forests, the hills standing and valleys lying hear

Of my strange love song for you dearest one!



Ladawa is a made up name.


Easter, 2019

I see the world through Your eyes

And it’s clear how much You loved

Even to take my grief and pain away

I celebrate Your beauty for my ashes



How the stars glitter tonight

In thousands they shine

Twinkling, above the skies!

Winking at children who watch

Through their window curtains

The mild feelings they bring


Muse: Rainmaker

I shall command the rain about

So please stand aside and watch

Make ready, get your pots

Dance in the warmth it brought

Enjoy also the life that come with it


Morning Sun

Hail the sun rises with her gold,

Across the horizon she paints the land

The green great plains lay low

Watching her presence grow

The hills rise to meet her warmth

Desiring the joy she brought to the hamlet


The Lightning

From my curtains I peered to see your flash

Before now you have kept my candle light busy

Trashing the paper work all over the room

And making jest of me each time I tried to sort them

You created monsters in the skies

The black clouds became your drawing board

And you drew the face of an angry man

Eye brows, silly nostrils, goofy mouth,

All disappearing as you spend your ink

One remarkable thing though was the wind;

She came with you, trifle shy at first

Then growing in dangerous might

Shuffling through the tree lines

So that the little ones may think

That the great Candy monster had come

The tree leaves fly in the damp wind

As their paper companions in my room

The heaven bellies rumble again and again

Trumpets speaking in strange tongues

But then this will be another muse of you,

And of your pranks upon our little hamlet


Muse: Teach me

Lay me by the side of the brook,

Closer to the brown colored rocks

Make me see the waters tumble over

So teach me how to be your lover


An African song

“Na da oo, O Na da oo! Kuje kusanar!”

Bring the cymbals, bring also the gongs

Let’s make an African song…

Before you hit the cymbal

Remember the tune to the Tribal,

Twist your palm a bit to the left

But hold your strike, yes hold it

For I must blow the whistle

And introduce the songs title

I must blow the whistle

But strike the cymbal a little

Follow my lead

Tell of the days deed

Did it rain?

Did it shine?

Did the blue cloud sail across the horizon

Carrying with it the songs of kites and herons?

Or did Mazi Okoro visit his palm tree’s pots

So that we may be sure that wine will flow tonight?

The Palm and the Iroko trees are our virgin flowers

They are our symbol of fertility and power

Did you hear the leopard

Calling through the wild?

So let the ancient drum talk

Hit the areas marked with chalk:

“May the eagle perch,

May also the hawk perch

Let none forbid the other

From perching on the great ugba

Gather the broken brooms and wood

Tonight we make a huge fire with logs

In preparation for our African song

Happy that the long day is done



Na da oo… Kuje kusanar!: Hausa language for “I am back, go and tell them”

Mazi Okoro: imaginary person. Mazi means Mister. In Igbo land, the Palmwine tapper normally sets his pots on the tree were the wine was ripe and flowing. This may take some days to be full before it is harvested and prepared for consumption.

Iroko: A great tree in Igbo land.

Ugba: A tree in Igbo land



You are three hours away from me

Sometimes, a second, forty minutes

Or a month or a whole year!

Masked, you would not let me see all

That you carry

Tree barks turn grey with your time

But, when I happen to see it

It may have become green with life

So I tried to look into you instead

To get a glimpse of what you have for me

And to know if I would ever get to meet you


Three Poems: The Shepherd, Dance for me and Say you believe me


The Shepherd

Night calls

Stars glitter up the skies

Picturing stories

Which can not be told

So the Shepherd views all

From his bed of wool


Dance for me

I hear the sound of your feet

As they moved on the bare floor

So I looked to see the style for tonight

But in the musical crowd, you were lost

Swinging your hips

Teasing the generous crowd

And arresting men’s passion


Say You Believe me

The past won’t make me think less of you

Pain, hurts and betrayals won’t either

So I invented a formula for our love

But you must believe, before it works

I can make you smile in a hundred ways

Tell you stories about the queer Giraffe

And how she ate the sick moon half

Maybe we can act the noisy zoo

You as the Squirrel and I the Cuckoo

So I have imagined the world we can create

If you can say you believe me



Memories are sweet or sad moments that live with us

Like the gladness the rains give when we sleep at night

Or the painting of da Vinci that lived past his ingenuity

Memories are penned down in our hearts

Throwing flowers to paths we trod once,

Walking down the steps that held our homes

And of places where the nights are groomed for dance

So memories are illusions of what may be

What may have been or shouldn’t have been

The happiness of seeing a baby form into a toddler,

Missing the point where it all began sourly or sweetly

To the time we turn to the casket and so they go away


Color called dirt

There’s no color called dirt but that of the earth

It is the hue that gives life yet it drags on the floor

It gives a humid stench when it cakes up on water

And tastes man’s grief when we lose a loved one



Beauty is the painting of paths

That men had never walked or seen

Like the pebbles which count not their existence

Beauty walks through the ranges and fjords

With shadows of pines and winter trees all about

And tree logs sailing quietly on the lonely waterway

Beauty is the art of tranquility

It is peace that comes with quietness,

The sands that lay on beaches stretched far away

Quietly for years, unperturbed, sitting on one another

With backgrounds of green tropical forests and rocks

And a wide variety of flora and fauna

Beauty is painting of the sea

Some are black, some light blue

Some a mild red and a patch of cream

But the hues match with that of the skies

So that the canoes look like middlemen

Caught in-between the clouds and sea


Dark Clouds

It is morning but it is still dark

Well, the clouds may have gone for a procession,

A procession hidden behind the heavenly firmaments

Strangely it may never storm

But the town can feel the damp

Soft airs play with the trees leaves

Flying them like kites up above the sky

Dark clouds hide the sun

Waiting for her ransome

The morning shy

Enjoy the warmth of mixed cold and hot air

So tbe airs, dark clouds and the morning

May have gone to sleep; a sleepy procession


A Tale of Two Rats

Gather around the fireplace

Sit and have some warmth

It is a cold night, is it?

But we must tell this tale

So listen to what I have to tell!


Once upon a Time and Place

In the great wilderness that lay away from the highway

And away from much civility, lived a very old woman

She was lonely, weak and frail but could fight anything

That strayed into her unkempt, dark and strange home

Listen, our tale is not about this woman but the rat

That defied all odds to live in her house

Now in the meeting of rats there was the house rats

And the bush rats, each respecting the others way of life,

Sometimes wishing that they could be in the shoes of the others

To see what life may be to them, since they only met during the meetings

Each time, the rats will brag about their homes and food

So the house rat living with the old lady had noticed the excitement

A new bush rat come from the deep forest had and took interest

He wanted to know why the bush rat was so excited living out in the cold

“Ey brother, ey what may be the reason behind your happiness?” He asked

“Oh, I see you haven’t noticed that the palm tree fruits are ripe

And soon the squirrel family will throw a daily feast to celebrate

And how lucky am I to be their closest neighbor on the floor!”

“Hmm, ey, will that be all to your excitement or is there another…?”

“Another reason being that the banana and tomatoes are ready for harvest

The birds will do a good job, but mostly we who live on the ground

May eat the best of their happy feast, ha!” He heartily laughed

“Well, what fun do you have burrowing in the mud?

Come to my place and I will make your excitement greater with better food!”

So the two rats reached a deal and after that meeting of rats

They sneaked away to the old woman’s lonely house

Up, down, up, down they galloped all day to the quiet house

At the entrance the house rat hushed the bush rat and bid

Him follow closely, so they tiptoed out of the hallway

Walking across the room, at the sound of the snoring woman

The bush rat startled, wondering what kind of beast greeted

The house rat quietly pulled him back and down the rat hole they went

“Geez, ey! What were you thinking?!” The house rat grunted

“Nothing serious. I always think and I was wondering if someone said hi”

So they waited till night fall and when the moon was up

So that her beautiful white lights shun through the curtains

The house rat woke the bush rat and off they went down the hall

Through the corner were brooms lay and the way towards the kitchen

At the doorway the bush rat perceived smell of good food

That he never had tasted or dreamt of, food oh majestic food!

He forgot himself and took some cheese in a fast bite

And it tasted so good that he ate again and again and again

Then came some pieces of chicken, some fruit salad cream

And chocolates and peanut butter and beef and toasted bread

“This must be Heaven,” he said with mouth full of bread

Meanwhile the house rat was busy filling himself too

And the noise they made woke the old lady who stole to the kitchen

With a swift swing she got the lights on and attacked the rats

Swearing, she struck the pots and plates and cups and everything on her way

At first, the house rat knew his whereabouts and soon disappeared

While the bush rat continued running around without a clue of an escape route

When the bush rat finally found a way out, he dove for it

The old lady could have been lucky

If the rats didn’t flee for dear lifes’ on time!

In the morning, before the chicken and the sun could wake

The bush rat thanked his friend and bid him well stay

In his home of fanciful plenty with no pint of peace



I want to see the great Antarctica

And the trail of the dunes of Sahara,

Save the tales of two different places

And reach out a hand to the homeless


I want to tell the tales of the sea gulls

Watch the dark colored sea bulls

Romance the infinite White land

As the cold wind surf the cloud


I want to feel the tranquility that comes with travel

The worlds best scenes and images that marvel;

Pharoah’s pyramids, the oceans, the kangaroo and Antarctica

The Great Wall, the Ikogosi falls, the platypus and pretty Pretoria


I want to watch the penguins play

Laugh on their silliness and pray

Hopeful, for Earth’s peace and survival

I want to see us all work on our worlds revival