Sacrilege

I weep
Tears of repulsive colours
Because you wrecked the bulwarks
That fueled a burning desire
Your implacable cultural measures
Have splashed into a million scourges

Education

Before forty pupils, the teacher stands
Before the folk that she now understands.
She first considers them with an inquisitive, assuring eye
And with a tone full of mirth, passes a greeting.
The knowledge-hungry souls reply in unison
Gauging her with awe and reverence
Their eyes flickering with wonder and expectation
And the teacher, so filled with love for her flock
Delivers forth the cherished stuff-bit by bit
As the insatiable souls gape their minds for more.
She confidently stands for eighty eyes to peck at
Acting as a torch light to split the darkness
In the dark portals of this intricate the world of wit.

Plea

Growling roars from the North end
Successive streaks split the darkening sky
Deafening explosions triply bang
Mountains tremble, the earth quakes
Hanging calabashes fall with a clang
Squeaking rats hide in rafters in the huts
The little child whispers, “Maama, I want to pee”
Couples spend sleepless nights and postpone their love
Waiting uneasily for crumbling of the sky.

And then thunder strikes!
Half the roof is gone
Stampeding commotion reigns.
Father forgets son
Husband forgets wife
Mother misses child and picks cat
Terror tears the family asunder.

And tomorrow reveals all-
Two or three kids perching on mothers
Students carrying tin trunks
All smeared with dust and sweat, worn with footing;
Cowherds forcing forward tired and hungry brutes
Mooing and moaning with weariness.

Schools and colleges eventually close
Classrooms and churches serve as interim
Dwelling for the fleeing
Military lorries groan hurriedly by
Laden with human ruins.

The war rages on
Towns are ravaged
Buildings are blown recklessly
The daring scamper with the loot
From shop, school, hospital …

The city is taken
The government intervenes
And finally the oppressor is hunted
Though oppression
Remains…

Temptation

There she came
Announced by the tip-toeing rhythm of her Stilettos
Her bums suffocating in a micro-skirt and gyrated
Like they were about to escape
From the thin outlines of her thong.

The golden fertility lines trickled lightly
Down her endless orange legs
Shimmering with generously applied lotion.

The V shape of her net-top
Briefly introduced the cleavage on her chest
Her breasts severally nodded
As if recognizing some secret admirer

Her searching eyes spied on an edge of a seat
Where the whiff of her Royale perfume accompanied her
She gathered a mini skirt to cover her yellow thighs-in vain
As her jelly-like hips flowed onto the pew.

She humbled her eyes and mumbled something to the Maker
Then, like the unfolding buds of a daffodil flower
She slowly unveiled her smiling eyes again.

The priest quietly acknowledged her entry
And wittily followed her from the corner of his eye
Stampeded over a few verses, and recomposed himself again.

The hapless believer that neighbored her fidgeted
Quickly dropped an eye at her exposed thighs
And hastily blinked away.

And as I caught ten or more other lustful fools ogling at her
I inwardly whispered to myself:
So you are not burning alone!

Trade

By the dusty roadside, in the sweltering tropical sun
Under an old, leafless eucalyptus tree
He carefully rearranged his wares
Making some stand up facing the road, some sideways
And others in shelves- dusted off and re-varnished.

He stared vacantly far away, then pensively at the coffins.
A sample casket with artistic design on display
With a peeping glass strategically at eye-level
For the dead to take a roll call of the living.

For over a week now he has waited and waited
But not a single client has shown up.
A pick-up truck parked in front of his stall
And he jumped up with expectation…
But the driver swung his keys and hummed a tune
And descended to the charcoal stall, behind the coffins.
His heart sunk with disappointment.

Sweating from the noon day sun, hungry and thirsty
He hated the efficient bus driver cruising with passengers
He hated the fat pharmacist reclining in his verandah
He hated the white-coated doctors flitting from university to hospital
He hated the pairs of lovers romancing in the independence square
He hated the noisy children playing from school…

And, as he remembered his own children at home
Chased away two weeks ago for lack of school fees
He bowed his head and pleaded to God for a few customers.

Beauty

Ladies feel good
When they are complimented
On their hair, figure, complexion...
Even children appreciate that
Just tell them how beautiful they are
Trust me, they will frequent mirrors

When God gave us this gift
He wanted us to use it diligently
By loving one another
This entails sharing and caring
However, love is sometimes misinterpreted
By the something for something notion

Many youths have become victims of beauty
They are the easiest targets by the so-called tycoons
Who think young ladies are yearning for the latest trends
Some have been plotted against
After failing to fall prey of some men’s selfish advances

Beauty is a gift from God
That He endowed us without any price tags
Unfortunately, we have diluted it
Through; bleaching, prostitution...
Shall we appreciate it when it is gone?
Let us embrace beauty before it is too late

Hollowness

Halleluah………

Give it up for the Lord

For bringing light onto our lives

And sorting our church leaders

For He never sleeps

If you lie once, don’t do it twice

Well….do you think I can preach?

Of course do it my style

Coz I don’t have to use the same old versions

That some of our pastors have adopted

I am not against any messenger

Some of the preachers have become a nuisance

From mismanaging tithe, falsifying, to sodomizing our brothers

Are these the last days they always preach about?

Their wives are in boat

So vulnerable to the untold truth

But some knew it before

They wanted to protect their marriage and integrity

You have seen them smiling in public

Only God knows what they are going through

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ

Remember that not all preachers are monsters

But how are we going to differentiate them?

Shall we go back to our old churches?

We have become a laughing stoke to the unspiritual

They want to see us crumble and mortified

But God is faithful

We shall desist from the rising spiritual madness