POEMS BY MOSOBALAJE M ABIMBOLA | WRITERS’ GALLERY

WEEK 2

Motor-Cycle

now this is the situation of our motor
the fare is a better-life. in here
we choose our drivers…

the engine roared to life at twenty nine minutes past five
the accelerator is floored at a neutral
the car jerked and the driver announced our movement
with our backs relaxed and eyes wrapped in polaroid
we sing encomium to the delusive noise of the static motor

right…then right…right…and right
making a cycle

our larynx erupted volcanic magma when it dawned
we cast lot to drive away wasteful drivers
who take selfish selfies in supposed selfless service turns
if they cannot move us they should not drive us
we cast our net again for a better catch

right…then right…right…and right
making a cycle

the engine revs up with gear one
the motor jolts and we are the roar of its engine
we move a bit forward
then the driver begins to take selfish selfies
he says now is time to do things right

(so we turn) right…then right…right…and right
making a cycle

they have shown us loops of taken selfies at each turn
coaxing us into a better-life through demagogy
masking themselves as the obvious background in the pictures
they seem forgetful we raised them for the drive
they make this motor a motor-cycle

right…then right…right…and right
making cycle

they all complain of faults
so they bring out their tools
screwed drivers screwing screws
fixing faults they had faxed
so they still bring us back

( here) right…then right…right…and right
making a cycle

we have cheered each sleepy move in our sleep mode
almost too late to realize this node
the end of a cycle brings us back to its beginning
connected right angled lines
gives us a cycle of square

equivalent right…then right…right…and right(turns)
makes a cycle

now this is the situation of our better-life vehicle
we are busy making right end turns
we need an upward drive to change
not a motor-cycle…

© King Abimbola
2016

 

WEEK 1

demons

do not look into the darkness
before you find one
they are spirits, hunting for souls
of hungry men.

they bear no horn,
neither wear they red ribbon;
they are born
the day a man’s bowel conceives hunger.

they live in the spirit of men
they enchant from the dark colors of silk
but you do not know they are seated here
until you sing earth’s songs
then they will yield to dance to your tunes.

to find one,
walk into the rivers of yourself
find a fire fit to burn your soul.
what do you hunger for
that make your eye beam like a beacon?

how far can you go to get it?
if you need thread the red path
to get it,
you found your demon

they are not the spirits in mad bodies
they are bodies in mad spirits;
dragging men through streets
of insanity on sane days.
when you find such body of a mad spirit,
you found a demon

they are not bestowed upon us by satan
we birth them when we began
to find honey in the shadows of death:

the goliath keeping the gate to a man’s waist,
in the valley between a woman’s thigh,
the necklace around a hot bottle,
the breadth in the nose of a lover,
the lizard that holds a gourd on the edge of a plate,
a soldier whose shoulder can’t shoulder lowly shields.

demons are not demons
they are found on men’s week-nesses
wherein lay their weaknesses

King Abimbola
© November 2016

 

 

ABOUT  Mosobalaje M Abimbola

moso

Facebook Username : Mosobalaje M Abimbola

E-mail adress: bobybarny4us@gmail.com

Website: kingabimbolami.wordpress.com

From the author:Mosobalaje M. Abimbola, popularly known as King Abimbola is a bright young man, who hailed from Osun state, where he attended primary and high school.
He is a graduate of industrial Chemistry in the University of Ilorin.
He is a writer and poet, whose works are gaining grounds in the international market.

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