Thursday, 7 April 2016

CAESAR MUST BE STOPPED!!!


Before the war began, we had learned to live together in peace, tranquillity and harmony, helping one another build her cities. Bewitched by the magnetic glow of their daughters’ seductive facades, our sons soon became their suitors. Because of them, their alluring lies the lure in their land, our children deserted us, they wanted a greener pasture and so we became desolate. Before the war began, we shared a common goal, a common vision a common dream, our cities together flourished and would have created a formidable nation had the war been averted. Before the war began, our cities were the safest to abode; you could walk our street gazing upon the mysteries of nature’s artwork, even at witching ours. Our people ate bread, not flesh; they drank wine and never did they thirst for blood afore the war began.

Few weeks ago, our men, Justice, Truth and The Pen took to the street to denounce their horrendous reign, resist their forbidden policies, protest their open display of ineptitude, and to blow the whistle on their criminal acts. In their majority few, had they stormed the gates of the single-minded castles and self-centred chambers of deceit belonging to Caesar and his cabals chanting that sacred hymn of struggle, they had come to fight not only for theirs but for the people’s rights. And then right before my very eyes, Justice was brutally mutilated till the last breath escaped his strangled gullet, Truth was immediately incarcerated and The Pen had to borrow a leaf from Usain Bolt’s skill in other to survive. This was the parturition of the war.

Truth was a correspondent in one of the many broadcasting firms the city had, he is said to have aired sensitive reports of Caesar and his cabal’s illegal manipulation, bigotry, misappropriations, embezzlements, including others that cannot be said for safety reasons. Truth, who until his death was also a freelance writer, is said to have a sour aperture, little wonder they commonly admitted that Truth is bitter.

Justice once lodged in the hallowed chamber of Caesar, it was once the guiding principle at Caesar’s bench. When cheated by fellow villagers, or by Caesar himself, we could gallantly approach our magistrates demanding for nothing other than justice. The inability of Caesar’s government to neither withstand the veracity of truth nor behold the ferocious visage of Justice and on the other hand, the inability of both Truth and Justice to behold Caesar besiege our land with evil, laid the foundation that birth this war. But alas! Justice and Truth like forgotten tales have vaporized into memories, only The Pen survived to tell the acrimonious tail, and so it wrote…

The successful revolt of good against evil, the victory injustice had over justice, the coronation of lies and deceit as well as the incarceration of Truth, let them all be continually told afore the auricle of all that be and shall be, in this beautiful land of hope. Let these tales forever linger in the heart of all that abode the street of democracy, who still hope in Caesar’s government and his promise of a better tomorrow, let them not fail to forget how days of yore was by far better than today and how their leaders have openly refuted the truth and murdered justice.


Let them wail and mourn for tyranny is set to rule over them. However, instead of retiring to our caves, mourning the dawn of evil, we can trail the track of Justice and Truth; we can continue the struggle from where they stopped. We are not gods, but with an arsenal of unity and togetherness, we can put an end to the callous reign of Caesar.

While we continue to struggle against the forces of dismay, we should have at the back of our mind that Caesar must not be allowed victory in this war. Otherwise, the dead would have died for nothing and our children will dearly pay; never again shall they be judged by the letters of the law, but by the horrendous voice of Caesar, their homes, money and chattels shall at the decree of Caesar be confiscated. Their taxes shall upsurge at the highest possible rate, they shall eat, drink and be merry all at Caesar’s given directive, freedom and liberty shall soon fade away.

Then will they come to our graves hissing upon our carcasses, mocking our inability to defeat Caesar, “celebrating” our colossal failure, and tolerance for injustice. Unless we conquer Caesar, not in peace shall our bones rest. The labours of our gone heroes, their strive for freedom, their self-determination struggle, their exertion to open colonial cages and liberate from colonial nets shall not only be in vain but also prick the hearts of our gone ancestors. If they could overthrow colonialism, we can overthrow Caesar.

Although this war of truth against untruth, of evil against good, of justice against injustice seems to have no end and though it may appear as if the evil tyrant – Caesar – is on the verge of victory. However, we must continue as heralds of hope baring aloft that solemn torch of change, with which we shall pull down the fortress of Caesar, illuminate our darkened world and liberate our bewitched brothers and sisters who now stand with Caesar.

The assassination of Justice, we must avenge, Truth must again taste the aroma of freedom. Even when our bones are broken, and our spirit crushed, when the artilleries of Caesar pierce beyond our tender skin and bruise the innocence of our soul, we should not relent standing on angel’s side, even if we have to stand there alone. Democracy must once again be democratic, its core values restored and its undermined principles resuscitated, for this reason, Caesar must be brought to book.
Any leader or follower that stands in opposition to Truth, that prevents Justice from taking its due course is nothing but Caesar and must be stopped!

I saw you… the realities of our society

I saw you when dead to the world at dusk, clad in matching attires of refuge worn for sedition stolen from those meant to protect from theft – in Whiteman’s khaki of gray colour, your legs buried in socks whiter than snow sheltered by a muddy black boot looking much heavier than your enfeebled legs. Your hands fenced by vicious gloves of deceit with less attractive façade but capable of reducing to dust an entire village. Taking a nap on your hand was a rifle born of modern technology, loaded with enough ‘deaths,’ as much as could win a battle. In my dreams, I did saw you; saw your face as it mails to me an epistle long enough to write a book.

Lack of food, shelter and clothing, which they say are the core necessities of life, were the first line of your epistle. Protesting on the same page with poverty was unemployment shadowed by illiteracy, fuelled by lack of infrastructures and capped by the ineptitude of government. Lack of employment had paved the way for poverty, which came like driving rain, washing away your nobility and prestige as a man. Both unwelcomed guest paced you to your new employers. Those affluent men of our society, who gave you possessions including that rifle. Indoctrinating that you fight for yours – fight for your right; or be consumed of indigence – but whether in reality you fight for your right or theirs is a tale for another day.

You were also seen, though you had your face covered, that your identity might be unknown. You and your cohorts, with whom you forcefully deprive people of their hard earned chattels. Pointing to their foreheads the death in your hands while demanding that they choose between material goods and living. During the day, you were like other members of the society going about your daily business though you have no business. However, immediately darkness succeeds in putting the day’s light into hostage, particularly during witching hours, you appear clad in attires that makes your identity obscure sailing from one house to the other, leaving them desolate. Though your face was securely wrapped, however, the mystery behind your unlawful behaviour continues to echo on the street like a cacophonic carol song. The thunderous whispers of the poor, hungry and desperate youth.

I thought I was awake when suddenly I saw you. Beautiful as Aphrodite the goddess of beauty, having all you needed to be well-endowed. Dressed to kill, to kill credulous men whose eyes could not resist the sight of a busty brunette. Clad in garments that makes what should be secret an open secret, you parade the red zone where you and other workers of the oldest profession await the sneaky arrival of costumers – your style of using what you have to get what you want. Appearing at three sites were your daily ritual. First the red-zone where clients come to seek your service. Followed by the brothel room where your clients give you the peanut with which you survive the following day but not before impregnating you repeatedly. Lastly, the hospital bed where you murder your unborn children.

I then woke up but to the realities of a gloomy society beset with despair, anguish, hardship a place where survival of the fittest have become the order of the day. A society in which people are surviving today so they can be able to survive tomorrow, a society plagued with unemployment, illiteracy and poverty. A society were you have to work your fingers to the bone just to have enough to be broke, a society that seems to be heading towards obliteration. Like a train with a drunken driver, a society that is fast heading towards a rock. While our leaders continue to scramble for power, wealth, influence among others, we are left in the gorge of survival doing all we can to keep death few steps away.

Each navigation through the pages of our history books lives one wondering if we were specially created to enjoy misery, our grandfathers divulged to our fathers how our streets were better during their days, and now our own fathers recount this same sob story before us. Hopelessly, we shall live to continue the chant of similar tales of woe. Although neither our problem nor its solution seems to be obscure, as even the newest member of our society can vividly identify our challenges and even go as far as recommend possible solution, however, our state continues to go downhill as though there is no solution to our hitches.

After a careful consideration of all that beset us as a nation, am left at the verge of concluding that our condition is merely the hand of god at work, perhaps we are accused with a veiled limit. However, toeing the line with the words of William Ernest, we are the master of our fate, we are the captain of our soul, we are the architect of our own misfortunes, we are the artist sketching the lines of our own existence, we are the playwright penning the script of our tragedies. Both young and old, educated or not, male and female, we collectively shape the realities of our society and our society will never be what we so much desire of it without our wilful permission.

...a dream of employment

Am now a labourer at aduke market
Where I carry and arrange used carpet
Always wearing my old jacket
And showing of my wretched gadget
At times, I sell goods in sachet
And planks used for casket
My income not more than peanut
Even when I sell in packet
I go home at sunset
To have a nice bed-rest
Alas! It was just a dream of employment

Sunday, 20 March 2016

We are coming for you!

Like driving rain in cold winter
Like swarms of a vengeful plague
Like a prey hunting its hunter
Like hordes of a spiteful rogue

We are coming for you!

We the “fortunate” victims of your existence
The vicious prey of your presence
We the lambs of gods; your licence
To impunity cum innocence

We are coming for you!

We! Whom you yoked with vile “gifts”
In your holy tussle for power and success
Long enough have we bare your heinous burden
Your “gift” we come to return

We are coming for you!

We come; Aye we come to say NO!
To lords that ride on our spine
Taskmasters that work us to bone
And gods that take our blood for wine

We are coming for you!

We come, Aye! We come in heaps
Many as sands beneath great oceans
Not with cutlasses, guns or missiles
But wild eyes and empty bellies

We are coming for you!

Upon you and yours we come
Like furious invasion of famished locusts
Let those that seek justice return home
For our day of retribution awaits

Friday, 25 December 2015

I have come to see the king

As dawn of yuletide, begin
And merry bells continues to ring
Arcane bliss shall be my beacon
To thee alone gracious king

From the depth of my dell within
Through my hollow aperture that sings
With wraiths of joy glowing again
To thee I come; king among kings

As I stray into your hallowed casern
Nothing save reverence I bring
To him that was for me born
To die and pardoned my wrong

I have come to see the king
Whose parturition forever ‘ting-a-ling’

Merry Christmas!

Thursday, 1 October 2015

Angels of tomorrow… the masses’ hope


We the hope of the masses…
Roaming your street daily,
With manuscripts of scholastic feats
We the people’s saviour
That below bridges abode, making do
With what the street provides
We that in hunger dine and savour the aroma of dearth

We the light of this gloomy land…
…the physicians of future maladies
Ravaged by societal ailments
…the brains of future technologies
Engulfed in cyber crimes
…the attorney of tomorrow’s laws
Beguiled into felony

We the hope of the masses…! Perishing
In the bliss of communal darkness
Weapons of victory; the ransom for
Retaining the unending reign of Caesar
We the lamb of god(s)
Bartering our innocence
All for their guilt

We the omen of a better tomorrow…
The supposed leaders of the future
In constant struggle with today
The battle to survive; to survive and to live
We that bare the torch skyward
With hands weary of evil
And bones nourished with societal vice

We the mist loaded in the sky
To quench the lands dearth
And succour its famine
We the vibrant torch of hope
The beckoning light; gleaming at the edge
Of this great tunnel of despair
Glowing dim and dim and dimmer

Friday, 28 August 2015

I saw you in my dreams...

I saw you in my dreams
Digging graves of forlorn tales
Hunting bygone shadows
Of long forgotten fables

Aye! ‘Twas you I saw; when
Dead to the world and-
Darkness besieged the land
To shade ancient past; long lorn

I saw you in my dreams
Clad in raiment of gloom
Shovels, picks, mattocks
All harmed beneath your hands

All that were enclosed and buried
In tomb of time and season
I saw you digging and digging
Unmasking ancient past; long lorn

I saw her pleading for justice
That damsel raped unto disgrace
Could hear him; heard his voice
That man robbed and stabbed in owns face

My deceit, falsehood and iniquities I saw
All armed with weapons of war
Drawing nigh; accosting my door
Alas! These I cannot savour

I saw you in my dreams
Resurrecting dead forgotten scenes
In tomb of time and season
Disturbing ancient past long lorn

Forgive! Alas, forgive my wicked past
That I might in peace rest!

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Untitled

These days for instance,
Time seems to be the slowest on earth’s surface
Running in slow unimaginable pace
It crawls away; taking yesterday’s place

The sun rises each day, upon this grotesque land
And then they all desert the yard
Men, women, young and old
In solitude, left alone to wander the hood

Afore my modest wristwatch, I sat
Like a frustrated merchant in Aduke market
Guarding time as it sneaks away bit by bit
Into oblivion; into the dark – the dark night

Then they returned like soldiers from war
Weary as if their day was marred by enfeebling tour
Each strayed to bed, again in solitude laid behind the door
Guarding time till slumber began to pour

Morrow will rise the sun
And then the ballad will begin
Again! And again and again and again
Till this respite be gone

(feel free to title this poem with whatsoever name you think it deserves)

Poem by: OLA OGUN

Sunday, 12 July 2015

I’m me!

I was –
In past hollow, void of self – of poise trailing the grubby path of others; strived –
Fiercely striving to dance the chant of opaque tune
Discordant Harmony not for me but them
Whose chant it was; and always be – still I bent
Inclined to cacophonic melody of them; not mine
In days of yore – a ghost, many not see yet know exist
Not seen – not known by many; but in tales of woes and
Those of whimsical laurels – delusive success doable but
In fairyland – I was; aye I was!

In belated days – was amidst the herd in adulation of
Shepherds; shadowing paths they strolled
Gone soon! Days I wore pretence in charade of them – those
Ostensive patrician seeming to be
Once clad myriad characters like a thespian
Without an act, acting the lines of them – others!
Was that carnivorous lamb dwelling the abode of lions
Grappling with self, with nature – grappling to be
To sprout hefty size, abyssal voice, to be – come
But nay never could be

Afore gods – our gods; did made gravely orisons
Cravings untold that in cave beneath
Sink my craven, the same that precluded from
Befitting natural self: I was – sought to be – them
Was once a simile; in fierce battle to be
Be – come metaphor, to correct nature
The gaffe it did made – but nay nature made no error
‘Twas I the error that failed to realize whom I’m
Was once a masquerade, existing the existence of others
But now I am –  I’m me!

Poem by: OLA OGUN

Paramour...!

Aye! Cascade of transient bliss
Ephemeral jewel; same you treasure
Ointment of solace – succour your fracture
Love cum hatred my nature
The alluring rose; your hibiscus
Haven I am – antidote I your stress
The covert spring you unearthed I am
When for pleasure thirst – you strayed
With all nature did bestowed
Regale I your soul

Tart – calls me
The hag you roof beneath – your connubial hag
My presence; my prestige
Misery aye her nightmare
Her nuptial dreams; bargained away
Aye she’ll never pardon – I need not
Dwindling beauty, faded pride; did paved
Fervidly paved me in – to her hollow
To defile – to gorge her nuptial abode
Aye I need no pardon; she’ll not – never!

Beauty, no! Not seduction
Fetched you me – your cloying vows; my nature
Opened my legs; the moon forget not
Stars bear my witness when to you I gave… from me,
Took what she divest you
When hungered; your repast I was; drank–
My spring quenched your thirst – my lothario
You became; did you not say I’m better?
Heavens be thanked, now
Your likeness I host

She’ll never pardon – I need not
I need no pardon; she’ll not – never!

Poem by: OLA OGUN

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