The World Is But a Whore

The world is
but a whore;
And we
mere blind lovers
at her feet...
Today,
I hold her
close —
Tomorrow,
you claim her
as yours
But soon,
she slips away
With another lover...
The world
is but
a fickle mistress...
She is a roadside
maize for any mouth
That has teeth to grind...
He who cradles
her now
Shall find her absent
come dawn,
And he
who waits
at dusk
Will wake alone
her scent
long gone...
She dances
with me today,
Flirts with you
tomorrow,
And waltzes
with another
by sundown...
Her feet
never touch
the ground;
She’s no one’s
to claim!
What’s for the market
never has a home!
For a man
only buries his wife
beside his hut.
Who knows
where she’ll go next?
She belongs to all;
she belongs
to none!
A fruit
left in the wild
Is ripe
for any
who dares bite...
The joker
will weep;
The mourner
will dance!
Who can tell
who will bed her
next?
Don’t hold her
too tight;
She slips quicker
than rain
through fingers,
And if they say
she’s kissed another,
Don’t argue!
believe it...
For she’s always
where she isn’t;
Spinning faster
than a whirlwind,
Running circles
like a hare
in a snare...
The world is
but the lover
of all;
From her endless well—
We sip
her bitter wine;
Her generosity
rivals the gods!
A fool's wine gets done
with mere tastes;
She gives freely
to any
who thirst,
And quenches them
With spades
digging graves,
shovel...

The Moon
whispers secrets
in her ear,
But never
repeats them
to us!
One night
she shines bright;
The next
she disappears!
A shadow
laughing
at our blindness...
Her hands
are warm
when they want;
Cold
when they choose!
She embraces
with false warmth,
Then leaves
you frozen
Like a fire
that crackles
But gives
no heat...
Her tongue
is sweet,
But her bite
is venomous!
She promises
forever
While planning
her next betrayal...
He who builds
a house
for her
Builds
in sinking sand!
She moves
the ground
beneath his feet,
And watches
him tumble
Smiling
all the while...
Even the lion
gets tired
of chasing her,
But the foolish dog
keeps barking
Thinking she’ll stay
for his noise;
He’ll die,
panting,
She’ll keep
running...
A beautiful songbird
With a throat
full of thorns;
She sings
melodies
that pierce
Then flies
away
Leaving only
echoes...
The farmer
who plants her seeds
Shall reap
nothing
but shadows,
For she grows
weeds
disguised as flowers,
And laughs
as you water them...
Even the stars
envy her tricks
For she pulls
the strings
of fools
While pretending
to be still —
A puppet master
with invisible hands...
The River
may dry up;
But her lies
flow eternal—
She tells you
the path
is clear
But leads you
into the storm...
You can cast
your net
in her waters,
But you’ll catch
only air
For what she shows
is not
what she gives,
And what she gives
is never
yours...
The wise man
sits by the shore
Watching her waves
crash;
He knows
she’ll never
be tamed;
So he waits
Laughing at those
who drown
in her depths of sweet waters...
She wears gold
like a mask;
Hiding a face
of dust;
He who chases
her glitter
Will find his hands
empty
Full of nothing
but dusty dreams...
A tortoise
outpaces the hare;
For patience
is the only way
To outwit
a mistress
who never stays;
Yet
even the slow
know
She cannot
be caught...
The hunter
sharpens his spear;
But she’s gone
before
he throws it,
Leaving him
with nothing
but stories,
While she finds
another jungle
to play in...
He who feasts
with her
at noon
Will starve
by nightfall,
For she serves
full plates
But leaves you
hungry
for more...
Her promises
are wide
as the sky,
But her gifts
are small
as a grain of sand;
You dig deep
for her treasure
But find
only
the hole
you’ve made...
A palm tree
may bend
in the wind,
But she bends
without breaking,
For she sways
to no one’s tune
And bows
to no one’s will...
Her laughter
is cruel;
Her smile
sharper
than a knife;
She’ll cut you
where you stand,
Then offer
a bandage
of lies —
Like a rat that bites
The feet and blows cold air to it...
Know
The world is but a whore,
And you the leech
Of sweats and blood;
You who think
I am your ladder
into your heavens...
I see you returning
All spent seasons;
Twirling, swirling
Like a whirlwind
Confusing villages
With sugared slogans,
Like a whirlwind
Spinning, carrying away
Saucepans, spoons;
Cloths toasted up,
Woman
And children alike,
Left wailing after you;
Men drunk
With your campaign waragi
In the eve of their judgment day....
You metropolitan brother,
Whose umbilical cord
My mother buried,
What's my name?
Do you still know me?
I see your face blank
Like a loud empty vessel
Wondering what I am weaving
In my letter to you...
Now listen, Mister...
Don’t look down
Upon me —
From your high tower,
Where your words echo,
But no one listens.
The tower leans,
And I am the wind
That pushes.
You shake hands
With kings and queens,
But their crowns
Are heavy with dust.
I see the cracks
In their thrones,
And you’re next in line.
What’s louder
Than your speech?
Is it the applause
You crave?
Even applause fades
When the crowd leaves.
And I am the silence
That follows.
Your words rise
Like smoke,
But smoke always
Dissolves in air.
I am the air
You cannot hold.
Your throne is high,
But mountains crumble.
Even the highest peak
Falls to the ground,
And I am the ground
Waiting below.
You count your votes
Like coins,
But coins rust
When buried too deep.
I am the rust
That spreads unseen.
You build walls
To keep me out,
But walls crack
Under pressure.
And I am the pressure
That grows.
You wear medals
On your chest,
But metals melt
In the heat.
And I am the fire
That burns beneath.
You speak of peace,
But your hands
Hold a sword.
I see the blood
On your fingers,
Even if you hide it.
Your wealth shines,
But even gold
Can tarnish.
I am the tarnish
That creeps
Across your treasure.
You send orders
With a wave,
But waves
Return to the shore.
I am the tide
That pulls you back.
Your boots march
On solid ground,
But the ground
Is softer
Than you think.
I am the mud
That waits.
What’s sharper
Than your pen?
Is it the laws
You write?
Even ink dries
When left too long.
I am the blank page
You fear.
You think your title
Is carved in stone,
But stones erode
With time.
I am the time
You forgot to count.
Your power sits
Like a crown
On your head,
But crowns slip,
And I see it falling.
I am the wind
That knocks it loose.
Your empire stands tall,
But towers topple
When foundations rot.
I am the rot
You ignored.
You think your soldiers
Keep you safe,
But soldiers grow tired
Of standing guard.
I am the fatigue
In their legs.
You build your castles
In the clouds,
But clouds
Dissolve in the sun.
I am the sun
That shines through.
Your flags wave proudly,
But flags tear
In the storm.
I am the storm
That’s coming.
You feast on power,
But power
Is a meal
That never fills.
I am the hunger
That grows.
Your voice booms
In the halls,
But echoes fade
When no one listens.
I am the ear
That’s deaf to your words.
You think the world
Turns for you,
But the world spins
On its own.
I am the spin
That never stops.
You call yourself
A leader,
But leaders fall
When the people rise.
I am the rise
You can’t control it.
Your wealth sits
In vaults,
But vaults are just
Boxes of air.
I am the air
That escapes.
You walk
With your head high,
But even giraffes
Have to bend
To eat.
I am the ground
You’ll kneel on.
Your name
Is written in stone,
But stones crack
With pressure.
I am the crack
In your legacy.
You claim
To hold the truth,
But truth
Slips through fingers
Like sand.
I am the sand
That buries you.
Your throne
Is built on trust,
But trust
Is fragile.
I am the betrayal
You didn’t see.
You speak of greatness,
But greatness
Is just a shadow
In the sun.
I am the shadow
That grows
Behind you.
Your power
Is a river,
But rivers
Flood and drown.
I am the flood
That rises.
What’s stronger
Than your rule?
Is it the fear
You plant?
Even fear
Wilts in the light.
I am the light
That shines through.

THE CHICKEN IS ENVIOUS; SO SHE DROPS INSIDE A WELL-SWEPT HOUSE

Hahahaha....
Stupidity kills its owner!
It will never end —
Stupidity!
Don't add poverty with a blow,
Brother...
Hahaha…
I know my laughter
Hurts you most...
Let it hurt to the bones,
My brother —
Let it hurt deep
Beyond your blackness.
Ah, my dear bush brother,
You amuse me, truly!
With your sad little poems,
Your jealous whispers.
But, let me tell you—
I am not you!
You think your spade,
That crude thing,
Can touch me?
Please! I have machines,
I have fleets,
I have status.
What is mud to a man
Who wears the sky?
Oh, you dig graves?
How quaint!
Mine will be gold-lined,
Dug by machines
You’ve only seen
On TV.
And you—
You’ll be watching
From afar,
Like the uninvited ghost
You are.
Your weepers?
The villagers with dry tears?
They’ll wail in vain,
While I’m serenaded
By paid choirs.
My mourners?
Dignitaries,
Presidents,
Generals!
Men whose stomachs
You couldn’t imagine.
Your eyes will never
Meet theirs.
Look at you,
With your feet in the mud,
Dreaming of thrones.
But I am the crown,
The sceptre.
You? Just a blade of grass
Crushed under
My Italian shoes,
Salamander mambas.
Oh, the wind you speak of,
That breathes revolution?
It’s nothing but a breeze
That flutters my flag higher!
You’ll see,
The louder you scream,
The more your voice fades
In my grand halls.
Ah, your "shovel"—
Please, brother,
That’s laughable!
My grave will be carved
By the hands of history itself,
And you’ll be nothing
But a footnote,
If that.
Do you hear the sound
Of gunfire?
That’s my farewell salute.
A hundred rounds,
Not for you—
No, no—
For me,
For my legacy.
You speak of the earth,
Of dust?
I’ll be buried
In marble,
Under the national flags,
My blanket,
Next to men
Who wore crowns
You’ll never see.
You,
With your "bare hands"
And your peasant metaphors,
You don’t understand,
Do you?
I am not like you.
I am above
Your mud-filled world.
I command it,
I float above it.
Ah, your rainy days—
When it rains on me,
It waters
My golden crops.
You?
You get drenched
In misery.
But don’t worry,
I’ll build a dam
To hold your tears.
So, you think
You’ll topple me?
No, brother,
Your marches
Won’t reach
My high electric iron gates.
Your songs?
They echo
In empty fields,
While I toast
To another victory.
You speak of hunger,
Of need?
I feast on power,
Not bread!
My hunger
Is ambition,
Yours is desperation.
But don’t worry,
I’ll feed you crumbs
From my palace table.
Oh, the sun—
That shines on us all?
Laughable!
I live
In air-conditioned rooms,
My skin untouched
By the sweat
Of your labour.
And the storm?
The storm you dream of?
It will pass,
And I’ll be standing,
While you pick up
The pieces
Of your shattered hope.
Your flag-waving crowds?
They tire,
They forget.
But my power?
It’s eternal,
A monument
Built on the bones
Of those like you,
My monument,
Roads will be named
After me,
You poor cowboy.
So, shout your words,
Raise your fists,
But know this—
I will not fall.
I do not bend.
I am the mountain
You will never climb.
Ah, and when the final bell rings,
As you so dramatically claim,
I’ll be carried
On the shoulders of kings.
And you?
You’ll be lost
In the noise
Of the crowd.
You’ll die too,
As we all do.
But me?
I’ll die a legend.
And you’ll die
A whisper
In the mud.
But listen;
You must love
What you hate
If what you hate
Gives you pleasure...
Do you hear me,
My black-blooded beggar brother?
Love what you have
If you can't have
What you love...
Listen here, my village brother,
Your voice is as hollow
As your empty bowl.
Your windy songs are amusing,
But they flutter like dead leaves
In the breeze of my power.
You whine about school fees,
Potholes, hospitals?
Good luck with that,
Because I’m busy raising my glass
On floors too high for you to reach.
I am not your equal—
I rise above your complaints,
Your village issues are but
Tiny flies I swat away
With a flick of my hand.
You think you can sing my end?
I am a ghost already.
The spirit of this nation,
Looming over you forever.
My funeral, oh, it will be grand!
You’ll watch from afar,
While men with swollen bellies
And swollen wallets
Cry for me on command.
They’ll come in black suits,
Not like your ragged cloths.
They’ll speak in tongues
You’ll never understand.
Your Acoli will sound
Like a dog’s bark in comparison.
Professional mourners, you see?
Paid from your taxes.
Hahaha, imagine that!
Your money weeping for me,
Even in death,
I’ll still own you.
You, dig my grave?
Not with your rusty spade.
A machine will carve
My final resting place —
Smooth, deep, tiled like a palace.
No dirt will touch me,
No mud under my polished shoes.
I’ll be carried in a hearse —
Do you know what that is?
It’s no wooden wheelbarrow,
It’s a palace on wheels.
Behind me, fleets will follow,
Cars you’ve only seen in magazines,
Or perhaps in your dreams.
I'll go in grandeur,
With a procession
Of power
You'll never understand.
You’ll not touch my casket.
You’ll not even see my body.
I’ll be hidden away, protected.
Your peasant eyes aren’t worthy
Of my final form.
State dogs will be everywhere,
Blocking you from even thinking
Of coming near.
You’ll watch from the bush,
Like a hyena watching the lion feast,
Like hungry vultures
Squatting on a dry tree
Awaiting a starving child's corpse.
When guns are fired,
Salutes performed,
You’ll stand there dumb,
Wishing for a fraction
Of what I have even in death.
No Oboke Olwedo leaves
Will sprinkle my grave.
Your superstitions won’t matter
In my grand departure.
No village magic will taint
My state-sponsored glory.
You won’t toss red soil
On my casket.
Mother won’t smear black earth
Over me.
She won’t get close.
The nation’s guns
Will keep you all away.
I don’t leave power,
Because power is mine.
You want it?
Hah, over my dead body!
And even then,
I’ll still hold on,
With iron grip in the afterlife.
I have secrets buried deep
That keep me here.
Death itself will be my chauffeur,
Escorting me to that grave
You’ll never dig.
You see, brother,
I don’t belong to your kind.
I belong to the powerful,
To those who sip wine
And smile at your plight.
I don’t need your dirty hands
To dig for me,
I don’t need your wails
To weep for me.
My grave will shine brighter
Than your entire life.
It’ll be deeper,
Tiled, with wreaths of gold.
Velvet cushions, air-conditioned,
While you rot in the sun’s heat.
My body will be preserved,
Mummified for centuries,
While your bones turn to dust
And are forgotten.
They’ll bury me on your land
If I choose.
If you refuse?
The Church will welcome me.
I’ll rest in peace, faster to heaven,
While you scratch your head,
Wondering how I outlived you all.
They’ll bury me with riches
You’ve never known.
A brand-new car for my spirit,
Because even in death,
I’ll cruise.
Young and beautiful girls
To keep me company in the afterlife.
Why should heaven be any less?
But don’t worry,
My village brother.
I don’t need your help to die rich.
In fact, I don’t need you at all.
So continue your complaints,
Your songs of struggle.
While I, in life and death,
Will still stand tall above you.
You think you matter?
Hah, I’ll show you—
Even in the grave,
You’ll feel my weight on your back.
You'll see me in your nightmares
As I ride through the next life
With my wealth,
My power,
My name
Carved in stone,
While yours fades
Into nothing
But the dirt beneath my feet.