Afolalu Akindele Anthony

I smile... By Jubal Afolalu I smile at their inability to know that we know, At their perpetually-dignified laughter, In the iced water they mirage to us a snow Over their sweet-promising never after I smile at the looters that kiss the hand of the pope, At the king makers who advertently control the king Into the arena of our ever empty pockets and dashed hopes Over the pain of the honey worker who only possess her sting I smile at a legal system that is never blinded, The decayed Men in black who usually claim to be our friend The ‘Agbada’ and ‘Gele’ we pay per sittings to sleep us grounded. ....the self-righteousness of the newly elect as he subconsciously follows the trend I smile at the illumination engulfed in cobwebs, At the toothpick-patched kwashiorkor called Giant Over their slippery truth and ever running nebs That Socratic mockery of confidence during our defiant I smile at the changeless face when we realize that they know At our sacred quest to swallow this predicament as part of the plan, In our choice less trust in the ‘the coming’; hatred for the one to go At the revelation that we were never part of the plan After all, some had survived the thousands of chunked miles ...just stay in line, nag, gnash....smile EZEBUILO: THE KING IS AN ENEMY By Jubal Afolalu Ezebuilo! And we are not afraid to rage a bleet We are not going to kiss his ring And we are not going to gravel at his feet Instead we would question his strings, flings; bling Ezebuilo! And so were the mischiefs before him Perpetrators of wanton violence and anonymous theft Aspirants with absolutist intents and selfish esteem Installers of professional chieftains who seldom Right from left Ezebuilo! His hands have been found dripping in blood And have consequentially determines the coot and the probed Protesters and clamorers swordened into the flood Alas of a free and fair empire we have been robbed Ezebuilo! His feathers have been caught looting the loot And his tail tingles trails of greed and lies An abundance of paths yet not a single foot The propagators of selfish grasshoppers and blinded fireflies Ezebuilo! He is the rumbling in the masses stomach, He is the tears that drives each pain A reminder of each empty pockets and loud lacks Openly praying for Rain, secretly stealing the gain Ezebuilo! Until he is proven otherwise, Until our gains matches the templates of our pain Until December seizes to be our season of Rice Until his eyeries are swollen up in the nemesis of their own lain Ezebuilo! The king is an enemy And I am not afraid of mutiny MISS ANIMASHAUN: THE CARE GIVER – byJubal Afolalu Miss Animashaun, The wind accentuates to the acumen of your giving She drools over your zest to share Those doings; doings and bending And how your prepossessment triggers every stare Miss Animashaun, I have heard paeans of your curved patty And the pleasure intrigued through its pathway How tom dick and harry seeks your bounty They say you are a filly obsessed with the runway Miss Animashaun, The pepper marvels at the factotumity of your gang Their lascivious urges for the paper and otherwise The beats and desperation that comes with a bang You love the fire, you also love the liquid in an ice Miss Animashaun, Daughter of scum; child of clod Your sun glasses had never covered your shame Miss floozy, no denial, no lord Just a round of disgrace and five minutes fame Miss Animashaun, The Slayer of all magnums and bullocks Destroyer and Asunderer of peaceful clinging Your nemesis leaps in a tick tuck And you haven’t even noticed in your own breathing Dear Miss Animashaun Adam was the only reason for Eve You have been crossed by Bill, Phil and Steve. TELL ME WHAT I DONT KNOW - by Jubal Afolalu ...that the rain can’t dry our tears, Even, if we pray for snow. I have and still experience the snare fear Please, tell me what I don’t know... That I can’t understand your pain, On this land, you’ve lost all you sowed I toil day and night, but all to no sustain Tell me more. I need to know ... That you know the ones in car-keys and boots And the tummies in “agbada”, “bubar” and “sokoto” Have seen the ones in middle ropes and suit They are all the same traitor you know. .... That your bowls are full of nothing Not even the rest of mini Mani mo. My pots an spoon are nearly rotten Our Parents usual answers: I don’t know .. . That the rivers are bad for drinking water You eat and bath in the same bowl Well my best moment is in the gutter Is this what I don’t know? ... That life has become a senseless illusion, And it’s not supposed to be so? My illiteracy can’t even spell illution Oh I forgot! That’s why I wouldn’t know .... That you pick up food on the street like mouse The little ones that drops in the “go slow” But apparently, the street is my house Hushhhh! I know; I know ... That over here, aspiration are battered Though dreams are not the cloth you cut and sow The black race, large and scattered Now you start to believe that I know... That you’ve given up on hope Over your face it shows Have personally tried a rope .... I really don’t know “Agbada”, “Sokoto” and “buba” are the combinations of cloth popularly worn by the African Rulers. Be it political or traditional. . In my country Nigeria, it is the customized cloth of the so called democracy leaders. Khaki is popularly connected to the military. KOREDE MASS TRANSIT – by JUBAL AFOLALU Korede Mass Transit, A crazy driver, a lunatic conductor Passengers pimpled like a dirty armpit The asphalt of doctors, lawyers…professors Going nowhere but going everywhere Three steps forward, seven steps backwards The transit is gone but Korede is still here Korede, father of orphans, mother of wards Doted chairs of protean poverty Rusted roofs portaged by empty promises Yes, Korede transit is all but not liberty It is a mass transit but not for the masses On the walls of Korede’s crystal body, Are reenacted scars of her past Wars, starvation and lies told by nobody And no any-somebody for everybody can heal her cast Korede has been here before me Driven by so many hands of controversies and propagandas Wearing shades of selfish ambitions into a tree And its distorted parts sold to the league of strangers Again, Korede reappeared in my garage Punctured with experiences of disillusionment and Mirage Note: Korede means the bringer of Goodness THE GOOSE, THE LOTUS AND MY MUSE – Jubal Afolalu I share my dreams with her, She pours here love on me, Pierced into my distanced eyes and see, Alas! I was thinking about ‘the’ her Need she know so much more? That her pain was part of the plan, Born in the clan is not been of the clan, A thick line between fore and for, Two expressions of my confused culture, She loves to taunt me, She flaunts me, ....so the raven looks like a vulture, Gee is my medieval cesspools-goose Fii is my savannah lotus flower, And through the breathing of each hour, I realized my muse is not this moose