Elderly kolanuts

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A collection of poems with emphasis on wisdom and understanding which comes with aging in the traditional African society .

Submitted: August 02, 2017

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Submitted: August 02, 2017

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ELDERLY KOLANUT The day had announced its transition, And the cloud was blurring with age. So it was that we all gathered At the emergence of twilight, Under the warm caress of the African moon, The old man’s voice was a vaudeville of tales And we, the green horns listened with ardent attention While his nortalgic lips long for poetic rhythms. “Twilight loosens our culture form its elderly entrappments” He, says “our preserved history hides in the hut of twilight And our sacred spirits roam about our bodies And our ancestors wake our memories when the day Is asleep like a log of wood “. “Our words pour like rivers never to run dry under The maternal moon of twilight” he says “Our culture is cuddled like baby Jesus in the Bethlehem Of twilight and crucified on the cross by daytime” The olds man’s sonorous voice enthralls our brains. He says: “My mouth shall sing a song............ A chant than will wake the forest in a tumultuous uproar”. “A song from the depth of my methuselaic mouth” “A song that is the root of our tree of our tree of existence” “A song that will make the trees of the forest and leave Dance gayly to its enthralling rhytm” “The song of a sage whose influence would not wane” “a song that will awaken the memory of the Iroko trees And make it dance a yearly”. Our anxious ears hasten To be ked with ancestral virtues And to suckle on the milk of history Ours are not stucked on the pages of papers But in our creative and oral minds Our subconscious minds ready for the voyage, To the inscrutables sea of history Enriched with traditional and cultural islands A land that existed only in our dreams A land to far forgotten As we watched the old man chew kolanut We begged that we might have a fill Yearly wind trusts amnesia At the helpless cerebral cortex with a forceful strike Draining it of its juicy fluid of intelligence Like the scotching mid-day sun Yearly wind brings decay To the once blooming face of the rose Transforming the once cynosure of all eyes To everybody’s nauseating scene Yearly wind aids the hunter’s Sucesful attack on a honey tree’s nectar Beside a beehive in the presence of bees In search of sweet sirupy honey Yearly wind, why weaken my muscles? And make my skin suffer A gallant defeat In the cold hands of restless mosquitos Yearly wind, a president patron, a sturbborn stigma Name your price and let me pay Let me roll in vig our and stop this magnetic music So I don’t get entrapped in its rapturous rhythm PROVERB Proverb is the horse On which a word rides In the elderly mouth of our elders Proverb is the kolanut With which words are chewed Our ancestral search light Proverb is the history Of our progenitors The early ancestral messengers Proverbs is the fragrance That soothing words carry along With its charms and daintiness Proverb is the calabash From which water of words Is drank by my people Proverb is the emblem From which the palm wine of words Is drank by my ancestors When words are lost In the wilderness of meaning Proverbs become the pathway Proverbs are our life The African myth And he bane of our existence The river of proverbs never run dry It shall flow carelessly Across our wordy path ONCE UPON A TIME Once upon a time Muscles were hungry For a virile combat With the wild beast of the bush Once upon a time The aloevera flower in the vest Was green with youthful rains And not yellowed or withered by drought Once upon a time The lion king roars And the forest shakes In tremulous rhythm Once upon a time This flame of fire Was burning with potency And youthful ardour Once upon a time This departing sun Exhibits its youthful hotness And scorching exuberance Once upon a time The youthful hue Was glued to the skin Like ants to sugar

Once upon a time A man’s erect manhood bulged Threathaning to tear the trousers Where it is entrapped

Once upon a time The dainty damsel Was green with sexual desires And exaggerated lust

Once upon a time Boys climbed the tree of survival With vigour and dexterity Like the Hercules they are

Indeed, once upon a time We went to the farm In the emergence of a youthful morning To harvest youthful crops

I MET MY MAIDEN I met my maiden When her hymen was enclosed In the fence of her clitoris Unruffled by wordly winds

I met my maiden When her nipples stood erect On the firm breastful mountain Begging to be sucked by babies

I met my maiden When her hips stood firm Untainted by sinful imulatians Up and down, in and out I met my maiden While she sucked voraciously On the milk of youthfulness And savoury bread of beauty

I met my maiden When she strolled gaily With the Osun calabash Positioned perfectly an lar head Awaiting puberty

I met my maiden A beautiful garden in the rainy seasons A fertile land, agriculturally friendly To the hoes of the hardworking farmer

I met my maiden A beautiful morning rose While she embarked on an odyssey To the stream of puberty

I met my maiden In the forest of virginity Guarded religiously by king lion Away from predatory eyes Yes, I met my maiden A deer waiting to be devoured By rampaging lions To matrimonial dens

I met my maiden Raw, natural, unpolluted Like a deer waiting to be dained Into matrimonial dens like rampaging Lions

[Inspired by one of the poems 4rm Jemila: In Akeem lass’s night of my flight]

A SOILDER WAS A SOILDER Even if the memory Of his heroic exploits at war is thwarted By the domineering hands of amnesia, A soldier was a soldier Even if his vision is blurred By the gloomy approach Of elderly glaucoma, A soldier was a soldier Even if his hands and Shivering arms can no longer Hit a target at an aim, A solider is a soldier Even if his eyes are sunken Or shrinked by age Like fresh foiliage in the sun, A soldier is a soldier Even if his husty voice Had been punctured by Echoes of maturity, A soldier is a soldier Even if his back Is bent from yearly sojourn And his muscles have gone meek, A soldier is a soldier Even if his swift movements Have suffered a set back At the mercy of the walking stick A soldier was a soldier Even if his hefty chest Have gone flat and wry By the tall age, A soldier was a soldier Even if his skin Has lost its youthful elasticity And fats to the hands of wrinkles A soldier was a soldier Even if his hands and Shivering arms can no longer Hit a target at an aim, A soldier is a soldier Even if his eyes are sunken Even if his muscles are now too weak To clutch a gun to its bossom Like a little infant, A soldier was a soldier Even if he abandoned the war Many ages ago for age slumber He lives indelibly in his adventures Indeed, a soldier was A SOLDIER!!!

CRADLE TO GRAVE I Cradle to grave is an encounter Of saplings in the rain forest Doomed for the lumberman’s chain saw

Cradle to grave is an encounter Of naïve happy young chicks Ignorant of the deed strike of the hawk

Cradle to grave is encounter Of accumulated gold in the Course of a short journey

Cradle to grave is an encounter That comes with the swift pace Of the cheetah in the midst of unknown

CRADLE TO GRAVE II Cradle to grave is an encounter A contest between two hunters Driven by lust for gold and blood

Cradle to grave is an encounter So short a journey, So long a distance

Cradle to grave is an encounter Common bully, a child Properly nurtured by fate

Cradle to grave is an encounter A whirling wind that sweeps off All earthly things like tornado

TWO SAPLINGS Two saplings sowed Into the warmth of the forest sun Under the photosynthetic ardour Of sunlight and water Are on different odyssey

Two chicks hatched Into existence by mother hen Like twins Emerging at the same period Are on different earthly mission

Through the sun and the moon Are all colorful craft of nature They both emerge At conflicting Periods with each other Periods with each other

I have perched actively On the birdly soil of this place For a donkey years Thus its mystery has unraveled Itself before my watchful eyes

OUR FORE FATHERS WERE PAGENS Our forefathers Were pagans, Yet they were Friendly with their morals, Yet our seads germinated In accordance with The smiling seasons, Yet our barns were, Filled with yams, Yet we encountered Dawn at the enchanted Corridars of nature, Yet babies grew Fat from breast milk, Yet sango was never Slow to strike his enemies Dead with thunder, Yet dogs barked like dogs Yet osun never failed to Open the womb of the barren, Yet the cock never failed To crow at dawn, Yet they lived to A ripe age, Yet they were rich In wisdom, Yet they were their Brother’s keeper, Yet they were Christ like In their endeavors Yet they were Mohammed like In their piousness, Yet they never spoke Evil of each other, Yet they were never Homosexuals or leshians, Yet they were neither Suicide bombers nor terrorists Yet Esu was never Abandoned them in The middles of the sea, Yet they never burnt Themselves as heretires, Yet they never fed fat’ On their follower’s sweat,…………………… Yet they never Slaughtered their father’s words Of the shrine of disobedience, Yet their mother’s Utterance was lord Over their reasoning, Yet wives submit To their husbands, Yet elders were Revered, Yet children lowered Their voice while Elders speak Yet our maidens were Deflowered on Their wedding night, Yet our priest were Good custodians of our Fate in the hands of the gods, Yet our priest never Took advantage of Innocent girl like HMH rev or king, Yet Ifa never be friend Mendacity, Yet they never Betrayed their gods, Yet boys prostrated And girls knelt down While they greet elders, Yet they never masturbate, Yet they never Purchased luxury with God’s money, …………………………… Yet! Yet !! yet!!!

ANACHRONISM Man is a gullible prey At nature’s tricks

The many chameleon like Caresses of the season

What fate awaits a tree that Had out lived its stay in the forest

A chicken that spends Pregnant years ovulating must endure cruel jeers from the season

A brave warrior must in deed Know when to say good bye


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