COME HOME

So long have you been away in the land of the spirits,
Oh great one,
For this long have you deserted the shrine, searching through the evil forest,
For the key to unlock the golden age,
For the answer to the questions that have longed troubled us,
For the solution to the problem that long plagued the village,

The king is worried, though with mixed feelings,
The villagers are disturbed, though delightful,
The entire community already mourns you,
And your family weeps for fear of your death,

Come home, oh great one,
Return, thou representative of the gods,
And mouthpiece of the spirits,
For a new dawn has come,
The winds of liberation have blown into our land,
And the springs of redemption into our borders have flown,

We have been ushered into the white man's religion,
Witnessed the testimonies of the preachers,
Experienced the power of the foreign God,
And we now in peace and prosperity live,
All thanks to the almighty.

N/B: The poem tries to present a picture of cultural Africa before the arrival of the white man and christianity. It paints a picture of the time when gods were worshiped in Africa.

IN A GREAT A HOUSE

In a great house,
There exists vessels of different kinds,
Some of gold, some of silver,
Others of iron, some others of clay, and many others of wood,
In a great house,
There co-exists the good, the bad, and the ugly,
Even the beauty and the beast,
All with a distinct role to play,

In a great house,
There reigns kings, queens, princesses, and princes,
Servants, paupers and peasants,
All with a specific contribution to the house,

In a great house,
One can find blacks, whites, Hispanics, and Latinos,
The skinny-looking and the corpulent,
With no one any less better than the other,
All having a unique purpose,
In a great house,
There is the wild, the calm, the innocent and guilty,
All having separate lives to live,
And different accounts to give to their maker.

STRUGGLES

A part of life they are,
A vital ingredient of our existence,
Always they juggle us, and better they never cease to make us,
More reasonable, our mental struggles make us,
Out of us, experience, the physical struggles bring,
And more disciplined, they make us,

At different points everyone struggles,
The leader and the led,
The pulpit and the pew,
The bar and the bench,
More so, mental, emotional, social, financial or physical, these struggles may be,

Like puzzles they are,
And each day we live anticipating an answer, in the form of an end,
Out of struggles, we even struggle to get,
What a paradox!
A mother, the mother struggles to be,
And so does the father,
Theirselves, children struggle to be,
To see the new world, the fetus struggles,
To be a woman, and a wife, the girl struggles,
And so does the boy,
To be a man and a husband,
To be a graduate, the student struggles,
A guru, the teacher struggles to be,
A master the servant struggles to be,
Even life itself struggles to be lived,
What a paradox!

At dawn, struggles begin and continue till dusk,
From sunrise to sunset,
They are ever present,
At birth , they start up and end at death,
At last, there is a place void of struggles-the grave!

THIS LOVE I SPEAK OF...

I think it's the strongest force known,
Breaking through obstacles and limitations, uniting people, but yet to some, it's unknown,
A thing so beautiful but yet mysterious, I still try to comprehend,
Sometimes it continues for eternity, without an end,
But this love I speak of is one beyond the flesh,
It's love built on that which the eyes sees but the heart feels,
A love so real, it is agape,
A love so strong, it is immortal,
It's a love that cares for its own,
A love that will never hurt its own,
A love that transcends mortality,
And a love that knows no infidelity,
Such is the love I speak of,

Sometimes it begins with a look,
Sometimes it starts with a wink,
At other times it starts at first sight,
And continues with an unending flight,
But when it starts it is often soulful,
When it begins it remains faithful,
A love that appreciates,
A love that celebrates,
Protects its own union with distinction,
And envies not another's possession,
A love so pure,
A love so true,
A love that knows no betrayal,
And speaks no denial,
It's not lust,
It's not defined by sex- it's beyond carnality,
Neither is it expressed by one night stands-it's beyond promiscuity,
It's a love that cares for its own,
A love that doesn't hurt its own,
A love that transcends mortality,
And a love that knows no infidelity,
Such is the love I write of.