Dear lover, I am sorry for my late reply
Learn you’re leaving Wuhan and will be at Italy
Before coming back to Nigeria. I am so happy
I want you to know there is a curfew on the street
It is difficult to see a lizard, butterfly, and birds
But it is not difficult to see gecko, cockroach and crickets
I am so excited by the songs of wine they provide as
I self isolate… in lonliness and misery and hunger massage
My tavern is open as the street of Spain
Near, the door stood the rye of salvation
Nothing can stop my kisses and embrace
I read about a new belch that separates
And stop men from loving and hugging
Nothing can stop me from licking the scars
On your inciting lips lumping the door of my longings
Nothing can stop me from touching your linseed face
In them I see the longing soul that beauty and time obstruct
In them freedom reclaim and birds, butterfly and lizard I see
(c) Martin Ijir 2020
These blizzards wreak the songs of togetherness
through the night all sounds are unheard
but the songs of the razing fire thatch I felt
the noise of the striking axes passing through deathless
spirits, bumping flies that missed their path
I can hear the songs of agony,
render by their sleeping spirit
beclouding the lids of my eyes, my hands
shivers as a stroke of canvass spited on my heart,
an unbearable cloud passing its enchanting chasm
so much pain, seized tears paints the picture of my frame.
(c) 2020 Martin Ijir
The mad man
Long before now, long before time was infused inside my soul. Before I was sent to the earth. Near the stream containing many shrubs I walk on, elegantly without fear, shame, and harm. I have seat my self in those sullen water, i guessed nine months or thereafter. I was threaded with the placenta of birth and death. Betrothed to life scorching sun, smiles of bitter rain and lustrous muses of scavenging for the nuts to nourished my body, unite my spirit and guides the soul to manage his genderless attributes back to where time wasn’t created. I have walked a million time to the stream, casting my net daily, catching nothing. Even the little tadpoles which a child catch without suffering I alone couldn’t lay my net on. I have lost none inched of a hope because I targeted the daily calmness of the stream. If i could not get hold of the beings on water at least I can pluck the flowers near the stream on terrestrial abode. I walk to the flower, with songs of conquest. She smiles as nature, baring the regalia of wild purple, waving her nectar in silent wickedness. The wilderness that separates the flower from the stream encamp countless bees that sleeps and enjoy their sun, conversing with the gloom of their wings as they chat. I fluttered myself into this trap. I was stung by the bees. I became a madman. Having no fishes, no shell, no pebbles, no gold, no flower. I am having nothing and carrying nothing inside my haversack bag, as I am going to be infused back into the cubits were time end as a soul.
(c) Martin Ijir 2020
We have travel from shop to shop seeking for what holds breathing in human’s nostril. Each shop we visited stalls our conversation with groceries, butter, tuna fish and fired spreading meat. Always the can milk stared at me whenever I stepped to a shop. The glance at her eyes invites patronage like a whore showing the lameness of her beauty. I hated each ounce of the milk that trudge the premises of thinking. The long rigasa train where banditry sleeps waiting for merchants to kidnap, stood at the dim night as we speed pass. I held the rails tightly, for I have heard of the tempting water of those kidnappers, and wish not to be their honoured victim. For I am only a merchant seeking the house that helds countless breathe. Something inside me whispered, let go off your hands from the rails. And see the dynamic of an invisible shop waiting your arrival! There you would have answers to your cajoling question. Foolishly, I let go the rails. For I love the words in obey and command. I am left sobbing in bruised excitement and tapping drops of breath gaping behind my soul. Truly, this impracticable journey consumed whoever voyage her path calmly. I can’t be dead, I say…
(c)2020 Martin Ijir
This tattered leaves shrink as it grows
with lulling children and sullen faced adults.
Who curse you O beloved country? Many
impersonates truth but clone with linings of fraud
incorporated with deceit and corruption perfumes.
How come your masses worn silence garments?
Can’t you see them holding ethnic drums and songs?
Parading the potholes of poverty on unoccupied street.
How come many can’t conceived the bluff of gold and grains of nature?
Instead blood flows the land like honey squash with grapes
faces buttered like a seasoning river, bandits and cultist marauds the street with flute to lull many to timely rest.
Your son’s rebels for self-aggrandizement
hearts are indoctrinated by religion and money rituals
Who have stripe your cloak of peace and progress?
O a new heritage plausible in kaftan and deltan clothing
Copyright 2019 by Martin Ijir
The waves of the sea storm calms
and the sullen bells rings
the ferry of the candlestick burns
its wax melt down abruptly…
a sage has come grant him admission
How the notes of a spirited muser taste!
at the lips of those who recites his name
Okara, okara the ferry bard sails home
the waves of the desert covers our eyes
a blissful dust is raised up in the heavens
Like faded waves, so art inclined
Subliminal memories in ornamental vase
A monumental hewned from stone equates
A sculpted dust. A continuous creation of worthy verse
A devotion to an enlightened spirit.
A preservation of endless task of meditating
In return the departed spirit dance in joy
As many read the lines created in simple form
A soul is raised out of the grave of thoughts
As am found immortalized like a ghost of loved one visiting in a dream.
(c) Martin Ijir 2018
Please tell them a beast is loosed
its swinging door needs to be lock up
onto the footsteps of its devouring
tactics, its blood flows in their family,
Less they keep devouring others.
Justice for Ochanya is all I need
Let her rape soul gets ripe justice,
in a world where the cup of pains
torn our desire for evilness, Ochanya
needs this, as a deterrence to end
plight of girlhood, if justice isn’t granted
we’re also raped, we will barricade the system
of injustice till those beast are lockup also.
(c) 2018 Martin Ijir
A peep into the void
I see you lizzy calling my name
Reminiscing old times
A perfect smile breaks the long silence
I wish nothing but your soul rejoice
For it is free from earthly prejudice
A liberation that lies in your body as hope
I dont want you back in this sepulchre
Where love fades the beauty of your smile
I want you to rest under the canopy of peace
Where eternal flames burn steadily as you play
Those old times fades, for new you lives
It’s a trance to those lock in the scene
For me is reality that lives in us
As raw wound waiting for its healer
I wouldn’t miss you, i wouldn’t miss you
For i see you on mirror of my heart
It breaks, it mend, we die to live
forever in garden of love
(c) Martin Ijir 2018
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