When billionaires are made

When billionaires are made
Government erased the traces of their dealings
Those who become are kept into the bunker
And the white papers of their dealings
Is embalmed and erased by the glut of ashes
Those afar will start shouting fire, fire, fire
The billionaire rides in his tainted Benz smiling
Puffing cigatta just like the Colombian
When billionaires are made
The building holding the office’s paid the price
Watch a low-key billionaire will soon donate
In anonymous name to hide the carcass
For its repair, an enchanting clap from the power
That be… Watch don’t say I told you but I told you
I use to be a billionaire it is my confession
When the billionaire drives in with a smile
Their is a cockroaches bland with broken legs
He is looking for shenanigans to mend his legs
A lobbyist that earns his nuts professionally
They’re among us holding the algorithm of sanitizer
Low profiling themselves, and bribing through probe panel
Committee these men will find nothing as their findings
but these findings will sleep in the cupboard
The making of the billionaire is poised
By threat, respect and shameless favour
When billionaires are made
Government erased the traces of their dealings
(c) Martin Ijir 2020

Gimmick deceptions

Some few men sailed with Columbus nosetruth, pandemic, deception, enough is enough
This time an American covert dealings 
aimed to discover coronary that will make 
Their gourds to filled with euros, yens & mighty dollars
The pounds of the flesh used in the Wuhan laboratory 
Is raw with climate change temperature, aiming to wipe 
humanity’s love, peace and sorrow 
a new genome that will wipe out Africa & third world countries 
Mistakenly they forgot that tropics boils the sun 
Our ebony skin is full of softies so is the softies of our ebony blood 
Some few men sailed across the Wuhan wall 
In icing igloo faced hoodwinked covid 19 was created 
These same men possessed the cure 
When their safe is filled up, cure will come 
They hinder social life and shutdown economies 
These few men have a bunker of raw stash, living in isolation 
Giving termites their loaf of share, and human loaves of covid 19 
They provide humanitarian service as charity 
How could charity works when there is no pandemic? 
How will donor give willingly when the have-nots are not in IDP’s camp?
Luckily enough, covid 19 is meant for the rich 
Soon a cure will come, million of dollars already spreads 
These same men will donate their resources in gimmick deception 
To lure many into their eeries of silence 
I am hiding in my room afraid to be victimized
Though weeping knocks at night, joy opens the door at day
When you see these men mauled them with fangs of laughter
(c) 2020 Martin Ijir

Fifty nine inches grave

Fifty nine years of baking a bread
fifty nine years of searching for bed
linking roof, sheathed with naked fire.

Poverty, banditry and corruption’s clip
fifty nine inches grave of bad leadership
and blind misaligned themselves as followership.

Yesterday, i was chased by ghost of feudalist
foolishly, i ran inebriatably to the door of an animalist
he drown me with axe onto the grave of fifty nine inches.

Life is hardwired by spokes of division
cursing plague of wild and mild depression
yeast of suffering in joy intoxicates than kunu zaki.

I wonder when fifty nine tides of flimsy lies
will be sieved, calmed and distilled into truthful progress
while pragmatic, social materials solidifies all to smiles.
(c) Martin Ijir 2019

February 16: No to Violence

A group of men holding palm fronds
shouting next level as loose dogs
they form an enclave in the centre
five men holding palm fronds, chanting
old rhetoric as people gathered.

A group of men holding torn umbrellas
shouting let’s make Nigeria working again
in their torn heart they seek to change
the old scapegoating technique, their
leaders chants a new song of restructuring.

These group of men followers
thuds the streets with guns
knives, broken bottles
club’s or brass knuckles
ready to create chaos.

The rich and powerful are ready
to ride out of the storm
as the light of the sky beam
millions of goes dismay
and peasants leisure turns to dust of disarray.

Our dwindling unity is at the brink of collapse
those who benefit from violence becomes
happy to trade their resources:
millions of white collar workers
had nowhere to go.

The rich began to laugh
and wouldn’t offer a help
families would be torn apart
and hunger will strike many
and death will plead to ease their suffering.

Inflation and unemployment will become
a constant threat, foreigners will tap our
resources in the name of humanitarian aid
blood would flow if February 16 results to violence
i shall hide in my cubicle with my son

The time I share here would be lost to grief
I would freely go underground as a rat
when my beloved country turns into a fascist state
and my eyes will be betrayed by tears
as feeling of bitterness live inside me.

I shall hate democracy
for it has failed me
and the quiet street will be armed
by angry men, killing will be an orderly song
because greed, and power intoxicates…
(c) Martin Ijir 2019

Justice For Ochanya

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

Camouflage Leaders

Yesterday, souls where injured.
Many mute beings cried.
The injured ones where spit upon
Their bones where grind with boots.
How will democracy ever gets a feet?
Their body language is disgusting.
A mimicry of masses not to weep
Rather they preferred their tears withhold.
As powers collide on umbrella and fronds
My innocent eyes turn-off its chains
To decide where freedom and liberty lies.
How will democracy sailed on the earth?
When camouflaged leaders, maraudes our land.
A big fattened lamb cries for his shepherd
I am a lost thin lamb trying to survive
this bloody forest, where devourers feed
on the masses.
(c) Martin Ijir 2018

ALL LIVES MATTER

When they shot us from the back
They taught they will paint us white
When they rob us of humanity dignity
They taught we are still slave
As they segregate our mind from theirs
We are still black we can never be white
For love of humanity wears our soul
As we rises as dark nimbus in the sky
we show our creativity with nonviolence
We shall revolt their raunchy behaviour
For love and peace we bring
Our feets shall walk for justice course
Till their injustice fades as dew on grasses
The clock for new resistance has come
It has awakened souls that are resting
in the graveyard of silence
It has occupied our sleeping hearts
As cymbals and thudding trumpets
We will echo truth for humanities course
When the kill #Stephon Clark, they
lit the fire that ocean of waters
Can’t quench, mortals live matters.
(c) Amb Martin Ijir 2018

Tyrants

When tyrants cursed the power grant
Bloodhound is forced to feed on their children’s heart
Sorrow stings as a keenest songs
Ideas become senseless as a drought
The remnant living are housed in unspeakable incacerations
(c) Martin Ijir 2018

Gather the cloud

Gather the clouds of night
O beloved men lovers of truth
For the wind had swept the atmosphere
And the vapour of the sun has set
Beaming our hair as pallid evening shines
The dusty braids languish upon our eyes
And the silence star twilight in rebellious joy
The sound of emotion bray our faces
As we clung to each other as the moon
Gather the clouds of the night
O lover of truth it is time to betrothed a wife
Creep in hand as hand creeps in body
Earth, air, water and fire wields as one
The aerial pinnacle of love and peace has come
(c) Martin Ijir 2018

Succès d’es·time

Succès d’es·time

You treated me wrongly
Molesting mine dignity
As human you enslaved
Me with your siccing rules

And make me to work
Under harsh condition
And pay minimal wage
As mine sweat succès d’es·time

Will I ever forget
Your ill treatment
Those moment of joy fragment
Gone because am machine

And beast of laden
To your succinct profit
Making economies of scale
To fight me as cost

Of my handiwork commodity increase
but my purchasing strength decrease
Wages you pay is a peanut grease
And lion you sat upon the lease

Fed up of your system
So revolt I
Institution you control
Make everything worsen

Recall I not for long
Threescore feed at home
And find it difficult to come
And bear mine kind

For tuition fee
My clothes and shelter
Were burnt down
Due to your selfish system and desire

Whilst you want my present stance
Not to move above the ladder
Instead you require my name
To use me as a scapegoat

For others to be scared
Instead I prepared
Them to attain a point of repaired
To rise in heyday

©® Martin Ijir 2018