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

Hunger massage

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

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

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

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