Seized tears

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

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

Kaftan and Deltan Clothing

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

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

Meal of Honesty

I have earn to self a meal of honesty
Even though life drumsound ensnared
A scene of illegal misery tears my mood
As I perish in the clime of mortals’ slavery
Silvery lining trimmed its blueness colours

A rampant agony of lost friends and lost love
Love can never be lost it defines my prescience
Existence, a dark world of self presecution
A bitter world of ingenuity with scornful face
The silent spirit in noisy environment of men

Knocking the blocked cave of injustices
Wailing for cold blood of unwelcomed charity
It is clash of love that flames peace territories
It is the roadmap of unity that knocks in deafening echoes
It is me and you a honest being that wields mortality
(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