It was a free fell,

down the abyss, I went.

My body drove against gravitation,

or gravitation drove against my body;

my thoughts fell without hold.

Dangling at the precipice,

felling, feeling:

Someone or something pushed.

Act! I kept acting.

Stop; I could not stop myself.

On a steep slope,

Chemicals charged in one direction,

Toppling scalar on its head,

my head stayed still,

my body suspended motion.

As the currents charged,

I could not sing:

“My anchor holds”

I was sinking

Yet, I am not in motion”

The post Poetry – Inertia appeared first on ThePalmWineWriter.

the city of medieval global power and influence,

Africa, the land that gave birth to damsel Lake Victoria, the beauty of the great lakes region,

Africa, where is thy spear?

The son of wealthy Mansa Musa, the prince of the Benin Empire,

the son of Emperor Haile Selassie,

the land of the Cape of Good Hope Zulu personified!

Africa, where is thy spear?

Oh, the magnificent continent, set between two beautiful oceans

of Indian and Atlantic! the land of diamond, gold, salt, beautiful oils and ointments,

Africa, you gave and never borrowed,

You were fruitful,

Africa, where is thy spear?

The continent of beautiful cultures, dances and festivals and great

carnivals of strong princesses,

the land of the brave Northern Sahara star, Queen Amina,

the land of historic Queen Sheba and warrior Queen Idia,

Africa, where is thy spear?

Africa, where is thy spear?

Where is your cocoa, rubber, oil palm, yams and groundnuts?

Africa, where is your strong agile hand of productivity?

Are you now prodigious? Are you still valiant, courageous and conquering in nature?

Africa, where is thy pride and spear?

Africa, the land of Ubuntu, the father of Kwame Nkrumah,

Africa, oh, you produced Mandela and Kofi Annan, the father of Julius Nyerere,

Africa, you gave us the spirit of Ujama!

Africa, where is thy spear?

Where is thy spear?

Do we need to remind you of the battle of Adowa?

Oh, Italy is alive to tell the story,

Where is Ethiopia your brave son?

Remember El Kanemi, your son, Ashanti Kotoko of the Gold Coast,

Africa where is thy spear?

Africa, where is thy spear?

The indomitable spirit of the Cameroons and its green luscious forests,

Dakar, is cold, fresh from breeze of the Atlantic,

Africa, are you not nearly there?

Assuredly, Morocco is thriving, Kigali your son has risen,

Accra your son is up and Gaborone is lightened up,

Cape Town remains beautiful

Africa, where is thy spear?

Africa where is thy spear?

The great River Niger, the Limpopo, Zambezi, the Nile and Mediterranean Sea pass

through your beautiful bowels,

Africa, your own the resources at Mambila plateau,

and the entire Congo archipelago belongs to you,

Africa the father of the Gulf of Guinea, you are priceless.

Africa get up, set up on the journey to stardom.

Africa where is thy spear?

A tribute to David Diop (1927-1960),

Author of Africa my Africa

The post Africa Where is Thy Spear – A Poem by Taiwo Akerele appeared first on ThePalmWineWriter.

She was innocent but never naïve, blessed with abundant natural and non-natural endowments, her wealth and fertility weren’t mentioned enough. She would bear fruits even when her seeds were seated on rocks. She was the Most Beautiful Bride. It seemed she had all the makings for success. Her former landlords knew not that She had all the requirements for prosperity with her rich cultural, and economic prowess, she would dominate her new environment for a long time to come. She became the dominant force in her environment; helping nations through financial throes while rescuing others from tyranny and oppression. She aided the emancipation of many of her kind.

Among many, she had an unparalleled vision equipped with the foresight to achieve a peculiar mission and promote an Afrocentric objective. She was the pearl and the Giant of Africa. Many called her the ‘Big Brother’ in her continent, she transcended gender descriptions. You just said Amazon woman right? You aren’t far from the truth.

She performed exceptionally in different sectors with technocrats and political leaders ready to serve regardless of ethnic and religious differences. She gained respect and recognition among the comity of States within her continent and diaspora. She became a new light from the African Continent, eclipsing the achievement of nations before her. Her Oil which was rich in many natural contents further endeared her to the global market. Her borders became wide open to many investors. Many came to take and rip between the thighs, many came to close the thighs.

Out of the blue, the unexpected happened, the “Gentlemen in Khaki” took control of her land, raped her constitution, pillaged her fertile back. It was obvious, they also wanted to have a taste of the juicy savour everyone had enjoyed. Her growth and development came to a halt, the projection for advancement stagnated, her expectation was shattered. These Men in Khaki uniform, who claimed all they wanted was a “revolution”, would soon become the beneficiary of a revolting nation, time proved us right. This event, perhaps, was the genesis of her predicament, as her life gradually decimated in the hands of selfish Soldiers with the barrel of guns and shenanigan politicians, who were nothing but mere masters of facades.

From 1^st to 4^th Republic, it has been a tale of motion without movement with little or no success. Political avarice, greed, favouritism, tribalism and ethnic bigotry became the mainstay of the socio-political and economic landscape, the masses on the receiving end of the ladder continue to bear the burden of this unfortunate incident; wallowing in abject poverty and swimming in impoverishment as crises continue to loom, which has further shrunk the development from a size of a G-wagon to that of a Wheel-barrow.

Her life became miserable as the majority of her children became less privileged who have been stripped of freedom and liberty, compelled to work for their paymasters under unfavourable environments of pain and agony. Even as her children are passing through a painful passage along a pin-full path, a divided procession, dancing through blooming thorns walking on glass chips towards the forest of cactus on their bare soles; with the exemption of their slave masters sitting on thorn-filled cushions- a situation of the Haves and Have nots prevailed.

She puzzled, with her lisping lips and gnashed with her changing teeth as she cried out her name in a loud voice, “Oh Nigeria, what have they done to you, where’s your vision”? “Why has thou glory become a shame”? At 61, unable to achieve the dreams of her founding fathers.

When hope began to gather clouds again, one of her own promised her and her children CHANGE they fell for it and were chained to the NEXT LEVEL of slavery and oppression. As the hardship seems to become unbearable, corruption and embezzlement blossom in her land, hypocrites and sinners blaming sinners for sinning differently, a situation of the pot calling kettle black and robbing Peter to pay Paul, her calabash is full of nothing but problems, lies, deceits, dishonesty and debts.

With a deep sigh, as she celebrates another anniversary of freedom, she ponders on her lost hubris; it feels surreal to accept, she may never recover her lost glory. Sadly the biblical allusion appears to be on reverse engineering since later glories have failed to surpass their former.

Her only hope is to look to the Heavens and ask the Maker to heal her Land, flush out the oppressors and destroyers, grant strength to the weak and give her children the victory they deserve; perhaps, one day her youngsters would be an asset and no longer a liability.

Knowing it will take unrelenting unity and solidarity, regardless of tribe, ethnicity, religion and cultural division for her children to achieve the ideals of her founding fathers and recover her lost glory, likewise for growth and development to triumph, she prayed to the Heavens for them to realize this as she whispers, “So help me God”! If and only if this would be made manifest, only time will tell!!!

The post The Lost Glory of the Beautiful Bride appeared first on ThePalmWineWriter.

“Tread softly because you tread on my dreams”
– W. B. Yeats

I hear voices and I meet frequently with words. Each of whom has poured their souls into my ears as they squeeze through the walls, gates and crevices of my mind. I have developed a relationship with each word and at their
behest, I have placed them delicately, side-by-side, as I try to show them my utmost respect.

I learned that my father, like I, endured this uncanny fascination with words. I believe this was an impregnable
sign to devote myself to poetry. So, I write because I am compelled to hold on to an intrinsic part of myself.

“Omogbolahan Bello has crafted something unique where tradition confronts modernity and spirituality intersects with the questions of daily existence. The result is deep and beautiful!” – Uzezi Ologe

 

“Profundity unveils itself in esoteric dimensions, culminating in experiences through which the fingers of time have tinkered. This brilliant collection is not just entirely enthralling; with soulful engagement, it mildly guides the mind into unleashing its harness. Logue is a debut worthy of literary honours.” – Carter Ford

 

Download Logue Here:

Logue – The Unexpected Voices of City Masquerades

The post Logue – The Unexpected Voices of City Masquerades appeared first on ThePalmWineWriter.