Scintillating sensations of black morsels coated white
Rained on us from the golden garden assembled above.

Our fairy-tale,
A massive merriment in mournful moment,
Form days past to present days taken aback,
Beyond the boundary where they took the torque.

These celebrated clichés.
Chose to look and not see,
As rhythm of starvation swept though this sphere.
Many jiggling and swaying,
With eyes drenched with salty rain.
And more,readily enrobed
To jiggle and sway harder and tougher.

They listen with their lips not lobes,
As echoes of sorrow rushed through the canal of the listening lump,
For a romance with the heart of many.
More heart, waiting to be wooed,
Sorrow, a polygamous soul-mate.

They festival with pretence,
Even when the soil had changed robe
And sparked in red.
The atmosphere changed aroma,
Stained with the scent of the red stream,
Flowing through the veins of many.

They prepare for another season of sharing
To conquer at the altar of thumbs,
Having grace the land with hunger and thirst.


Paul Abiola Oku-ola is a Nigerian Engineer turned writer.


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