SILENCE AT NOON
He dreamt of entanglement
Devoid of camouflage, ammunition, and helmet
Devoid of cries from launchers and crossfires
But of clinking glasses and desires.
Gallantly stomping the earth
He bid his co-survivors farewell
With a nostalgic mixed breath
And silence for comrades that fell
His happy boots headed home
Amidst surprising hoots, compassion, and instant silence
His heavy bride was giving wine to her groom
With the same promise, he also received yesteryear
Now brideless, homeless like an orphaned bird
He pleads guilty to sojourning to serve his homeland.
…A poem about life by Hope Idieli
[Hope Idieli, who also publishes his writings as Hope Ajagun has been inspired to write this poem on the occasion of the immense sacrifices paid by military officers and their spouses who endured untold loneliness in the midst of regular absenteeism. ‘Silence at Noon’ is a poem about betrayal, love, hope, emptiness that are antecedents of life]
THE LOVELY MONSTER
He spoke like a superhuman
Walked like human
Clothe like human
Eats like human
So society called him human.
Society liked him
They play and tilled with him
They sing his hymn
Until they brought him to their feast
Where he sealed their mouths with his fist
A lofty fist that scope all meats
All fish all water all funds at all meets.
He dwarfed the society
And found his society in their society
His breath shattered their dreams and took their breath away
And half the society seeks to fly away.
As they bathe with the dust of their now parched land
They hate the day they first liked him
They hate the day they first sang his hymn
They searched the sky for the balm to heal their land.
[A poem about Nigeria and a 21st century leader of the country who caused untold hardship to the people. Hope Idieli genuinely decried the dearth of good leadership in Nigeria and indeed Africa]
SCREENING MY FRIENDS
The rain did its worst
Wedding pigeons to fowls
My mother won't rest
Who is he?
Who is she?
She would ask
Demanding light on my 'friends'
Misdemeanors are sent behind fence
Towards the roosting sun
Whilst drying my hair
"friends reflect in us, son
Show me your friend, I'II tell who you are"
Tasting liberty now
I still want her to choose them
Her adjudication brings no frown now
Like hen shielding her chicks
My screened friends,
Mostly remain my bests
[A poem about friendship and mothers love]
BAMIDELE ATURU IS THROUGH
I hate yesterday
Because he died yesterday
A pall of darkness descended
On Nigeria Judiciary
As he's numbered in dead
Beyond all reasonable doubts
He defends the poor
To dare a great spore
Rescuing comic Baba suwe
Who almost defecated his intestines
Let the trees weep
Let the mown grass mourn
Let truth-lovers mourn
Let his country mourn
As he walks across the silent streams
Threading on Angelic road
To rest in timelessness and tranquility
Though, Bamidele Aturu is through
His prints will glow always!
(Tribute to Barrister Bamidele Aturu (October 16, 1964 – July 9, 2014) may his soul rest in peace)
Tags: An ode to a Learned Patriot, July 2014, An Elegy, A Nigerian Elegy.
APRIL IN NYANYA
I walked away
From the city gateway
Amidst rowdy session
Like one on a mission
I walked away
From the greedy northerners
The gluttonous westerners
From the reckless southern bay
I walked away
From clueless leadership
Leading my folks to death way
I walked away from this sinking ship
[This poem was inspired by the April 2014 twin bombing in Nyanya, Nigeria that caused scores of citizens’ death. To say this poet was devastated would be an understatement. He decried the helplessness of the government in the face of gross insecurity reportedly orchestrated by insurgents and faceless sponsors]
Tags: Poem about death, poem about despair, poem about Nigeria, poem of grief, poem about selfishness.
WOLE SOYNKA: THE DARE DEVIL
(An Ode to an Ijebu Man)
Akinwande in English Britannica
He is not from America
But an erudite African
Speaking pen like pelican
A staple hymn in Nigeria
Oozing intelligence beyond his literary area
Oluwole in Africa hymn
Is rooted like a beam
Short spoon dinning with the devils
Vituperating against resident evils
Frictionally plaguing his beloved home
He flew into half of a yellow sun home
Troubleshooting African giant and seceding land
Yet was lambasted and incarcerated by giant band
Towards the demise of the sixties
His feats and feet walked the cities
Wole in Nigeria happenstances
Poke many erring apex thrones and circumstances
Mostly with his pointed arrow pen
Fostering them to build the pen
Or demand their immediate vacation
Through marching placards and vituperation
His sneeze makes them shiver
Within not without unyielding quiver
Soyinka in world books
Was wanted and detained in midnight rains
Severely wiped marked in trial of brother Jero among crooks
Yet the Egba and Isara-Ijebu deity reigns
Frightening even the Lion and the Jewel
Hijacking the air studio to broadcast in towel
The journey in the crypt of a region malpractice
Before a collapse of the regional masterpiece
Professor Wole Soyinka of Africa home
Requiem of a futurologist happy tomorrow
For his unborn children and home
A tomorrow that may not come
A leaf from happy offshore neighbours he plead to borrow
His child’s demise cause him no tears
But cried blood within for his poor child
As he did in April in Nyanya years
Good he follows with every Nigerian child
Religious but not religious
Savouring antelope game makes him joyous
Churning books from pen and bullets from his cold metal
Causing learning ones hot mental
His inks many swore are hardly comprehended
Except the headmasters and the big headed
Because he came on the sixth day of the tenth moon of nineteen thirty four
Millions fear for his home wondering availability of his fur
Men who could act and bring the devils down
When this dearest dare devil must set forth at dawn.
[An Ode to an Ijebu man by Hope Idieli celebrates emeritus professor Wole Soyinka)
MUMPSIMUS IMAGINATION
“The imagination of the king
Having to reckon the stranger
Contemplating the being
It couldn’t be a member
5 Contemplation causes a scene
The king could not interject
Killing the stranger could be sin
He doubt if the people will accept.
For the sake of doubt
10 Seven seers summon he-the king
Audience granted them for thought
The nature of the stranger-the supposed being.
Princess- the king’s daughter
The only daughter! It can’t be
15 A snake, a daughter?
Tufiakwa- it can’t be
Oviode – the great hunter must kill it
A taboo –no snake ever enter palace
A baseness preview without heat
20 Without news from the summoned freelance
Get it; never hurt it- ordered the king
The scepter directive for the snake
Oviode must capture the being
Without propagating any mistake
25 Haba! No hunter ever capture snake alive
‘Pipani ejo’ – they kill snake
Villagers can. They capture snake alive
They’re excluded for tradition sake
Can’t mutate traditions?
Never a mere directive –
The villagers mustn’t take actions
The ‘daughter’ might not survive the negative
The imagination of the king
Having to reckon the snake
Only offspring remaining a snake being
He cried for tradition sake.
[This narrative poem by Hope Idieli decried the burden of tradition in some African society]
Note that the meaning of African words used are as annotated.
THEY SAY WE ARE MAD
They say we are mad
Protesting our hiked fees
Demanding stolen credit card
Wanting power for breeze
They say we are mad
Protesting battered image
Demanding dove for the sad
Wanting synthesis of sage
They say we are mad
praying woes for foes
Demanding peace in chaos
Wanting to be heard
Are we really Mad
[A POEM ABOUT FREEDOM OF SPEECH AND RIGHT TO PROTEST AGAINST INJUSTICE]
HE CRIED IN MY EAR
I cannot remember his name
Not that I know it before
But I remember his fame
That now framed my insipid tour
He galloped passed me
As he competes with clubs, sticks and tyre
The idle piles brought him to pyre
Much thanks to the fragile old mother across me
The old mother neither sees nor hears his cries
The clubs, sticks and tyre won
His inflammable fluid cries but no tries
Their cell phone lenses breathlessly flickers
As the alleged breathlessly metamorphosed into a charred smoke
[This poem about darkness and injustice by Hope Idieli decried the poet’s witness of jungle justice meted by mobs in an African society]
HE HATES TO LEAVE THE SAVANNAH
In the golden savannah, where lions roam free,
A tale unfolds of a prince, once strong and carefree.
With skin like ebony, and eyes that gleamed bright,
He walked with grace, in the moon's gentle light.
Born of ancient lineage, a royal bloodline divine,
He stood as a beacon, a star that would shine.
His people adored him, their hearts he did sway,
Yet destiny's grip beckoned, no mortal could sway.
As the sun dipped low, casting hues in the sky,
The prince felt a whisper, a soft, mournful sigh.
His body grew weak, his spirit did wane,
He sensed in his soul, life's inevitable bane.
In the shade of the baobab, he sought wise advice,
From elders who knew the world's every device.
They spoke of ancestors, guiding from afar,
Their essence within him, a celestial star.
With each passing day, like the setting sun's glow,
The prince felt life's ebb, an eternal shadow.
But he wore his burden with a regal embrace,
Determined to leave a legacy, a lasting trace.
In the night's tender embrace, he dreamed of his land,
A kingdom united, in peace and in hand.
He longed to see smiles on his subjects' faces,
To cherish the love of their warm embraces.
As the moon journeyed on, so did the prince's life,
His strength now a flicker, a once-proud soul's strife.
He summoned his kin, bidding tearful goodbyes,
Knowing he'd soon journey beyond earthly skies.
Under the baobab, he took his last breath,
His spirit released, transcending to death.
The land mourned its prince, the loss they bemoaned,
But his legend endured, in the stories intoned.
A dying prince, whose spirit now roams,
Through the vast Serengeti, forever it roams.
In the hearts of his people, he forever shall stay,
The prince of the savannah, in memories' array.
LET THE POOR BREATHE
In the heart of Africa's embrace,
Where sunlight dances with grace,
Amidst the savannah's ancient sweep,
A whispered plea, a prayer we keep.
Let the poor breathe, let them rise,
Beneath the vast and endless skies.
Their dreams like rivers, ever flowing,
In the warmth of love, bestowing.
From crimson dawn to twilight's gleam,
In shadows cast, a silent scream,
The humble souls, they strive to cope,
With burdened hearts and dreams of hope.
Let the poor breathe, let them soar,
On wings of dreams, forevermore.
Their spirits strong, though shackles bind,
A spirit fierce, they yearn to find.
Beneath the baobab's ancient shade,
Where tales of old are gently laid,
The wisdom of the elders’ lore,
A beacon bright, forevermore.
Let the poor breathe, let them shine,
In darkness, be their stars align.
Embrace their worth, their worth we see,
A tapestry of possibility.
For in unity, strength takes root,
And love becomes a resolute,
To break the yoke of poverty's sting,
And let the poor breathe, dance, and sing.
From the verdant hills to desert sands,
In every heart, the same demand,
To be heard, seen, and given chance,
To rise above life's cruel dance.
Let the poor breathe, let them thrive,
Together, let our spirits strive,
To build a world where all may win,
Where hope can bloom and dreams begin.
For Africa's heartbeat pulses true,
In every life, in me, in you,
Let compassion guide our way,
As one, we'll face a brighter day.
Let the poor breathe, let them soar,
In every heart, forevermore.
…A poem about life by Hope Idieli
[Let the poor breathe by Hope Idieli is a poem about life inspired by the multifaceted challenges bedeviling the once booming and vibrant, truly ‘Giant of Africa’ bemoaned by despaired and helpless citizens]
THE SON OF AFRICA
He came to the stage
With a frightening gait
That rooted out the Gothic gate
That sheltered the dragons of the past age
The son of Africa
Walked with slim legs
That threw dust to the dragon eggs
And the hovering hawks ran afar.
The chicks could play
And tan under the sun
As the son of Africa pray for more dews, rain and sun
But red Volta brought down her own iroko
And called him Sankara
But the Judas only murdered sleep.
As the son of Africa lives on.
…A poem (elegy) by Hope Ajagun, first published in 2021 at Poemhunter
[The Son of Africa is an elegy. It celebrates an African leader the poet held in high esteem. He reflected on the memory of a man who dared to be different.]