Poetry

WHAT SHALL WE EAT?

Meat and fish, gizzard and croaker,
All rolled into one steaming hot and large bowl
of hunger as harsh as the sun in Sokoto,
And lack that grips us as firmly as a vice
as we sing in fuzzy voices: what shall we eat?

Rice and beans, egusi and fufu,
We hope for some but are fed full
of empty promises and malnourished dreams;
We ask only that we be allowed a chance to live,
But for that to happen: what shall we eat?

Bread and tea, yam and oil,
The stomach wants what it wants,
But breadwinners have won nothing
for the past eleven months and counting.
How we do we survive? What shall we eat?

Indomie and egg, macaroni and cheese,
The prices of foodstuff are higher than Everest.
Not that it helps but the biting reality of our crippled
economy has forced us to slim-fit our stomachs.
Yet the question still persists: what shall we eat?
Salad and baked beans, pizza and chicken sauce,
These are just fancy dreams, top-shelf ambitions.
It is not good to give the children’s food to the dogs,
But what happens when even the children have no food?
Again we ask: what shall we eat?

Garri and groundnut, plantain and pepper stew,
The cries of their fat belies in utter delight,
Suffused with all manner of delicacies while we roll
from one end of our mats to the other assailed by pangs of hunger.
To these ones we ask: what shall we eat?

Eat to live or live to eat,
It hardly makes a difference at this point, as we cringe at
the belching of our bellies filled with hot air,
And the sinking of our spirits in utter despair.
We keep asking with no answer in view: what shall we eat?

It is beyond reprehensible that the supposed
government of the people, by the people, for the people,
has succeeded so spectacularly in failing us again and again.
They enjoy three square meals a day; we can’t even get a square meal in three days.
In our own father’s land: what shall we eat?

© Pendulum.

Poetry

THAT’S ALL I WANT TO HEAR

I dug till I met the crust of your smile
And realized it wasn’t mine.
You should have told me
‘Cos I’ve fallen so much that
I can’t find my way home.
Hey, you should have told me.

“I wish I could show you the way out,
But I love you so much that
My heart’s jungle wants you lost in it.
Yes, the love you saw behind my smile wasn’t yours.
I can’t hide that truth.
I’ve been lingering around
Believing he will return as promised,
But he sent a matrimonial missive a year ago.
I didn’t know how to recover
Until you irrigated my tattered soil
With the rains of your love.
I’m forever yours.”


That’s all I want to hear.


©TurksonQuills

Poetry

THE SUICIDE NOTE

I stopped writing the moment you left.
You were my inspiration for every single word I thought of.
I loved the desire of your eyes when they looked at me.

Many a time, I felt your hug was the safest haven (tears flow from eyes).
Since you left,
I’ve swum in reverie thinking we were a thing,
Thinking we were a bliss,
Thinking we were better than hatred’s abyss,
But I dreamt of a fallacy—we were just a fling.

Days birthed—crawled—walked into the lair of years,
And years gave up the salt for new dawns.
Love, I still held you close to my heart.
If there was something I did,
You should’ve told me,
But you chose to walk the aisle of the dumb.

Why, why did you leave?

My love began and ended with you.
Death is whispering its silent, ebullient, melodies in my ears

Pen drops in pain—moves to the noose.

‘the silent estate welcomes a new soul’

©TurksonQuills