Maya where are you?
They asked me a question at the interview
About what i’ve done and what i’ll do
About how my art inspired by you grew
But the cameras only captured my moment and not you.
These rocks still hide their faces as we on their backs stand.
Where are you?
How many copies have God read?
How many sessions have you held with poets dead?
I’m beginning to forget because there’s a whole lot you said.
Didn’t we together read?
Didn’t we agree that this communion will minds free?
What are these boxes for when emptiness sits on the floor?
I saw wisdom yesterday leaving the book store
She fell off the shelf and nobody helped her up.
The temper of the night accuses the pulse of morning
Where are you, Maya?
These match sticks no longer start a fire.
They’ve lost their heads.
We still gather around corners
This time every year.
And remember forgetfulness, nothing about yesteryear
Our books have become wallets.
Our pedigree have slumped.
But the grave can’t take what it’s not given.
The Bartender said-
Your works are paintings
That remain nailed to the walls of the mind.
They are like table covers
They make books enjoy a good dinner.
Maya we are few
And i am you.
I let go of your caged bird
For moderate addiction.
Now i sing and nobody knows why.
An ink like no other
A tongue surrounded by poetic teeth
A body with poetic blood flowing in poetic veins
A brother, a friend , not foe
A farmer who cultivates poetry with a hoe
A master who is a slave to corrections
A mind whose greatness lies on great ideas
The one who undressed words with his voice
The one who introduced my fear to my confidence
The one who led the path to poetry’s house
The one whose doubt on the back pat my certainty
The one who supported my pen back into my fingers
The one who unmasked the beauty of this day
This banquet today I bedeck with words of praises Just for you
Cos on this Bus we traveled this road with insecurity around our necks
For you I will disappoint the expectation of the renown, both old and young
For before their famous names only yours I know
Before the Carlos Drummond de Andrades
The Thomas Carews and the Henry Careys
The suli breaks and the sarah kays
The soyinkas and the Achebes
The Toyins and the Tolus
The Ajayis and the Aliyus
You’ve been the bleach to my stains
The Balm on my Veins
Celebrating you is celebrating me.
Bamvy a Poet of its kind.
Celebrating wisalawa symbroska.
Your Words written
Of unspoken meanings.
Yet all the same.
Drown deep minds.
Could be so filling.
Every time I write
I hear you whisper
The problem with poets is
They do not omit enough.
Your thoughts drove me to pure mischief
To seek union with the diety of many Names,
I nurse your thoughts to birth my Thoughts, my gift as a portal to worship
Glory of faith
I argue with my muse
It says we worship differently
Yet it chants your name…
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī
Mrs. Preston Perry,
I was born an Oliver
With a twisted thirst for more
Yet not for once did greed
Accuse me of being greedy.
I’ve felt it many times
when my lips kissed betrayal
Raining coins to my coffers
As filthy as the feet of dirt
Yet never for once my conscious spoke.
When I met you the story changed
You called me a disciple,
To be exact Judas
Who will hang on the ropes of guilt
If i fail to borrow
A divine sight greater than mine.
Mrs. Preston Perry,
Its no lie I’ve found solace
Beneath the shade of your poems
And listened to a lot of your lines,
But please ”this thing called suffer”
Is it meant for me too?
Or its a cup that
One can taste not of waters?
Reply me as soon as you can
But for now I’ll be in my
Neighborhood sharing ‘ a poem about weed’.
For Buchi Emecheta
It was you who taught me to dream
Filled my head with ideas to the brim
Baptizing me into the literary world
Immersing me in metaphors and pun
I am the daughter you never met, but mentored
In your bosom i found joy
Together we saw London for the first time
Through the window of your eyes
The soul of men soaked in perversion
I heard the grave was graced with your presence
The earth gave a warm welcome
The sun couldn’t have put on a better show
From a giant that erupted into many pebbles
We buried you deep in our memories
Your thoughts embedded deeply
Independently you forged the way
Your headstone decorated with ornamented psalms
May your pages never stop turning with time
In death your light shines even brighter
Pierce sharper than a spear,
Bringing light in the depth of darkness,
Setting free the enslaved,
Raising dust of fame,
Making pretty the beautiful,
Giving value to the those who feel worthless…
Rise and ascend heavenly places.
Your words live on Maya Angelou.
At the pulse of this morning
Was a brave and startling truth
Of a phenomenal woman with a lifetime achievement
A recognition of art and freedom
A poet,song writer and author
Playwright, dancer, producer
A performer and activist. An international icon
All These, gathered together in my name- Maya
I know why the caged bird sings she said
Life doesn’t frighten me
Just pray my wings fit me well
Then i’ll take nothing for my journey
But just give me a cool drink of water ‘fore i diiie
Maya Angelou- (1928-2014)
Courage, and Fear possessed
A bloody beautiful body’s spirit
And waged costly wars
Within the cages of the host’s heart.
Wars not of swords or guns
Not of spears, machetes, and axes.
It was a battle of expression
Of unseen visions and dreams
Born from the womb of daylight
When sleep was barren, and not laid.
Fear found an expressive path
Where worry wears weariness
And traveled it, down to shelter
In the shade of mediocrity.
Courage sought a Road Not Taken
And there along, it found the
Robert Frost (1874-1963).
Dear Mr frost.
As a child, I was given a path but left to make a choice. It was fire and ice.
Time winged chariots, friends, all that didn’t really matter stole my poise. The late walks I took alone.
I would pretend, reality didn’t feel like it had any truth in it, but it was true nothing good lasts.
I wanted something more than i could hold, a pain that was sweet as it killed. It was my prayer in spring.
The road not taken, came to life on a dull , sad noon on my seat . It made all the difference I needed and changed my world.
You gave me a chance to stand , to laugh and believe. Letting what would be to be.
Thank you for writing even when it didn’t make sense. Those words did turn me into solid gold.
Robert frost (1874-1963)
Darting words you shoot
Building a hedge between your future’s past.
You answered not to the call of fame
Your firm words walled the hall of fame
Freely were you given,
Abundantly free you gave.
Now I know why the caged bird sings.
In that cage, found its patience
With its beaks harder than the iron bars,
Yet stayed it meek.
Your words made it free
And together you flew to the roofs of the earth.
Sing to me new songs,
Until I rise to behold her bloom
And eclipse the stars of her glory.
Mama Maya (1928-2014)
Red capped, his baritone voice
Spews verses like the white bearded Gandolf
I know of one Rudolf
A local whomsoever he’d say
He is an intricate design of metaphors
Complex but yet simple.
On this day poets celebrate the fruit of their tree
May your quill find more ink.