Poetry: Act of God Vs Act of Man
Look over that fence marked life,
it incurs disaster like a nagging wife.
Children borrowing tears from the flying butterflies
Opening their eyes to the light of the skies.
Look at burma
you may wonder what surely is the thunder
drumming on the absence of the head
when sleep is below the wind of the dead.
I called forth the maker of darkness,
What do you make out of loneliness?
What made you a god?
Is it the wisdom behind a Ford?
Kalashnikov relates to musing of music
London houses my head when I become quick.
Grace my meal with the sickness of prayer
let out your burden, you bricklayer.
Tell it to Ojukwu, Gadaffi and Saddam
let them know the waters have broken the dam.
I know who will find refuge in pain
The rainmaker who let words wake the mark of Cain.
I am tired of making mud bullets
when your spit disintegrates mud to advocate.
Who gave men the heart of wool
That absorbs whatever liquid:
Tears, blood and gin?
We send our appeals to God,
For he wrote the good books
With the hands of men. Pervert!
Cut the hands of evil men and add it up to that of Justice!
With the vail over Justice’s face,
Let the outstretch of her arms reach all wicked men.
If we must fight our battles, who’ll justify good or bad.
In all, let’s follow the trail of the ghostly evil doers,
And bring them back to the books.
Book of the laws and deeds.
Unbinding wrong bindings
Write tales of good tidings.
And live a life as though in heaven.
We dig deep wells to let water spring,
Only to fill them with bodies.
Inner me,my enemy is a friend in the ring,
So i seek a tent in Mars, but get buried in Addis.
If heaven needs libation,
Here’s a drop of gin.
If the catacomb is a better nation,
Let’s toast to loss’s win.
These acts forbid more apostles
To seek relief that slaughters
Massacers are our new gospels
Men are voluntary Martyrs.
Water falls in waterfalls,
The fountain is water rich.
Praying is truth parading false
God, man,atypical of each.
O how fragile the life of man!
The world is mad with lust!
Now evil comes with a plan,
Sketched with motives that leave the sane mind lost
Down the east side of dawn
The west winds of death blow
Breezing chaos in its wake
The north forces the south to fawn
Bad from evil now quietly grows
How much can a subtle heart take?
How unpredictable she is- life
The one moment a soul is filled with bliss
The next its breath is stopped
Lord why is man’s life full of strife?
Five scores of men have now felt the gunman’s kiss
Heard nine more were topped
On the list of concert goers
That saw their last some nights ago…
God, tis said you know a man before he knows himself.
You must have known before the act itself.
Why then must all these souls seeking relaxation go this way?