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Sands of time
I am black-
My blood boils beautifully
with the beat of my birth
it is not washed away like sands to sea,
with the tide of time
I am black-
My heart throbs
With the drums of a rekindled race-
It does not die with the thunder,
When the tempest is over
I am black-
My veins run with passion,
Through the route of my root,
Growing for strength to strength,
In the sands of time
It does not wither
With the leaves when harmattan blows by
I am black-
Time can never change it-
It ticks with vigour in my heratbeat,
Every twinkle of a moment-
I am black...
Copyright © 2004 Senator Ihenyen
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MASSES AND THE MASQUERADES
Masqueradesdance through the drums of dawn
to the twinkle of twilight
and weave in the soul of night
to the melody of moonlight
yet,
no emissaries from the gods;
no emissaries from the ancestors to the living;
no words of peace in the wind,
as they weave with deceptive delight;
no words of hope in their dazzling dance-steps;
no tomorrow as they toss and toss in tranquility;
no joy to our heavy hearts as they swirl and twirl
with whirls of colours-
colours that have no promises for our poor lives;
colours that paint people's poverty into paradise;
a place of peace and prosperity for impoverished people
perishing in penury.
When the dance is over,
and the last buttocks have rippled away;
and the last laughter has roared into windy shadows;
and heads lie hopeless in their huts
Those marauding masquerades need water
to wash their feigning faces-
But our wells are empty; our rivers dry; our calabash broken;
our little lives mad with misery...
but with tears; with these rushing tears on our swollen faces,
our eyes shall splash this sorrow on their heartless faces
and maybe,these masquerades will be unmasked,
and the rays of the sun will filter into our hopeful huts,
in the blaze of tomorrow...
Copyright © 2004 Senator Ihenyen
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UNTITLED
Dawn-
without cockcrows
to sing
Sunrise-
wihtout butterflies
to glide
Twilight-
without flights of birds
in the sky
Nightfall-
so moonless
so are drums, without dances;
voices without ears; democracy
without dividends-
so full of emptiness,
as this pen writes its end
without ink...
Copyright © 2004 Senator Ihenyen
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COLOURLESS RAINBOW
...the ink of this pen,
splashes a song- not of seduced screams,
that blazed in the soul of nights, under the fire of the moon,
melting the melodies of dance,
so nostagic
the ink of this pen,
splashes a song- not of gods and godesses,
ancestral rituals and masqueradesof the glorious past.
A song, not of lions and leopalds that roared on ancient hills and mountains;
not of graceful gazelles that leaed to drink of blue waters,
and hunter that brought elehants home, on their great shoulders
the ink of this pen,
splashes a song- a song that kindles the spirit of the moon,
and awaken the drums of the heart,
for a new dance to the hythm of time!
the ink of this pen,
splashes a song- a song of the struggles of my people! A song
of the tears and the blood, tearing our hearts to pieces-
tearing our world apart!
A song of butterflies kissing dunghills,
while the pigs grunt on the blossoms of our dreams!
Leaders, in their gruesome generousity, drinking milk and honey,
while the people feed on their own ashes and drink their own tears for peace.
the ink of this pen,
splashes a song- a song of values and possiblities, unrealised by
a lost race! A lost identity! A lost hope!
a song of a race, who do not know who they are-
a race, unknown-
a colourless rainbow!
...and so, if the pen of a poet pierces,
like an arrow to the heart, and words of truth wound our pride,
I plea,
let yur boiling blood, rise and gush; let our twinkling tears burst and flow,
as the ink of inspiration
to spalsh a song of peace,
a song of love;
a song of hope
to paint this horizon of a colourless rainbow...
Copyright © 2005 Senator Ihenyen
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A WINGLESS BUTTERFLY
Africa-
the butterfly,
wingless,
unable to kiss the bossoms
dreams,
for their is no
hope in our hearts-
how then can we raise
these wings to fly to that place of peace and promises?
Copyright © 2005 Senator Ihenyen
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POLICIES AND PEOPLE
We have palm-oil,
but they demand our blood, for libation,
to purify our lives!
We have palm-wine,
but they demand our tears,
to wash away our sufferings and sorrows
in the land!
We have native- chalk and salt,
but they demand the burnt ashes of our bones,
to blow into the wind,
to bring peace an the good things of life!
And we can't help, but wonder,
If policies are for the people or people for the policies?
Copyright © 2005 Senator Ihenyen
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