OUR FUTURE AND THE DILEMMA OF A CORNER

A lot plays out in a society where the values are shattered

From top down; trickles mess that leaves one in awesome wonder

Once a corner that occupied children receiving knowledge based tutorials

The next time you are going there

Or you want to peep over

Please take cover or a dark eye glass

For you might become shocked!

When you see kids exercising disdainful acrobatics

All in the name of the dictation of a tune;

That tells them to Practicalise the devil’s scroll

Of doing the disgustful; just at the corner!!!

But where are the ones who should shield our future?

Mama is busy dancing disgracefully to the rhythm of the same tune in the market square

Papa; doesn’t mind; they are 21^st century kids and they’ve got to dance to popular tunz

The young mind has been battered

Our norms have been shattered

Our direction has become scattered

Our moral consciousness has suffered

Just at new turn of a corner.

Where are the sounds of old?

That told us who we are

Or you!!! To know the child of whom you are

We can’t keep dancing acrobatics at the corner

And let our future suffer

How much Bastards can the society afford

Or medals of Mediocrity; can the society award

Own your Life so you don’t lose it untimely

Build the child so he doesn’t become unruly

At the turn of the corner let there be an encounter with wisdom

A bump into correctness

A mapped out space for decency

Bolaji Olaniba (2018)

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MY FATHER

Many framed men Hefty yet without course Many Huge men; many but yet not strong Many Daddies comes handy, yet not really Daddies But you my Father; you are out of this world Of the frame of a house set upon the hill which cannot be hidden A man brimming with daily tenacity Considerable yet wise A custodian of truth not lies Ever seen a structured entity with a structured approach; yeah that’s my Father Relentless as the Eagle strolls the skies for her eaglet in winter and summer Many men may refrain from the cold as a bane; yet in it, you toil, not issuing complain Spent time with you; never really seen your frowning face; still, u didn’t spare the cane Many men there is, yet a Good man is scarce But amongst the few; you aim for the stars @ ½ a century and 1 still bouncing like a boy I am certain you will reap many years in abundant Joy @Bolaji Olaniba (2019)

THE FATE IN OUR HANDS

In the mid 1960s Dinga area, the tension became as steam rising and oozing from boiling water in a kettle, the Just amalgamated newborn in; Dinga was like a baby learning how to walk, however, her case was as one with too many instructors; I could say more than 1 parent dictating the pattern of walk each deem as ideal for the young nation, eventually confusing the tender one. Ali Balrebe was 25 years old son of a Cleric in Northern Dinga, He had just returned from Academic sojourn in the United States of Alerica, after been schooled on Islamic rudiments from the age of 8 years old in Daure town of Northern Dinga, His father: though a staunch Islamic fundamentalist showed a little soft spot for western innovation and ideals secretly allowed his beloved son a trip to the west for academic enlightenment, a much-forbidden act by the Northern dinga society. On course, Ali was a student of Peace and conflict studies at the Howard University of Alerica. He gained insight i...

FOR EVERY SUFFERING; A BILLION MADE

For every blackout; a billion made For every darkness a bullion van Always wondering, why the contentment with our present state Men in a mask – politicos, importers of the noise engine causing us a headache For every dilapidated school; a billion made Invisible hands causing the deepest quakes For every salary not paid; a billion made Authoritarian hands multiplying the masses pain For every collapsed building; a billion made Men who threw the integrity test sheet away Now the walls cracked; not only was the foundation faulty: But some Men failed For every pond on the expressway; a billion made For every pit on our highway; some men got paid So many have somersaulted, but some has gained Oh the hydra-headed monster with tail soiling our fabric with stain How many billion more is worth the pain? How many men are still queued for the gain? Know that such gain throws millions into pain Is our life really for the billions or f...

THE SOCIAL INTROSPECT

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