Blues for the New Senate King by Niyi Osundare

Who will save us from our Prostitutes in Power?

(Part 1)
He wanted so desperately to be King of Senate
He left the Path of Honour behind
Haba ! He wanted so desperately to be King of Senate
He left the Path of Honour behind
He stabbed noble Faith and Trust in the back
And put the Traitor’s knife on the bonds that bind

Power-intoxicated, blinded by ambition
He only cares for three big people: “I, Me, and Myself”
Say, Power-drunk, blinded by ambition
He only cares for three big people: “I, Me, and Myself”
A renegade old book with phoney letters
Vacuous, thumb-stained on History’s shelf

His feet never know the way to the house of Honour
“Integrity” is visibly missing in his diction of Deceit
Yes, his feet never know the way to the house of Honour
“Integrity” is visibly missing in his diction of Deceit
He sold us cheap in the commerce of the backroom caucus
Coming back later with a false receipt

Cocky without conscience, rude without restraint
He traded away a victory won with our sweat and blood
Say, cocky without conscience, rude without restraint
He traded away a victory won with our sweat and blood
A discredited enemy behind his tarnished banner
He trampled the people’s Hope in the shameful mud

The fruit never falls far from its tree
True scion of a cold and crooked clan
Ha ha ha, a fruit never falls far from its tree
True scion of a cold and crooked clan
Broken banks, broken dreams, and broken lives
He’s a fitting heir to a dubious pedigree

(Part 2)
PDP in the morning, Labour at noon, APC at night
Wind-vane politicians with multiple tongues
Say, PDP in the morning, Labour at noon, APC at night
Wind-vane politicians with multiple tongues
They plod through life like shameless masquerades
Their trails are littered by a litany of wrongs

Our rulers stink like festering corpses
Their crimes choke the startled world
Say, Nigeria’s rulers stink like festering corpses
Their nuisance chokes the startled world
Honourless, truthless, with hearts of stone
In league, all times, with treacherous forces

Prostitute dealers, perfidious scoundrels
They sell us short in every market
Say, prostitute dealers, perfidious scoundrels
Selling us short in every market
They tilt the till to their bottomless pocket
And cripple the nation with their ruinous racket

Devoid of scruple, averse to sense,
They blight the ballot and steal our vote
Alas, devoid of scruple, averse to sense
They blight the ballot and steal our vote
They cast us adrift on the swindled oceans
With tattered sails and leaking boat

And WE THE PEOPLE are the absent factor
Bought, sold, disdainfully discarded
Agbaga!* WE THE PEOPLE are the absent factor
Bought, sold, disdainfully discarded
Servile servants of mindless masters
We forgo our right to be well regarded

*Horror of horrors!

Niyi Osundare

This poem is Niyi Osundare's reaction to the current political madness in Nigeria. Specifically, the poem is addressed to the new Senate president, who is widely believed got the position through underhand and squalid means.

Niyi Osundare was born in 1947 in Ikere-Ekiti, Nigeria. He is a prolific writer and highly valued literary critic. In December 2014, Osundare was awarded the Nigerian National Merit Award (NNMA) for academic excellence.

Homeless, Not Hopeless by Sola Owonibi

Homeless, Not Hopeless

We are the native of the street
Holed-up under bridges
We are necessary
We are part of your existence
Major fragment of the globe
As the day chameleon to night
You slump in the warmth of your beds
And the heat of loved ones
We also embrace the cozy
Cardboards laid on stinks
As the night inject us with cold breeze
And endurance
We sleep and dream
And have conferences with
The indigenes of the world
When its day, in bundle
We pack our belongings
And move on with our days
Standing, kneeling and bending
To beg for alms just for the day
Necessary part of your society
Translators of your dreams
Carriers of your burdens
Angels, we open gates
Of your blessings
We are the lack
That takes your lack
We are homeless, not hopeless
This makes us rife at hereafter
When death opens the gate
To the second phase

Sola Owonibi

Sola Owonibi, a multiple award-winning Nigerian poet, playwright, culture activist and literary critic, teaches at the Department of English Studies, Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba, Nigeria. With over two decades of teaching literature and language across Nigerian universities, Owonibi has authored numerous academic papers, poetry and drama texts.

Capital by Wole Soyinka

It cannot be
That germ which earth has nurtured
Man tended - once I watched a waterfall
Of germ, a grain-spray plenitude
Belched from chutes of wide-mouthed
Glad satiation; I swear the grains
Were singing-
It cannot be
That policy, deliberation
Turns these embers of my life
To ashes, and in polluted seas
Lays sad beds of yeast to raise
Dough
On the world market.

Wole Soyinka.

Wole Soyinka is one the most honoured African poets. He is a playwright, poet, lecturer and an activist. He was awarded the Nobel prize in Literature in 1986 being the African to be so honoured. Wole Soyinka was born on 13 July, 1934.

Mama Preye's Ripe Mango by Robert Nabena

Her piercing smile,
Meant all was well.
Her protruding tummy,
Her tale to tell.

Shackled by beliefs
Hinged on lust
And the whims of greed.
Mama Preye's ripe mango,
Sold for a bottle of gin
And a keg of fresh palmwine.

Her value;
The worth of a cow,
Tied to the apron of a stranger
Led to a slaughter slab.

He whipped her hard,
And with each morsel,
Devoured his bowl of 'fufu'.

With audacious vigor,
Like a mangrove mosquito
He drilled for fresh blood
Oblivious of her pain,
Deeper than her bowels could contain.'

'Please be merciful
I am child not bride'
Mango's solemn plea,
A wink in the dark.

Holding on to a dry branch,
From a small frame
With a protruding tummy,
The bruise under her gown,
Told her tale.
Mama Preye's ripe mango,
Sold too early.

Robert Nabena

Robert Nabena is a Nigerian author and
contributing writer for various journals,
magazine and news letters.

Expelled by Jared Angira

We had traded in the market competitively perfect
till you came in the boat, and polished goodwill
approval from high order
all pepper differentials, denied flag-bearers

and cut our ribs, dried our cows
the vaccine from the lake
burst the cowshed, the drought you brought
planted on the market place, the tree of memory

I had no safe locket to keep my records
when Sodom burnt and Gomorrah fell
the debtor’s records blared
the creditors tapped my rusty door

My tears flowed to flooded streams
and source the rivulets from my human lake
from my veins, my heart my whole
disposition of the last penny
the last sight of my fishing-net

Everyone avoids my path; I avoid death’s too
pursuit in a dark circus
the floating garden in a gale
plants reject sea water, the sea water rejects me

I have nothing to reject
the broken lines run across my face
The auctioneer will gong his hammer
for the good left behind

Jared Angira

Jared Angira is a Kenyan poet who was born on 21st November, 1947. Because of the significance ofhis works to the recognition of Kenyan poetry, he is seen as Kenya's first truly significant poet.