His message is loud and clear,
To all and sundry near –
Thanks to his baritone,
And the brutal megaphone.
But they all wonder why
He would choose this vicinity
For this early morning sermon –
For they know him well …
And he seem to them like
Both the pulpit and the pew.
A benefactor credits your account
With what the world would call “huge”;
You head to the market to flex,
But the money could only afford
A quarter of what it was wont to buy.
Exasperated, yoy leave the market,
Leaving the shopping bag you bought
Behind, cursing the bag and its seller –
Not forgetting the manufacturers,
And the suppliers of its raw materials.
Back to the house, but you’re not home,
For your spirit stayed back in the market,
Hurling invectives at every one who dares
To shop and pay with glee at your expense.
Now you wish to return the money to its source.
A few drops of truth or honesty
To put bread on your table
Or a cover on your nakedness
Or a roof over your head –
Be it thatched or corrugated –
That you’d rather remain destitute?
Can you forbid saying sir to a cow
For the lust of flesh and pomo* –
Be it in form of Gucci or Versace,
Or a community of metals and plastic
(Better known as a car by humans) –
That you’d rather remain destitute?
For you see, my friend
Both poverty and property
Are stamped with an expiry date;
And virtues lost in the pursuit
Of the passing pleasures of loot
Are never, in this life, regained.
* * *
Pomo is a hide eaten as food in Nigeria.
A child may dare to fight another
With an innocent piece of toy;
But an adult who tries to toy
With a weapon of warfare
May thereby murder sleep,
Or set foot on the path
To a permanent sleep.
They put the words in my mouth,
And, with their invisible golden goads,
Bid me spit them out, passing them off
As mine, for all to swallow.
They dressed me in borrowed robes
From my bald head to my age-worn toes,
And declare me a repentant Democrat;
But it’s all my eyes – it’s all but paint.
When ignorance canoodles arrogance
In a man or woman,
They’re often tempted to declare:
Money is not a problem.
But money sure is everyone’s headache;
For some, how to earn,
For others how to spend,
And yet others, how to keep it safe.
Lecturers made you feel
That without their hand-out
You wouldn’t even have a pass;
So you rushed to buy yourself one,
And quickly wrote down your name
And, just to be safe, matric number too.
Then the night came,
And the morning too;
Now you’re a graduate
And you’re made to believe
That unless you’re employed
By the government, you’re nothing.
Then the night came,
And the morning too;
Your uncle got you inside
A government office as a clerk,
And they said to you: be wise, man;
One plus one must be eleven if you’d be rich.
Then the night came,
And the morning too;
You landed in the church,
So that the seen and unseen
May be in harmony for your success;
But pastor quotes the scripture off-hand.
We yearned and yawned for change;
And the heavens heard.
But somewhere along the way,
The Prince of Persia intervened,
And exchanged the change for chains:
We carried it, unwrapped, delicately,
Till it became too cumbersome
For a Serendipitous bestowal;
So we removed the metal foil
And then we saw the mischief.
Daddy, daddy, daddy!
I think the under of my tongue is leaking!
You need to call the doctor!
Baby, baby, baby?
Don’t be silly, you’re only salivating.
There’s nothing to worry about.
But mummy isn’t cooking daddy,
So why would I be salivating?
It jetted out in a stream as I yawned!
Do you mean to say my cooking is bad,
Don’t you devour my food voraciously,
Whenever mummy isn’t around?
That’s only when I’m starving,
And mummy is not around, daddy –
And it’s mostly noodles and egg.
Lord have mercy! What an ingrate!
Anyways, you were only gleeting,
You may proceed with your home work.
“Does hard work really pay”?
Asked the donkey of the horse,
“For I labour ten times harder,
But you get all the ribbons.”
“Hard work does pay, my friend,
Replied the haughty horse,
But smart work pays more,
For the smart cut the cheque.”
Sam Chris 