A NATIONALIST’S LAY

The undying love for kin and country,
occupies my thinning veins.
There is little sign of milk and honey,
but storms precede all fruitful gains.

I observe the flag billowing slowly—
moved not by the loveless winds.
On those wretched nights when we feel lowly,
your grace enriches our minds.

Am I an extremist or chauvinist?
Nurturing a broken dream.
Am I a victim of politics mist?
A tool in an epic scheme. 

But whatever service I must render to motherland,
I shall save her from becoming a depraved wasteland. 

Aanuoluwapo John Adesina - 2019

FRUGAL CONSUMERISM

by Aanuoluwapo John Adesina


My apathetic disposition towards religion had been long-established before this day. Whilst in the thick of a jamboree of miseries, I had embarked upon a book-keeping exercise of what one might call the organized chaos that was my life. The long hiatus I had taken from caring about anything had metamorphosed into an irreversible numbness. Though unplanned, I did well to relish the condition. 

Though born Christian, and baptized in the Catholic church, I was at this time a world away from my so-called saintly beginnings. It can be argued that at some point, it is a necessary effort to free one’s mind of doctrines, in order to view the world in its true form. My decision to do this was deemed rebellious, as well as a go-to sign that I had become involved with 'bad company'. Why is it laudable for a woman to shed her father's name, but a travesty to shed beliefs she does not subscribe to? Why is the truant boy expected to 'grow up', yet this growth does not extend to his mental hunger for self-liberation, from those ideals that have been forced upon him? What do I know? My unwillingness to declare my mind upon a market stall, for the benefit of pious hagglers has set me on the road to perdition. Or so I have been told. 

It was something I noticed since I moved. I had become 'anti-people', owing to my amusement of the gullibility, wickedness, and inadequacies of the Homo sapiens. In all honesty, that was the only reason I sometimes went to church. I had grown extremely cynical and would embark on excursions there just to observe the people who devoted an hour of their lives to that pseudo-solemn state. Only to float out of the pews and into the world, to continue being the contemptible people they truly were. I’ve always found that the demon-casting sessions make for excellent theatre.

But once again, what do I know? Surely, one cannot hold a cynic in high esteem, not like you would a zealot, who merely carries out his/her religio-military duties to their invisible Commander-in-the-sky. Or the ever-faithful servant, who makes it her place to slay the tainted, degrade those deemed inferior, and to bare the breasts of the ‘harlot,’ who is open with affairs that the holier-than-thou woman conducts in secret. All—allegedly—on behalf of her Heavenly Father.

She ridicules her fellow 'sister-in-the-lord,’ who has a daffodil blooming inside her belly. Worse still, outside of wedlock. O ignominy of ignominies! An indignity so great, it is enough to kill God himself. This 'fallen sister' becomes her canvass, upon which she plasters her self-righteous colorant. I stare at her, as she judges and executes her fellow woman. Of course, she does this in her capacity as God's high priestess on earth. Interestingly enough, this lamb who exudes virtue and purity, happens to be a head chorister. Unbeknownst to her, in the caliginous area by the pulpit, I watched as the semen of 'Brothers XYZ' snaked down her legs, as she devotedly seesawed her tambourine during praise and worship. 

Oh, how I long to bow in reverence to the poster children of altruism, who fight tirelessly without respect for coin nor gold. But then again, they fight this never-ending fight, purify the earth and its inhabitants, feed the hungry and shelter the homeless, so that they may gain entry to that palazzo, adorned with miles of gold flooring.

The frugal consumerists, who fight for our collective salvation. Bless their compassionate hearts.

INAMORATA

O fair maiden, 

gifted with Medusa-like powers;

solidifying my broken heart with elegant stone.

She who is the water that can quell my fire.

I shall navigate high seas to the port of Aden,

to fetch you the rarest flowers.

For my emotions have been ignited by your Firestone,

sustaining me till I lay in your bosom, wherein I shall retire.

Though by many you have been forsaken,

and by your side, I may mirror a tower.

In my heart, you own the grandest throne,

with every beat echoing sweet keys from Cupid’s lyre. 

I long to peer into your carbonado eyes,

that I may traverse the depths of your soul with your esoteric atlas.

Aanuoluwapo John Adesina - 2019

NESCIENT MAN

I have continually longed for love,

as shadows long for the moon’s gaze.

But now I am faced with a new problem;

I do not know what love looks like.

I do not see it in my father’s eyes when he beholds his wife.

I do not see it in the Vicar’s eyes when he tramples his flock to board his jet.

I do not see it in the congressman’s eyes when he abandons his people’s plight for silver.

I do not see it in the lover’s eyes when he kills a rose to give life to his lust. 

I do not see it in my own eyes when I gaze at the image residing in the looking glass.

Aanuoluwapo John Adesina - 2019

ALAGBADA ANIMALIA

Shall we observe these predacious creatures?

Let us seek refuge behind the wall of bones and infant skulls

erected as evidence of their sadistic praxis.

As they lead us on this measureless axis. 

Alas! A host of graduates laid waste to by the mercenaries of their fathers,

laying idly on the sterile grounds of their dreams, about five miles yonder.

Their leaders stand above them, spreading their wing-like raiments,

beautifully stitched with the threads of ambitions they squander. 

Now, their podiums stand in the spotlight; barren.

As their hollow minds, housing neither inspiration nor wisdom.

They pay handsomely for the services of Charon,

that he may steer us towards Lucifer’s kingdom. 

These godless beings prepare to spread their wings once more,

to enshroud our minds, that we may continue to slumber and snore. 

Aanuoluwapo John Adesina - 2019