Today, we shake things up with a little poetry

A Hard Day's Travails

Bent over like a young kid about to Summersault, 
the large hoe was clutched in both my small palms.
Large beads of sweat rolled down my head 
through my face and unto the dark soil.

Like a task master,
the sun shone its fiery temper on my arched back,
i could feel its electric rays transversing the length of my spine.

One more time, my hoe scooped up the soil
until it formed a small pyramid,
my baby brother handed me a short stem of Cassava,
which i buried slanting into the mound.

I moved to the next flat spot on the expensive acre of farmland.
My hoe landed the soil a crude blow,
uprooting layers residue to build a new pyramid.
My widowed mother gazed at me and smiled in the distance,
She found her deceased husband in me.

The Power of Elections

Somewhere in Ikeja, a caricature image emerges
Of the sterile president of a morbid state.
Yet he wishes to be lent another four
Revolutions of the earth around the Sun.

Electricity was as scarce as salt during the Biafran war,
While legislators deliberated on Homosexuals and gays,
Productive bills, lie dog-eared at the bottom of a forgotten file.

Corruption flies like a kite in the sky,
Mansions built off sweat and lives of the innocent,
The blood that cakes their palms,
Are those of the revolutionaries and activists.

A Waning Affair

I fear for our love,
The sparse vegetation of communication
And the wide expanse of silence.
Only memories of our blinking eyes
And kissing bouts are left.

Pictures of that day when you chased me
Through the park,
Your sparkling gape-tooth,
And our cherry laugh.

Now you live on the Island
Of solitude.
Activities guards you round
Like an Isis kidnap victim,
You think of me only in passing,
Our memories a mere bubble in
Your life of soap and water.