Letters From Africa: The Modern African Poetry Compilation (Chapter One)
CHAPTER ONE: THE ART OF POETRY
“The Message Is”
Encrypted words across
My tender brain
So young yet age
Defies my justice
The voice of education
Ignored along my days
I shall embrace the life
I chose to practice
Encode the words
And spell the meaning
Correct my wrongs
And write the feeling
The message is but
What was told
Regret your choices
And reap what you sow
Through mistakes we learn
We grow old
Do we grow wise as well?
Who knows?
Encode the words
And rebuild wisdom
Our future kings have
Burnt the kingdom
Stranded we roam
Like spirits unease
Africa burning
People are dying
I watch from afar;
This deadly disease
Churches are scams
Prophets are lying
Encode the words
And teach religion
But who will learn
We were born rebels
Deep inside
The shadows of death
I embark on a journey
Towards change
I’m just a poet
But I’ll take that path
Imagine a world
Without a thing strange
Encode the words
And read the messages
But this is what the message is
“My Alphabet”
A is for angry
The emotion that I have
B is for boring
The teacher at the front
C is for caring
The feeling that I crave
D is for dangerous
The look in my eyes
E is for elation
The feeling I’ve never known
F is for forgiving
Something I’ll never do
G is for grand
The kind of life I crave
H is for help
That no one ever gave
I is for imagination
The only asset I own
J is for Jordan
The corrupt government official
K is for killer
That the judge set free
L is for love
That is only a dream
M is for money
That the government embezzles
N is for natives
That suffer everyday
O is for oppression
That we face everyday
P is for poem
The only voice I have left
Q is for questions
That have no answers
R is for religion
That now exploits us.
S is for slums
Where most of us live
T is for torture
Every day that I live
U is for unity
Nothing but a theory
V is for virginity
That has lost sense and meaning
W is for water
That has not become scarce
X is for x-ray
To see through our government
Y is for youth
Who know no truth
Z is for zeal
To be done with this regime
That is my alphabet
With all I have seen and heard
And even if you try so hard
I will surely be heard
And put an end
To a situation that is so sad.
“The Poet’s Arithmetic”
With his canoe, he paddled on the lone sand
Deafening noise and yet no sound
For years he awaited the sun’s appearance at night
He grew so weak that he became a knight
His greatest fear is that he is fearless
Taking caution with him implies one is careless
Those in his future died in the time past
So slow that he won every race before they start
Perfectly imperfect to be seen as perfect
Gallantly, he strolled around the crowded but empty market
And towards the woman who was the husband of her wife
Then she sold to the man who neither came to buy nor sell
Long life to the king destined to die young
Through whom their happiest sorrow “sprung”
Sadly, they composed the song for his coronation
Happily, it was sang at his funeral
Where he delivered a speech as their general
The lines are hidden inside the moon
You need a missal to crack this.
“Why?”
Why do I write?
Because it’s right
To give people some light
On the happenings of the site
Why do I write?
Because it takes me to heights
Not of fright
But of flight
Even during the night
Why do I write?
Because it make me feel like a knight
In the on-going fight
Who makes it look bright?
Why do I write?
Because my words no longer bite
Or make them quiet
But it makes me speak and bring sight
To those reading on the sheet so white
Held in their hands so tight
I write
To speak my mind
To inform
Reform
And be informed
I write to express
And not to oppress
I write to bring happiness
And a hint of sadness
But can you blame me
For all I do
Is write
“I’m a Poet”
I speak not poetic words
I speak regular words in a poetic manner
I seek pleasure in writing
I am a poet
I do not walk like a poet
I do not lot live like a poet
I’ll love to but
I know not how
A poet who writes
A poet who writes some more
A poet who resides in his own words
That is who I am
I’m a poet made up of words
Normal words used by a normal man
Yet in an extraordinary manner
Then I am born – I’m a poet
“Poetic Verses”
Is poetry the stanzas?
The rhythms that rhymes
Does it bend to lines?
Fitted into structures
Is poetry just words
Or feelings and thoughts
Hopes and dreams
Messages of some sort
Is poetry like beauty?
Only known by the beholder’s eye
Or is a form of art
That speaks to the heart
I read plenty yet few I get
Mostly assembled in many ways
Some unfamiliar to the eye
Yet they are all poetic in a way
Then I resolve poetry is not limited
It’s not the lines and stanzas
Nor the rhythms that rhymes
Poetry is the message
“Bear Your Words”
I’m a book with many blank pages?
Young as I am I’m willing to learn
Although sometimes I pretend to know
In truth I know not a lot
Share your knowledge let me be wise
I acknowledge am still a child
Write in my pages later I’ll read
Tomorrow I’ll be a better person
I comprehend not a lot of things
Sometimes occurrences pass me by
As if am not there nor a partaker
But page by page do jot them down
If memory do me justice
One day I’ll revisit these pages
Line by line I’ll read these words
For now just note them down
I may not know yet where am going
Nor certain of what route to follow
Guide me with your words
When tomorrow comes I’ll decide