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ÀDÍÒ SÒGÍGÙN (THUNDER BOLT) by Jamiu Ahmed

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ÀDÍÒ SÒGÍGÙN
(THUNDER BOLT)

 Àdíò Sògigùn
His eyes is the grasping dark sky,
Which swallows different bright stars,
That crawl amidst its massive chest.

His mind is the temple of eroticism,
Where striptease dance naked at night,
To the rhythm of amorous & lustful lines.

Àdíò is a gripple butterfly,
That flies from red roses to yellow liles,
Suckling their nectar & juices.

Momma cried;
Àdíò, Làbàlàbà rè tí ñ fò Lábálàbá
Lóò séwè Ágbèjé mówò
Kì ó màbá fò lù màjélè.

Àdíò is a blind bat with color blindness,
Every black and fair mountain is an haven.
His router knows no boundary,
Browses all free-available wi-fi.

Àdíò Is a monkey that jump from tree to tree
In awe, without considering the thorns on them.

Father called;
Àdíò Sògigùn
Kì ìjímérè rè màbá gùngì àládì.

The sacrificial dog for the god of iron,
Hunker never listen to father's birdcalls.

Àdíò
A man is liable to die the day he's born,
Why do you choose to die like a "woe-man"
Inside the river of l(o)(u)st in between the thigh
of a &quo…

REMEMBER ME WHEN I'M GONE by Jamiu Ahmed

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REMEMBER ME WHEN I'M GONE  (For the dead bullet man) 
Today,  My fate has  been  written as a dirge on the  scrotum of a  bull  that keep  dangling, front,  back and sideways Like  it would  fall  anytime  soon. 
A minute silence isn't enough for the man,   who left  home like a wayfarer,  to tread the path that leads to death, where skulls  are the fly-overs that bridge the river filled  with the bloods of his own dead siblings. 
Anike, the life of a man is that bullet,   Fired from a rigid hand into the space,  Unable to undo, nor rewind back in time,  Until it gets to it targeted "deathi-nation". 
Anike, today I have written my existence  On the stars for you to gaze them at night,  When you no longer see my face again & they become the photos that bear my image. 
Anike, Today I have written my name, on the bark of the trees we sat under to tickle each other,  for the branches to dance as the leaves sing  Our favorite songs when my voice is no more. 
Anike, r…

THE MISCONSTRUED IMAGE OF A DEEP POEM by Jamiu Ahmed

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THE MISCONSTRUED IMAGE OF A DEEP POEM
Words are building block in the eyes of a bricklayer/ In the pursuit of erecting a life long tower/ I became  a pack rat feeding on words discarded by meticulous  writers/ like a scavenger feasting on debris to survive. 
Puzzled friends laughed & frowned at every prejudice  views I laid down on the table of their content. 
As a wrangler/ we got brawling over every logics & Arrangements of the alphabets in the letter box Like customers haggling over price of unseen product. 
I dispute to stay alive with "outer-space views"  without expecting anyone to hold me hostage for it/  They said: Every "turn—around" is not a "u-turn"/  depending on the distance between the curves/ I told folks to replace their old lens with low range of view. 
I'm high-raised when I noticed laying words like bricks can bridge the gap between me & my illusionary tower/ Which is an escape route to the world of my own. 
I Started m…

MAYHEM HEADS-MEN by Jamiu Ahmed

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MAYHEM HEADS-MEN
My eyes are empty & drained of tears,    Now blood dripping through my nose,  Couldn't breath, for my mouth now holds Blazing hot water like an electric kettle. 
I can feel the smoke escaping through The opening pores of my melting body,  May be I just got burnt like a thick bush Whose trees are hindrance to the rustic. 
I am that Christmas chicken, goat & cow,  That got beheaded and die prematurely,  In the hands of my brute & inhuman lovers,  For my lovers love are acute-edged swords,  That tear my flesh apart with sensual touches. 
I am that arable farmer with a shepherd lover,  Whose love is to watch me grope in darkness,   Combing for the death that killed my ancestors  On the farm, despite we are one "farm-meal-ly". 
How do I separate my shadow from darkness  Without the sun as the ultimate source of light?  When my phantom is my death that wears the Body of a manslaughter chopping my head off. 
I know of a farm that turned abattior ov…

MOTHER (H)E(ART)(H) by Jamiu Ahmed

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MOTHER (H)E(ART)(H) 
Times are words,  Moments are pages,   Ages are chapters,  written as code in between the wings of time,  Flying away like a bird running from extinction. 
Life — a wife that doesn't find reason to live,  She gave birth to a bonny lass, with treasures hidden deep beneath the pores of her face. 
Her heart is the fertile meadow, where seeds are cultivated into trees of love, faith & hope. 
She's the beautiful maiden that caresses the King's feet at night, as the grey moon melts Into the dark sky with zillion dazzling stars falling back Into her eyes like the reflection  Of light rays from the fields of ice at sea.
She's the living womb from a womb that enwomb,  Laced with mountains & hills, where children suckle  Wisdom from the milk & honey that flows like river,  Running through her sacred thorax down to her body. 
She's that beautiful roadside colorful lily & rose,  Trampled upon by heavy feets & life moving autos,  Downtr…

BOY FROM THE STREET by Jamiu Ahmed

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BOY FROM THE STREET 
Growing up as kid is a testimony  of how I buried my father's shadow under my hooves that grow weary not Like the placenta of a newborn baby.
Oh I'm sorry mother, I threw your words into the river of lost, for your Words keep  echoing in my ear like an empty room,  But I don't want to live with past manuals.
Unlike the white children with blue blood, I wasn't born with a silver-coated spoon, But how about fighting with devil himself to get a golden bowl full of myriad coins.
I took a first flying flight to the underworld, Devil said, "To succeed you must know  another name for fire, for fire is for those  Who are ready to burn into ashes of hope".
I asked, "what about the boys whose fear  are the bloods that run in their own veins? Devil said, "the Fear is the arsenic poison In their bloods, killing them slowly bit by bit.
He served me weevils with a plate of evil, I asked, "why did you serve me the weevils?, He said, good…

FREE—DOOM by Jamiu Ahmed

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FREE-DOOM

The sullen cloud on the white sky,
Broad sky; home of ghost dreams,
Shattered rainbows on the azure,
Gleaming hues on the dark horizon.

The lurid sunset of murky new days,
Where birds soar high on clipped wings,
Dangling amidst the massive firmament,
like a spider hanging in a sponge web.

The wrong alluded image of a deep poem,
Like painted words with a lost content,
The disjointed lines of structured verses,
The unrhythmic rhythm of unrhymed words.

The clumsy moonlight of a glorious night,
The bankrupted hymen of beautiful virgins
The muscular arms of intellectual slaves,
The broken tongue of myriad harbingers.

The gaudy chandelier in a dejected castle,
The vicious apples blackcap In paradise,
The starved bowel of a pecunious Adam,
The chained arms of the ancestors in grave.

The queen's neck rope; a suicide inhibitor,
Monarch antique robe casted on bigot mind,
"Your majesty, where is the road to west?",
A wired head foolishly asked her silhouette.

©® Jamiu Ahmed

MEMORIES ARE RIPPLES by Jamiu Ahmed

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MEMORIES ARE RIPPLES 
Days are the bedriddens,   Times, moments are those bodies, Buried & long forgotten like slothful bones,   Stinking, rotten & lifeless  beneath the crust.  There're times every song life plays feels like A coronach in the mouth of a stammerer,   Fragmented, unrhymed & unrhythmic,  Broken like an old record tape. 
I'm that lonely  water  seagull,  That wallows in the river of my tears,  Raining down from the fountain of my eyes,  Eyes tired of seeing the silhouette of my lover.  Words, words really failed  me like a blunt knife,  Everything just eludes me, just tired of crying,  Even my shadow left me in this darkness,   I'm just, I'm just, really tired of crying. 
Your words melt slowly like candle,  Your promises fade into the winds of time,  Recall you said, you remain as the sun shines,  Recall you said, you remain as the moon lights,  Recall you said, you remain just like the earth,  Recall you said, you remain till the very end,  …

SWEAT, BLOOD, TEARS FOR GOLD by Jamiu Ahmed

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SWEAT, BLOOD, TEARS FOR GOLD
Life is just a sundered mirror made from dust,  That reflects the image of a boy hiking an alley,  Just like a blind hiker hiking on an unknown path,  Toiling, weary, tired, as the winds howl in horror. 
Seconds can feel like a millennium in perdition,  Under the sun that melt snowflakes into water,  Where sweats are the water that forms a river,  River that flows into running memories of time. 
Life could sometimes be a deceptive man,  That wears the body of a dubious drummer,  Beating the drums of how fire burns water,  But the ashes are apagoge of absurdities.
I'm the deaf wayfarer on this road called life,  That doesn't listen to the croaks of "don't go",  From forest fearful frogs by the roadside,  As I walked down the hills of the gold mine.
Life is just a sundered mirror made from rock,  That reflects the image of a man without digger,  Digging deep down into the bowel of the earth,  Like an archeologist looking for lost artif…

WHEN THE LIGHT FALLS by Jamiu Ahmed

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WHEN THE LIGHT FALLS
When the light slowly falls on the arms of darkness, Like the orange sun fading into the dark clouds,  The sullen fate that overshadowed the bright dream, The moment lost to the realm of awaiting eternal.
After falling into the dark tunnel of another road, Where souls burrow like earthworms beneath the crust, Where all voices shall be lost to the vacuum of silence,  Ringing; "where I am?", "where I am?" like a dumb bell.
Misty eyes shall stare upon the aloof mystic gloom, Cuticles shall become the preys of decayed memories, Lifes shall become the shattered rainbows on the horizon, And bodies shall slowly frazzle like the frayed wool jeans.
The crust is the pyramid of grey hairs and weary bones, As fabrics unknot into the hands of smut and pebbles, Floating amidst the dust like sands in a dusty wind, And Aimless feet shall step upon the haven of infinity.
Name shall be written boldly on the sky of gone forever, Like the Goliath feet imprinted o…

LITERARY CRITICISM by Jamiu Ahmed

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LITERARY CRITICISM 
DEAR BUDDING POET 
Hello, 
Your poem is devoid of emotion, therefore it can't make someone shed tears...  Your poem is just too rigid, not flexible enough for them to bend it over to their own understanding... 
Your poem lost the poetic taste, no pepper, maggi, curry and thyme not even a pinch of salt to spice up the poetic taste.... 
Your poem lack the depth to subject your readers to in depth thinking and confine them to their inner room of thought.... 
Your poem is not relatable, your readers can't wear the body of your poem to feel what you are feeling....
Your poem lack Literary device,  concrete imagery and allusion that can create mental picture for readers to follow what you're talking about.... 
Oh no this poem is just too plaintive and simple, watery and verbose...... 
DEAR BUDDING POET  Are you strong enough to handle all this criticism? 
LITERARY CRITICISM 
Literary criticism is an act of passing judgment with knowledge and propriety of the…

MY HOME IS MY SHADOW by Jamiu Ahmed

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MY HOME IS MY SHADOW
Oh my home!  The fragmented walls of a muddy castle,  Decorated with the wide-mouthed holes,  Open to air like the jaws of an hungry lion, Now the hideout of starved little creatures. 
Oh my home!  The concrete depiction of craggy floors,  The vivid paintings with old-pale colours,  Revealed by the cracked roofs; that leak  the secret of your weaknesses to the sun. 
Oh my beautiful home!  What happened to your shining ornaments?  The gaudy chandelier hanging on the roof has now been replaced by cobwebs & dust.  My portrait are now fading & wearing out. 
Oh my opulent home! What happened to your well-stocked barn?  Where are the grains in your stowage silo?  They have been attacked by parasite & pest,  Now as empty as the second day of market. 
Oh my beautiful home!, Oh my beautiful home!  The wardrope of hanged clothes and shoes as ragged as a scarecrow's tattered wears.  The room of weary bones, long & loose-fitted necks dangling freely on pa…

MY FUNERAL RITE by Jamiu Ahmed

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MY FUNERAL RITE 
I
I'm the silhouette of a loving mother  that left her unborn child at the horizon, Hanging like a mirage on the blue sky, Dead or Alive?, ask the mystical dome.
Mother said, love is a two edge sword, that damage its own sheath irrespective  Of the material, for to love is to swallow  a mountain like a disastrous earthquake.
II
Freedom of affection is eighteen in number, Like the first moment of a season, he came. Charlie, "there is a fire burning in your head", Raving wild like the fire set on a dry Savanna.
I'm the harbinger with a devoid evangelism, Call me saint John, descendant of Saint Paul, Just lie down like a red carpet, go missionary. Let me sprinkle holy water to put off the fire.
I'm in spirit, screaming "holy", "holy", "holy" My voice echoes through like an empty room, Hoping it will reach the threshold of heaven, Father lord, "Bless this night of deliverance".
III
What next after ripping the …

JUST WRITE by Jamiu Ahmed

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JUST WRITE
Sitting in that lurking dark room of yours,  Peeping through the window of dead hopes, Staring at the empty sky in the starry night, Like a stargazer waiting for her lover's moon.
Watching the stars fading into the dark clouds, As your feelings billowed up like a huge flame, Where words are moulded into ghost dreams, And thoughts become illusions on the horizon. 
"Ouh", "ouh", Crying your heart out like an hungry baby, For words have failed you like the wrong apparatus of an inexperienced scientist lacking methodology, But new atom is formed from recurring empirical data.
Why, why, why, why, just why afraid to hold the pen? When it's all you've got to pour out your dripping bloods, Bring it out from its dead sheath lying on your palm, Peirce the paper and let it bleeds like a raped virgin.
Why, why, why, why afraid to write from your heart? When your broken lines could heal broken hearts, Just write till darkness meet the sunset at dawn, Jus…