What if the sun rises in the west and set at east?
What if the moon shines at day and neglect the night?
If the hands speaks and the eye walks
What if we laugh at the morgue for a lost soul?
And weep for the arrival of an innocent soul
What if war brings brothers together?
While peace shatters the cord
What if we find wealth in dust?
And grow discern for that shinning gold,
What if we dine with the gods?
And in their company carve a line?
What if my sister is my mother?
While my neighbour turns my constant watchdog?
What if the slave sits on the throne?
And the elite bow at the feet of royalty?
What if hate is the mould of the world?
And peace it’s deadliest up rooter
What if the eggs were as hard as rock?
And the cliff as fragile as a pulp
What if it rains from earth to the sky?
And the firmament grows the rosy flowers?
What if the mouth is a coverer of all secret?
And the heart an open crystal of truth
What if the coal is the ruler of age?
And the electro the use of medieval
What if the weak is the keeper of the ring?
While the mighty begs on his table for bead
What if at the sight of death we rejoice?
And the call of life makes us gloom
What if there was never a God?
And we are the gods of a mischievous lifetime.
It would sound and look odd right?
But what if?
The Stars Are Up!
On the carpeted cloud do they take their seat
Through the sill do I stare their colony in admiration
With their little sizes spitting up luminaries
As they navigate the beauty of my deepest heart
Forming acquaintance with my inner shadows
And lightening up my scary nooks hazy posture
Flowing with the beam of the Mother Moon
Calling up young lads underneath a cool shade
As the tale-bearer eulogizes their budding light
With a hold of smile on their spiky lips
Bathed with a holistic drip of redemption
Awakening the delightful tide of the night
“The stars are up!” I muse in excitement
“And in a day would I become one” I blush.
Leave Out the Maniac Guest
Let’s gather around to dig our hands in the bowl
And give to our wailing belly some succour
Tell it to my co-feasters to gather around
To give life to the awaiting table
And give to their oesophagus a suiting fill
Casting aside the blinders off their sight
To welcome in the eerie bloom of satisfaction
Tell them no guest is allowed in here
For the numbered has occupied the floor
And no reservation awaits their maniac arrival
With their entourage of chopping blades
Nor their sensory march of disruption
For the souvenirs has being far-spent
And all that is left is an empty ground
Void of disaster and brewed of tranquility.
Solomon Ayomide is an emerging poet and fiction writer who loves reading, and writing; especially poems and legal materials. He’s a first year Law student at the University of Abuja.
Find him on Facebook as Solomon Ayomide.