A A Umar Udubo

Remember the day
We confessed albeit too late
You afar through a network and I lay
In bed talking to a roommate
...

without a you
sept
ember has done it
again
...

The dying—atop this burning mountain,
here,
espy not the living—beneath this fertile land,
below
...

When you
Long for me (when I am not by your side)
Stretch your sight
To the blank pages of night(I belong to the shades of night)
...

Is it not late
to inspire a dying man,
when he sees ethereal beings
the winged celestial lights? human beings
...

The moon gleams here on the river
amidst stars- varied sizes and shapes
the heavens descend on these waters
so that we may have a closer and truer sight
...

They came to Bama killing
And
Into black flames of hell they went- killed
...

Often a friend wonder
whether pen down this poem?

I say:
...

Poetry I write
Now as always at night
It'll be said when it's right
Poetry's language of a kind
...

I

Like the bodypen
and the liquidink
...

Galloping on the laden air
About the neighbourhood
Was a girl—four year old
Beautiful and innocent
...

At Bama
roaring flames of burning homes
Chased sleeping night
To the hollow embrace of unripe morning
...

Their facial expressions cry aloud
frustrations and despair
against thin walls of confused minds:
...

At one dark Night in a solitary bed
amidst dwindling voices with heavens
freely dangling on the forehead
it dawned on my mind a faint presence
...

(For you, the dead and the confused beings,
For that person in me and you, for the trespassing presence in us)

One by one, we depart this ephemeral bliss
...

And now I've come thus far
I must return to where it began:
I assumed the mantle of the ban
and now... innocence's crashed on the tar
...

In this crowd of a thousand lonesome minds
you wander to and fro,
saying a welcome goodbye to alien strangers
you looked into their eyes and sensed the encounter of self
...

On the hard edges of history
we carved a terrain of smiles

across the vast landscape of destiny
...

He (for his gender)surges forth- striking, swinging
this chimeless clock'
a pendulum without form it bears,
is a holy giant snare- a faceless being
...

And now that
memory outnumbered sorrow
hold on still, in a morrow
whether earthen chamber is hollow
...