David Olusanya

When the moon walks on your heart,
And the world is all an art;
It is a priceless portion poetry-
A poet's song of liberty.
...

Little children, don't be swayed
from the path that Christ had laid.
For his blood had washed your skin
from the scathing stripes of sin.
...

From heaven's street, sprang a song
by a mighty angels' throng:
"Glory, glory to the king,
whom is born for bliss to bring.
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This to the tyrant called time;
Hope you'll pause to read this rhyme,
and come to dine at my banquet table;
Garnished with wine, beef and vegetable.
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Life, you old haughty horse,
a savage stallion without remorse.
Will you not wait awhile and be calm,
at the sedative stroke of my palm?
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Hear these things life made me learn,
and after them, you too must yearn.

When life pierce you with the spear of pestilence,
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Life is a chief
Time is a thief.
You need the thief
to cheat the chief;
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Don't cry like children-
I have made you men and women.

Though I die without a son,
...

Her tears touched my tongue with the scorching ice of silence
and the honey of her kiss fed me with the bitterness of pestilence.
It made me dumb
and my senses were numb.
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At the end it shall speak-
the truth I hid to save my head,
to keep my wine and embrace my bread
that made me look so fake and weak.
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How shall we say it?
That justice is in prison.
With what words shall we tongue it?
And avoid the noun called Treason.
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When you meant to show me love,
my eyes wore a glove
the glove of lust
the lust of dust.
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Woman, why weep?
Your eyes were made to see,
and not to cry a sea;
To see your infants grow
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A grey bird chanted a bleeding song
on the dark streets of despair.
When a pale knell had been rung
and usurped a blooming atmosphere.
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In the beginning, it was not so
that we should eat the bread of woe
that we should drink the menses of prostitutes
whose chastity has been sold to an army of destitutes.
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Last night, my mama said;
'Son, its time you be a man.
The rain is here, you need a shed,
its high time your living began.'
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Hello my dear?
How have life made you fair?
The nights of cold have made me bare,
and I wish I could fly back to you over there;
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Tell this to that dazzling angel
that caught my eyes and made me fell.
That made me fell like the might of Troy
and made me cry like a little boy.
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This is another divine cake
just like I've fondly made for your sake.
Fresh from the oven of your best baker,
who is also your favourite, humble waiter.
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When I gave my heart to you,
and you gave yours to me too;
You became my mortal goddess
And saved my soul from distress.
...