John Popoola Poems

Hmm!
A beautiful black hamlet raised to overlook its square,
Fair in its roots, bitter as it shoots,
Was frenzied by a blinding shriek,
...

Is it he who gave me breath, he who gave Homer?
How can I not muster his lyrical prowess?
For tired eons have made my wits lumbered
And educated me into slavish all-roundedness.
...

The rigid unemotional I,
Looked up to the distance
And Oh! there you are,
Beautiful- exotically Villainous gait.
...