Biography of Martins Akhoeneto
Martins, Akhoeneto. Born on 23, May, in the Mid 80s, hails from Etsako East Local Government Area, Agenebode, Edo State, Nigeria. He attended the prestigeous Delta State University, Abraka where he bagged a degree in Biomedical Tech/Medical Physiology. A renowned professional in the medical field, writer, and a poet whose innate passion for poetry had been the driving force towards award winning poems like, " Proverb's Daughter, Journeys, Death At A Funeral, Elegy, Sonnet II, The Deluge" and a host of other thrilling works. He is a friendly but emotional mind who believe the best weapon of the human mind is words not swords.
Martins Akhoeneto Poems
Homecoming was fun, awesome But now so tiring and worrisome In the year when trees made music. Radiating the grandeur of glorious heaven.
Falling tears, like leaves in seasons For how many more years Shall you shed those tears, All for memories beyond reasons
Saboteurs In Seasons
Year in, year out you come In great delusion, an epic interest Packed in vans of delusive saboteurs, With pledges, both milk and in honeycomb
Octave I I
A time will come, Real shall it become, A day of dry rains Against your early bargains.
Black nights, blindfolded to heaven Anchored beneath, a steel hell Everything ill deed is given A crescent moon bade farewell,
Fly away O! Egrets In a myriad of beaut design Brighten up the blue skies In great clusters of whites.
A New Home
In the torment of my fears This torrential fall hit the coast Adjoining my little voyage Sometimes, we see beyond reason
A Call Across The Sea
What timid outcry we hear from here? At these other side of the western sea A place were chauvinist call us blacks Where craftiness and fraud are our tags
A Season Of Tears
The Old Man And His Son
Hate me not O’ son And blame not heaven For this earthly guidance I show, Why frown at my meager pay
Silence slept over their home for years And made milk-filled in several bushels Overflow, this painful smiles again And mutter her like head of camel in chain.
Here Nothing Works
Here every sound seems dead As wood in the evening beam Ready for sacrifice to the roaring flame Only waves of hovering fears could wash-off
Saboteurs In Seasons
Year in, year out you come
In great delusion, an epic interest
Packed in vans of delusive saboteurs,
With pledges, both milk and in honeycomb
And yet a dozen child is laid in catacomb.
Sugar-coated Satan sandwich of usurpation
Never preach same old sermon of hustings
Never stretch your bag of gew-gaws
You ingrate of treasonable worth