Smokescreen Poem by Haruna Garba

Despite the superficial outlook
This barrier, this complex
Keeps the water back
And raises it to the level of use
Yet, should it be superfluous perchance
Mischief would spring up at some upper place
But it is well reined they announce
Could it be as assuring
as a pop is by its picket-like lid?
Oh! The twilight is but storm screened
By raging thunder and rain

Slashed by heavenly flashing sword
The heaven itself yawns
And you hear a great crack
Without an accompanying boom
Perhaps out of mercy does it withdraw
The consummation of its normal course

So once the dinner is over
Wash your hands with soap
Lest the whiff of the soup
Does attract the mischief of the mice-
Biting, breathing, biting
So wash your hands with soap
Ere to bed you go

And when you rise
Countrified little kids
Jettison all mincing steps
To the mixed up city boys
For on foot, you and me shall go
Why take to dynamo,
What at dawn only whirrs

Tomorrow, the muffled machine
Won't disturb the ears of kings
Dear countrified little kids
Therefore awake so early
For on foot both we shall go
Stirring, stirring and stirring
The loose, dry scales of this crust
Whose magma has strayed
In transit deep below our feet

Alas! One grows skeptical
If you tread on youthful dung

One turns doubtful
If every town crier is all loyal
To his Majesty's words

Alas! We all appear frank on the surface
But right in our core
The causes of perjury reign supreme
We all know and hush up
Many an eloquence is a solid bait
Some seduce, some scour or divert