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Osieka Osinimu Alao


Abuja,, Abuja, Nigeria

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Morning Flames


Osieka Osinimu Alao

I. We Cry Blood

Loose holes of fire stream wildly
From crowded metal shells fluttering.
The despondent strands coil, trenched
Around the thorny spines of dark skies.

Oh, we cry blood.

Bones dine with the grains
On sinking beds of bloods.
Bloods dine with the barrels
Mounted on falling shoulders.

Oh, we cry blood.

The brawling buds bloom radiantly
Like orbits of lilies with glowing bulbs.
Obliterating tides invade nude neighbourhoods
And caress the stems of sleeping souls.

Oh, we cry blood.

Immersing tongues gulp mortal sheaths
With glistening claws, carnivorous carnival;
Hearts are uprooted from Earth’s girdle
And Planets trample skulls in quiet streets.

Oh, we cry blood.

II. Dead Men Alive

Heads straying from their bodies,
Whirling upheavals quiver the feet
To the shores of evil and embracing peril
Waxed by the guts of amorous lust.

Their eyes stray from our eyes
And collide on the grounds of rebellion,
When thirsty trumpets melt to sour tunes
On the tables that brew the pounds of feasts.

Paunchy bellies weave the charms of greed;
Accruing white notes in foreign oceans,
Neglecting the tufts of our drying streams
As their eyes stray from our eyes.

They loot the mounds of moons
When the night is asleep.
Their eyes stray from our eyes
And collide on the burial grounds.

Oh, we cry blood.

III. Falling Thunders

We cry for dead light-poles
And wail for the throes of potholes.
Parched throats faint to infinite seconds
As stars are raped to darkness.

Our growth flourishes blurrily
With the tenets of ignorance;
Absence of engraved sheets
Dawn under troops of dry trees

With the futility of grey robes
Wrinkled with the rains of tar,
Threaded with yarns of fatal burns
And mutilation kisses sorest lips.

Empty shelves rise to peaks
Of dreary deaf clouds.
The fall of night deepens
As stars are raped to death.

Our children pave the naked streets
With bare tender feet and frayed coverings,
Orphans and beggars wade in starvation
And are abused by the monsters of doom.

Unripe fruits flood the deserted stalls
With the snuffles of rotten marrows
Heaped on the backs of skeletons
To the graveyard of arcades.

Rusted syringes lie fallow
Crucified by the nails of bald wombs.
Pockets bloat with envelopes of stones
And the white robes crease in plight.

Hunger strikes with the swords of aliens
In the dusty creeks and forgotten ghettos.
Scrawny skeletons dance with thorny tears
Behind the cavalcade of a million masquerades.

Oh, we cry blood.

Who will awaken the dead youth
With the piercing galaxies of revival,
Bolt her ribs with the sight of suns
And light her veins with bleeding paths?

Oh, we cry blood.

IV. Our Hands, Our Feet

We are building and dismantling,
We are gathering and scattering,
We are planting and uprooting,
We want life, but we still romance death.

Feet drifting from Heaven’s footpath
With ripped sockets and wrecked crania.
The din of Hell falls at the break of dawn
On foreheads without epitaphs of the Blood.

Who will save our souls
From the showers of these plagues?
Burning balls roll around like hot air
Dried of bliss’s milk and bounty’s honey.

Who will save our breaths
From these dead chords of love?
Who will save us
From these morning flames?

Oh, we cry blood.

Farewell Earth


Osieka Osinimu Alao

The way the coconut retains wine within its brown shell
So does God retain man within the mighty walls of this Earth.
As in the beginning, man sprouted from the seventh creation spell
And in the end, from the same spell shall come his withered dearth.
Man sweats from the marrows of dusk till the stirs of dawn
In vain and drained brawn, tilling Earth’s gigantic fecund lawn.
He wanders the perimeters of this wailing world of mercilessness
Around the lofty loops of deceits springing from the music of sane madness.
Crowded spirits foster fear’s frail feet at the gate of death
That shields man’s soul departing happily in birth.
Of all the skyward magnificent mansions ever built by man,
The greatest of them all is building his ideal being in this cosmic clan.
Man and his bones melt to dust at the whirling wink of beautiful death
And shuts life’s door as his soul solemnly says ‘‘Farewell Earth.’’

The End


Osieka Osinimu Alao

The world is rotating about its axis of weariness
And revolving round Hell’s boundary.
We are all objects walking in the light of fate
As programmed mechanics of mystery
And the machines in a state of defaulting misery
Boldly brittle by the hooks and snap, the ringing calls.
In the beginning was the perfect mould
Of dust and form: a true reflection of the image.
The suns of darkness set where light dwelt
And the suns of light shielded not the daunting rays?
Every man is born to die: life is the journey of death.
Lost in the wilderness walk, lonely crawls of night;
A bond in the arms of flesh is the captivity of doom
But the trust in faith is an eternal thrust,
For rapture resounds in our empty heads
As echoes undying in the tides of perplexity.
The moment of truth unfolding with fright,
For all we have laboured for must end
In the abyss that befits the obituary.
The coup is here; the King assuming his place
And the beast usurped to its territory.
O wandering soul, where will you be?
When the golden trumpets cry aloud
With thunderous magnitude of the treaty
And the walls of the world vibrate in fright.
My eyes will be focused on the red clouds
And my soul drowned in ascension mode;
I know I will live forever, in crypts for the justified.
Many will call but find no answers,
For the abundance of the world shall be laid to waste.
O neighbour, that hour will blast past our eyes into ashes.
Let’s take refuge under the Cross’s canopy
And be bonded by the never drying Blood
Under the showers of glistening grace
Drained for the restitution of our souls.
We need no microscope to see these huge bits,
That the world ended at the feet of yesterday.
We are only living in moments of illusions,
For you will wake up someday on burning beds
And find yourself alone in this lonely world;
When the music has crashed to its lowest notes
And tunes of sorrow are all we hear from the radios,
When the chords of the violins are dead,
When violence is the world’s anthem
And souls are slaughtered as fowls,
When the sun refuses to smile on the east sky
And the moon only cries all night,
When night refuses to end its aura of darkness
And day refuses to rise, for tomorrow has been buried.
When men become beasts and eat up fellow men,
When green grasses forever remain brown
And the breast only produces sour blood,
When you turn to find me and find me no more
Then be sure to say that the End has come.