S.A. David's Blog, page 6

RAIN by S. A. David

Category: cinquain

Rain
Rowdy, restricting
Raining, rushing, rising
Revelry rolling round revelation
Rain.

A CHRIST by S. A. David

Category: narrative epic, ode.

Sons of Israel waited in vain
Great prophets prophesied with prediction, pressure and pain
Prophets who waited hopefully but all died
The next generation hopelessly thought they lied
The maker of the universe promised
The good people of the multiverse believed
The maker’s enemies threw all their darts
But the darts were nullified by the maker’s arts
He wanted haemoglobin not stained with iniquity
He wanted a seed from a lady unfilthy
Some virtuous lady with a beautiful white virginity
And by her righteous search she found a bitter pretty
And by her active force she made her heavy
He found no other woman worthy from Hebrew’s bevy

The pretty virgin’s spouse grew angry
For his loins had not permitted her to be heavy
But the maker’s messenger calm’d Mary’s Joseph
And he accepted the Hebrew Mary for himself
Seasons met and the Mary met ’beth
And the zygotes danced for joy and waited for their birth
At last the prophets’ prophecies came to materialize
The good people’s belief certainly came to realize

The baby awaited was finally born
The mawlawks in the planet blar’d their horns
He laid in a wretched manger
But for him was commanded a messenger
A messenger not worthy to enter his sandals
A messenger who brought to proud ears scandals
A tripod stand of Sophia brought him presents
And worshipped him in their own accents

He was immersed by John, Baptist
He was commissioned by Yah’s holy spirit
He was transported into the wilderness
Where he was to show his very faithfulness
The sawtawn asked him to turn rocks, meat
But he chose to honor only Weh’s seat
The satanas pressur’d him to from a cliff jump down
Again he refus’d to make shechinah frown
The vipers asked for worship
This time he prov’d himself more than a sheep

He went round the world teaching
He went round the globe healing
He sailed around the seas feeding
He moved in the planet blessing
He drove out with his words demons
He broke stone heart with his sermons
He gave to blind men sight
He gave to the paralyzed strength

He made for himself disciples
Disciples who wrote fine epistles
He left behind many parables
Which taught more than fables
He shone like the sun
To Peter it was great fun
He rode into Salem with an ass
And the people honored and allowed him pass

He had his supper with one plus eleven
That night for him was alert the heaven
His own sold him for thirty pieces of silver
His life worth more than a life-giving river
He almost wanted the job his way
But he finally gave in to Yah’s say
He was betrayed with a kiss
He was not allowed to even hiss
Because of his traitor’s deceitful lips
He was beaten with heavy whips
He was impaled on a stake
His body left to painfully fade
He came from a black virgin’s womb
In three days he broke open the tomb

Because in eons of history
Kings and winners publish history
Fiction was transfigured into history
And we thus lost true history
And we now intercede to a false history
To disclose to us our true history
What a delusion in history!

WE by S. A. David

Category: lyric

(For Kogi State NYSC 2012 ‘B’ members)

Gazing at the beautiful igneous
We have stereo’d from our nests
Cooling by the warm cold rain
We have rail’d from our tracks

Welcomed by the grace of the solar star
We have lever’d from our air
Blessed by the behold of the confluence
We have canoe’d from our dens

She has groomed us
Bless our alma mater
She has breast-fed us
The Lord be with her

She recommended us
God elevate her
Her eyes still count on us
We refuse to fail her

Yes, we stretch our hand
To the very human humanity
We raise our hand
To the very divine divinity

On Asaya we are groomed
On Kabba soil we doff
From Kogi we serve
From the Confluence we salute

Today we speak Igala
Tonight we talk Ebira
Tomorrow we sing Okun
To now we command Nupe

Equipped from Asaya
We yield to the clarion
We carry our mother on our wings
Without cognizance to the meteorologists’

Nationals, great soldiers we are
Youths, peace is our first name
Sailors, we sail Nigeria to Canaan
Captors, we round up the vices

God bless Yakubu Gowon
Merci Nnamdi Thomas Okore-Affia
Well done Anthony Enweonwu
Allah bless Nigeria

WE ALL by S. A. David

Category: lyric

’Been a racist
Some a time, a fascist
Lost in some ego
Forsaking facts of ago

Seeing them as lowlife
Monopoly of the highlife
Casting them away
Because of their opaque say

All of ’em moves as we
Every of ’em breathes as we
Many of ’em eat as we
Adapting even as we

Growing as I
Excreting as I
Reproducing as I
Dieing as will I

They, beautiful
We, skillful
They, not meat
We, shouldn’t beat

They, lower animals
We, higher animals
Animals, animals
We all, animals

THE LADY WITH NO PERFORATED EAR LOBES by S. A. David

Category: Shakespearean sonnet

(For Ogechi MarkJonathan)

O, a divine damsel in human shell:
Showing her strong fight via a, a green light;
Yes, for you can wait all of heaven’s bell,
How irrelevant the brief of your height;

Mama’s sight should be a fine, fine goddess’,
Bless, bless and rest her deitic being,
Only if she could watch you be duchess,
And crown him the king, oh yes, of your king;

Yes, you’re one behind every an Adam,
Even, yes, without a hole in the lobes,
You have proved a holy and divine dam,
Your beautiful light and sight; that of hopes:

I don’t care your time of manufacture
I don’t mind saying I do; yes, for sure.

NINE by S. A. David

Category: burlesque

A thermometer
Closest to the light
Always in a hurry
Running round the bulb in
Eighty eight
Having no egg
Knowing no mercy
Melting at her presence

A love
After the thermal meter
Perhaps in a hurry
Jogging round the queen in
Two hundred and twenty five
Absence of the eggs
No mercy
Melting at her voice

A living one
Third of their mama
Taking things easy
Dancing in
A year
A cold egg
Merciful but torn

Dead among the living
With some life trace
Filled with dust
Dancing in six hundred and eighty seven
Two eggs

Mighty Roman god
Alienated from the hot snow
Worse than the millipede,
Creeping in
Four thousand and three hundred
And thirty

Ringed thrice.
Adorned.
Worse than the snail
Moving in ten thousand and
Eight hundred
Twenty two eggs
No trespass

Large body
Worse than the adorned
Moving in thirty thousand and
Seven hundred
Five eggs
Against the time

Very far
From the big star
Worse than the large body
Leaping in sixty thousand and
Two hundred
Just two eggs

Humble, decent
Last standing
Ashamed
Going in ninety thousand and
Seven hundred
Complications, not even an egg yolk

MY COMING by S. A. David

Category: lyric, free verse

After a period of one
And a score;
In Yakubu Gowon’s four walls,
Sailed I from
The Confluence to
Eweka’s dynastic city.

Greeted by the torrents
Of the July rain,
Embraced by the body
Of the rainy winds,
Smiled at by peers; and
Kissed by mama’s holy kitchen.

After hours of twenty
And four,
I drew a scale
Of preference
And ticked my goals
For the next clock.

I sailed by road
To the house
Of legal tender.
I prayed before
The tender dispenser
And she granted my transaction.

And then I decided
To further fly by road
To the King’s square
To answer their wishes.
I entered the gentlemen’s
Cab; and off we flew.

My face was striked
By the gentlemen
Of the highway;
People of the underworld,
Men, women.
Girls, boys.

Alone I carried our sorrows
Stricken by these
Gods and goddesses of the moment,
Smitten by them, afflicted.
I was bruised for no transgression,
Crushed for no iniquity.

The punishment that enriched them
Was upon me.
By my tears,
They smiled to the bank.
By my grief,
They drove to shopping.

Surely, I took and bore
Their poverty.
Surely, I was the lamb
For their greed.
Surely I paid the price
For their not being broke.

Flung off the automobile
By these gentlemen
Of the highway.
Callous they were,
Tears gushing;
Lysosome unstopped.

By the miracle I found myself
In the company
Of my respectable family.
Lysosome unstopped still,
And mama reminding me;
Men don’t cry.

My eyes still raining
Not ashamed I was
For men are humans
And men should cry
Because, some a time
Crying is the only option.

My raindrops
Reminded me that life is
Fair and unfair.
These very gentlemen
Feel that nature and society
Have cheated them.

These gods and goddesses
Have not been loved
They are cold fish
With no iota of warmth
Even in these,
I love them still.

It was a blessing
Yea,it was;
My coming.
It was a blessing
To them;
My coming.

IF by S. A. David

Category: ode, free verse

If grandpa was Michael
He’d wage the fourth world war on me
If grandma was Mary Slessor
She’d revive twin-killing for my twin

If daddy was gohdt
He’d take from me his blessings
If mummy was Mary the mother
She’d give me acid for breast milk

If my brothers were the trinity
They’d create damnation on me
If my sister was the mediatrix
I won’t smell purgatory

If my aunts were the creator
They’d curse the ground again for my sake
If my uncles were Jesus
They’d come, steak, kill and destroy me.

If my cousin brothers were his disciples
They’d write me death epistles
If my cousin sisters were angels
They’d deny me protection

If my wife was the supreme
She’d soil our marital mattress
If my girlfriend is the matriarch
She’d make me bequeathe the world to her

If my father-in-law was the patriarch
He’d wipe every me from geo’s surface
If my mother-in-law was Magdalene
She’d pray the savior to become killer

If my brothers-in-law were the seventy
They’d erase me from the scroll
If my sisters-in-law were sisters of the light
They’d have my eyes for lunch, and ears, dinner

If my philo-love was self-existent
He’d justify hatred
If my well-wishers were the twenty four elders
They’d rebel God to destroy me

If my son was the savior and messiah
He’d annihilate me for my flaws
If my daughter was the queen of heaven
She’d bring my earth to inactivity

If my enemies were God
They’d punish me and let me go
If my friends were the apostles
They’d sell me to my enemies

If men were the uncreated
I’d buy oxygen
If women were shechinah
I’d be the fruit addict

If boys were the infant
I’d be a care-free
If girls were the agnes
I’d be a double care-free

If beasts were Ehyeh
I’d worship the crocodile
If insects were the tetragrammation
I’d revere the wasp

If the sun was the finger
I’d melt away
If the moon was the presence
I’d freeze

If trees were the source
I’d be their soil
If the sea was the controller
I’d be fossil under the oceans

If stars were the light
I’d be burnt in the eye
If the planets were the pillars
My halves would roast and ice

If the storm was him
I’d burst to bits
If the wind was her
I’d be blown into the ark of the whale

If the sand was God
My soul, spirit, mind and body would be funeral’d on a date
If I was God
I’m speechless.

SEVEN HOURS by S. A. David

Tens of thousands of years back
Til now Yah does not anything lack
He begat mawlawks and kissed them
But His words were special among them
Then he proceeded into production
A production that defied calculation

A dark mirage enshrouded the waters
Yah’s breath brooded over the dark deep waters
In the first hour of production
Yah produced out of nothing illumination
He benedicted the great luminary objects
The sun, moon, stars always above the jets

In the second hour of production
In the waters, shechinah caused a separation
Into waters that loved the surface of the globe
And waters that were suspended in the air above
She produced inert gases in their right proportion
Just to produce a perfect creation

In the third hour of production
No doubt there were convulsions
He proceeded to raise dry mass out of the waters
And the seas pushed up their basin of waters
Still, Yah brought forth wonderful cellular structures
Flowers, trees, fruits, berries which adorned the futures
He blessed the greens with chlorophyll
So in sun’s smile they have their fill

By the end of the fourth hour of production
Terre’s surface presented a beautiful sight
Without any tool of calculation
Shechinah produced an earth with night light
A very beautiful earth with daylight
In the fifth hour of production
Pisces were commanded into evolution
Arboreals emerged without diction

In the sixth hour of production
His breath made animal souls
Lower animals, not foul
Then Yah rang up Shechinah
To join him in the apex of production
Which did not involve any process of complication
A process of simplification

From the dust of the earth he made man
From the button she made woman
Then the production came to a conclusion
Man was made head of their creation

By the seventh hour the production came to a conclusion
Yah took leave and bequeathed the seventh hour a benediction

Now, who made Yah?
Where from is Shechinah?
Aye, the Hebrews manufactured them

Chimamanda Adichie's Half Of A Yellow Sun: The Wise and Idiotic

History, G. W. F. Hegel said, leads the wise and drags the idiotic; no wonder it is considered wisdom to acquire knowledge, opinion and skills from experience whether good or negative. The distinction between a man who is led and the one that is dragged is very conspicuous. While the latter will sustain varying degrees of wounds coupled with dirt accumulation and an unpleasant experience, the former basks in an exact opposite condition.
The Nigerian state had implicitly declared her phobia for history, reconciliation and peace by placing a ban on Half Of A Yellow Sun film. A war was fought almost 48 years ago, precisely the Nigerian Civil War, which left men, women and children reduced to debris. Nigeria fought against a country, the Republic of Biafra, who deemed it a right time to assert her independence. She used "everything" at her disposal to ensure that the Republic of Biafra did not see the light of day. And she (Nigeria) emerged winner of a "civil" war.
Almost a decade later, after the end of the Nigeria-Biafra war, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie was born; and decades on, haunted by her past and history and scarcity of historical records of the 1967 war, she decided to write a "romance" novel set in the 'Nigeria Civil War' era and entitled it Half Of A Yellow Sun.
Half Of A Yellow Sun became popular and found its way into a movie adaptation and Nigerians being elegant users of culture anticipated seeing a film that retold the experiences and history of their ancestors and land, only to be "kill-joyed" by the National Film and Video Censors Board, NFVCB, and the State Security Service, SSS, under the mien that Half Of A Yellow Sun movie would birth another civil war.
Preventing an unabridged Half Of A Yellow Sun to be premiered in Nigeria was an affront on the fundamental human rights of Nigerians, an extension of the vendetta of 1967 and a relaunch of the Nigeria-Biafra war on the Biafrans. Refusing Nigerians to see the Half Of A Yellow Sun movie passed a message of segregation across that the entity called Nigeria is unreal and exists only in the papers.
History is gorged with the sordid details of the grisly pasts of nations, organizations and personalities and this did not preclude Hollywood from suiting them into films and neither did any "checks and balances" body preclude lovers of the Silverscreen from consuming Hollywood's fruits. 12 Years A Slave starring Brad Pitt and Oscar's Best Actress, Lupita Nyong'O, was a memoir suited into a movie. Its unwholesome tale was true and it did not engender a cold war, none that anybody is in the know of.
The church has had a bloody history, from the Renaissance through the Reformation, Counter Reformation and the Crusades; and yet the Church, precisely the Catholic Church, waxes stronger. Their ordeals have been doodled in books and adapted into movies and none cried out loud.
Half Of A Yellow Sun movie could have helped Nigerians do only one thing- to heal- as they could have laughed over it, perhaps. The ban on the movie premiere meant only one thing, a cold war. After the Nigeria-Biafra war, the Nigerian government, after emerging winner, put in place measures to ensure that its "sovereignty" is never threatened or challenged and one chief way was to ensure that generations to be born never learned about her history; and no wonder History is not taught in the elementary and high schools, was substituted with Governent and only recently did History become a somewhat popular discipline in the universities.
Half Of A Yellow Sun movie possesses the power to entertain, enlighten and educate. In it is inherent the dynamic ability to lead and/or drag. 
Did History lead the NFVCB and the SSS? Or did it drag them? One cannot know for now. Rather, time and experience will historicize.