i
I am a hunter hunting for the hunts of haunted hearts...
the haunted hearts in caves of empty lines
the song i sing is without the merriments of drums
only for brave hearts who can dance the tunes of emptiness
brave dogs who bark and cry at eerie visions of nights to flee...
akanni...are you a brave dog?
do you bark and cry to take up this burden
of these haunts written plainly in pure poetic paintings?
can you bear...bear burns from the tastes of burnt burns?
for these empty lines are fierce fires...they burn me too.
ii
motherland, you are pregnant again...deception!
what is pregnancy to a prostitute’s geniality of gigolos?
see, the skulls have summoned your promiscuity
let your ears tingle to muted cries from your loud lies...
muted cries of souls you feed bread of vinegars
muted cries of souls you deny sanctity of life
muted cries of souls you hang on gallows of poverty
muted cries of souls from your betrayals and selfishness...
and now you are pregnant with the lusty spills of democracy
a protruded belly of filthy demon-crazes of empty lines...
iii
motherland, your maidens die daily...
they say sudden whiffs of lethal shells
serrate their thighs in burning advances...
motherland, your sons learn nothing under the tree
they have got big eye-balls from hopeless stares into the sun...
motherland, the old man is here again
with his big belly saturated from the honey of bitterness
for your promised wealth and health...
yet, you calm our tensions in deceptive dictions...strange tongues
and leave us notes...big notes of empty lines.
iv
motherland, your children have come with silent drums
silent drums of gratitude for brimmed brews of wails
they have come in crying robes and fluted sorrows
in weeping rhythms of trailing gongs of agonies
aduke! defeat weakness and sorrow loud for this last time
sing of these empty lines of promises and deafen these ears
help us thank motherland for the ragged-clothed promises
and for these excellent plaques of deaths
for the rare generosities of the bombs we eat for meals
for these empty lines of ceased constant terrors and bloodsheds!
v
my eyes are red...ruddy deep to see hope
I have bent in neglect the nib of my pen for its signs...
I shall speak of no hope for these sights know only discomfort
and this place is no paradise...
is fire alone deemed
to approve the imagery of hell?
these empty lines are hells’ spew
from subtle whines of wolves, foxes and faithful apostates...
now, my mind has betrayed me... the mind of a poet
for if my words are stripped of hopes for haunted hearts
I am yet another prophet of empty lines...