WETIN MY CHURCH DO FOR ME

Na so so hunger wire me

I run go meet my pastor

He com dey search for something

I think say na money

He comot tithe register

Na him economy crash

I no com get cash

I go meet church

Where I dey pay offering

They tell me say money no dey.

I wonder where all my money go.

I contribute money for church university

They talk say na God work

I even help them build am

After the school complete

My salary no fit send my pikin go the school

Pastor say make I be church worker

I work well well

All my money and time I give dem

Small contribution like dis

I go chuk hand for pocket

I no sabi say

 na the money na him pastor

 Go use buy private jet

And him wife limousine

Me still dey use my benz; leggediz benz

My church dey collect taxes pass government

Even the one wey they suppose give Caesar

They go ask for am

For Sunday we dey give offerings wey get different names

Tuesday na to sow seed

Thursday na prayer offering

I com dey wonder,na who dey do the work?

God or pastor

Make una no stone me o

But as I sit down now

I still dey think wetin church do for me

Even when person die

They no go ask if him be Christian

They go ask which church him dey go

ROUSE OF THE SOIL

My legs dance!

Dance! I said.

For the ancestors blow you a flute

The spirits of the land play you drums.

But you say. . .

The song by the gods

Is a bitter pill,

It churns my tummy.

I won’t dance.

You, son of the soil dance!

Dance! I said.

For the ancestors blow you a flute

The spirits of the land play you drums.

Aha! Eeeeh!  Igbo kwenu!

The song of the gods

Drives my spirit into a frenzy

And I dance.

Dibia!

Pour out a libation

Let us celebrate

For I have the lips of the gods

But not their status

In the spirit land

My ancestors call me

 A reincarnation of Onigbo

The mouth of the Igbo’s.

Who art thou?

THROES OF SACREDNESS

I walked through that darkness of sorrow

And saw men dancing

At the crossroad of sacrifice

A burning fire beckoned at me

Around it, they danced

And laughed

I grew weary,

Not self pity but a fight

They had done the same

My knees crashed

The fire burned

The party stopped

They whispered

We are the pillars of Africa

Fail us not