Wednesday 29 April 2015

YET, HE DREAMS

** YET, HE DREAMS ***

The sun awakes
And yawns
With warm breath
That kills the sleep
In his eyes

He breasts the tape
Of a the foggy dawn
And thoughts climb out
Of the burrows in his mind.
They twist and turn
And hold hands as one.
Then they...
Shoot forth from his bosom
Into the mirror
Of tomorrow.

His luxuriantly maned Belle,
smiles through a rising Eden
Of steel and glass...and gold.

His tongue mired
In a banquet of orchards.
And parched thirst quenched
In a deluge of red milk
From the teats of vineyards

Glossy well fed stallions
With rubber hooves
And succulent humps
Jealously haggle
To bear aloft
The weight of his buttocks

Tomorrow's king is scourged.
His back carry merciless welts
From the whip of sun rays.

He bends and toils,
Planting beads of sweat
Into the soil of tomorrow

As the sun drowns,
Swallowed
By the grey horizon,
He stands on knees
And falls on palms
Crawling like a lizard,
He makes his bed
Under the bridge
At Ojuelegba.

KUNLE OMOPE

Photo from vagabondish.com

JOHN THABO

John Thabo has been angry for as long as he could remember. He grew up with his poor mother and a father that was never seen or known.

As a child, he was always the butt of jokes of his peers. They would poke him hard in the ribs and laughed themselves silly as he tried in vain to chase after his tormentors.

John Thabo, had a bad leg, the left was about 9inches shorter than the right.

His mother told him, he got his legs from his father and everytime he looked down at his left leg, he murdered her many times in his heart for getting pregnant for a one-and-a half legged bastard.

Walking to and from school was a torturous task and he dreamed of the day he would be free from walking long distances...or working at all.

Adulthood came quickly and his anger increased.
He became a street boy. J. Thabo lost many fights, evidenced by his many scars. He blamed and cursed his bad leg everyday.

He needed to prove his toughness...his manhood, he decided that he must kill a man..just any man.

The screams from a large crowd outside J.Thabo's house roused him from his sleep. He rushed out to meet a man sprawled on the ground in a pool of his blood. Machete cuts had made his face unrecognisable.

The leader of the crowd which happened to be a xenophobic lynch mob was emptying a gallon of gasoline on the dying man.

J. Thabo's blood grew hot and he rushed into his room to get a matchbox.

His opportunity had come to spill some blood...to take life out of a man...to satiate the bloodlust of the old demon residing in his heart. Someone had to pay for God's sin of giving him a bad father, who gave him nothing but an inherited bad leg.

He pushed the mob leader aside and held the matchbox like a weapon. The mob cheered him on.

He struck a matchstick and threw it on the bloodied man. Flames immediately enveloped the victim.

As if this was a fresh suffering he needed to escape from, the burning man sprang to his feet and the mob scattered. In his final struggle with death, the burning man ran after J.Thabo, who threw away the match box and attempted an escape on his bad leg.

He tried, but as he looked back he saw the burning man coming after him. It became a fruitless irony as J.Thabo noticed the burning man had a bad leg too and ran just like him.

The dying man caught up with the fleeing murderer and hugged him from behind.

As both men went up in flames, J.Thabo remembered his mother's words, "John, someday you'll find happiness in your twin brother".

Africans, we are all family.
#stopxenophobia

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from jitisi.wordpress

OF TIMELORDS AND FIRE-EATERS

** OF TIMELORDS AND FIRE-EATERS **

Talents abound all around us. But there are so many that have remained untapped. I shall quickly tell you about two of the ones I have noticed.

1. *** TIMELORDS ***

There are these rare species of human beings whom without antennas sticking out of their heads like cockroaches , can pick up subtle and subliminal aromas in the air, even when they are many miles away from the arena of the main event.

Sorry if I lost you there. I mean those set of peeps who walk into your house/room as soon as your pot of food is climbing down the fire.

Some of them even have so much faith in this 'divine' gift of theirs that they carry spoons around in their pockets!
"Greater faith hath no man like a timelord"

RECOMMENDATION: I suggest that the incoming government employ these timelords to sniff out public officers who have just finished cooking a pot of red stew corruptio-pepperoni.
Sai GMB, take note.

2. *** FIRE-EATERS ***
They aren't magicians but magicians envy their talents.

In my opinion, a freshly cooked pot of beans is a good reminder of what hell fire will be like. Yet, some guys are so skilled at swallowing spoonfuls of hot beans, hot rice, hot porridge..or flaming balls of eba, semo and even the almighty fiery amala.
They accomplish this feat with no tears in their eyes or smoke rising up from their ears.
If you have had the unfortunate opportunity of feasting with them from the same bowl, you fittint belleful, lai lai!!

RECOMMENDATION: These kind of people will function well, if selected as members of the jury to try corrupt politicians, as I am sure that whatever shred of mercy resident in their hearts have gone through the fire.
Sai GMB take note again.

So if you have any of these talents, I congratulate you. A great political appointment awaits you.

KUNLE OMOPE.
Photo- gastrolust.com

Tuesday 21 April 2015

SUSANNA

                                                             ******* SUSANNA *******
Dear Susanna,
Here is the man in this man that the woman in your woman has made, seeking for the woman in the woman that the man in this man has made?
Like a mason, you built up my faith with your loving words, but my impatience tore your hopes apart like a frayed rag.
When my soul was famished, the soft touch of your bossomy embrace was my appetiser, even as the dovey gaze in your eyes fed me full, and your kisses upon my teary cheeks was the dessert that my heart hungrily craved.
When my tattered sandals shamed the man in me, you took off your shoes, to make my feet seem more fortunate as you walked barefoot beside me upon the flaming sands of Takwa Bay.
You assured me of being by my side for a lifetime, but my doubts stabbed your affections and my confidence bled out like the wounds of a dying warrior.
I ran away from you, Susanna. Like a gypsy, I travelled far and left no trace.
You were too beautiful to suffer...too beautiful to eat from my wooden plate of impoverished fate.
I ran away, that you may be free of me....so that a worthy prince may cart you away.
But my dear Susanna, your words were true. I rode through storms and hit gold. Your prayers were answered, the winds of the earth brought me fortunes.
And now, they swarm around me. They say plastic words through crimson lips. They drool over my snakeskin shoes that cover the ugly toes that you so caressed with gentle care.
But I want none of their smoky lust..all I want is you, Susanna.
Susanna, my first, my true, my only, my love...where art thou?
Today, I shall leave all my wealth behind and let the sea break her fast with my shoes.
I shall walk upon the flaming sands of Takwa Bay.
I shall scream your name into the ears of the boisterous waves and they shall echo my anguished cry in search of you, my love.
I shall walk, and walk, and walk and never return until I find you my dear Susanna.
I shall walk...and walk...and walk....and wal...and wa....and w.....
KUNLE OMOPE
Photo from pixshark.com

Tuesday 7 April 2015

6 WORD STORIES

1. Plane crashed. All survived. Ghosts town.

2. Farts piss the shit outta me.

3. War ends. Conquerors, childless. Victors, vanquished.

4. He rode. She screamed. Horse sped.

5. Kiss to cheek, fangs to neck.

6. Matric. Frat. Tears rain over grave.

7. Wasn't looking. Baby shits. Delicious soup!

8. Lifts naked baby. "Hello". Drinks pee.

9. He drove, she rode. Two corpses.

10. A brothel. His father, his bride. —