Winner of best poem, Creative Writers’ Workshop(University of Benin, Nigeria) 2009.

Late night after man’s shadow-walk,
he returns to the dust his castles and
mansion are formed.
In the dug-bed he lay and death
with its murderous hands help the
undertakers with the taking.

Then reasoned me,
what is life that I should
live like no tomorrow?
Gathered crumbs of dust
man be!
Walking with chest opened
and locking every eyes that
look this gathered crumbs!

On this unchained skin
we all lavish, gold and silver,
diamonds and money,
but we have all the time gone
spiced this flesh for the beasts
of the dust!

King Solomon in his
glories touched colors
of women, and filled Jerusalem
with silver like dust,
but saw the vanity of breathing
in his adventures, of which
no living has ever ventured!


Mints roll fresh in

haste like medallioned

runner, and money forge

deep the demon on the

heart, and the soul back

vanity, until in grave

covered and cooked beneath

a small world!

Vanity waits in

the park of graveyards,

and Power-drunk thinks

he gather requests like

God. Time has come to

expire life, because we

are dust with so much noise!

Fate sound the gong,
death play the pipe,
man do nothing but dance
the inevitable dance.
We remain prisoners to the
old jailer!

But let man
live health while the air
remains, for the other less-man
we should help.
Let man give his Maker his
breaths, for this road we will
not walk again!


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