Poet of the Week: Sodiq Alabi
Spare Me Your RantISpare me your rantyour anger is feeble -It may not exist-It bears no metalsno impression that lastsbeyond the sphere of likesand retweet, you SMHand sprinkle exclamation marksaround the webs.Your activism revolves around Post. Enter. Send. Spare me your rantthe nonsense you flaunt in your bio:Online activist. Facebook hero3000 friends13,000 followersOnline gira-gira assessed, […]
Spare Me Your Rant
I
Spare me your rant
your anger is feeble
-It may not exist-
It bears no metals
no impression that lasts
beyond the sphere of likes
and retweet, you SMH
and sprinkle exclamation marks
around the webs.
Your activism revolves around
Post. Enter. Send.
Spare me your rant
the nonsense you flaunt
in your bio:
Online activist.
Facebook hero
3000 friends
13,000 followers
Online gira-gira assessed,
only silence reverberates.
You think the volume of comments
on that insipid post matters?
You stroke your empty chin
and wipe dusts off your screen
your iPhone beeps for power
you are safe, friend,
as you do not matter.
II
We will protest Borno in Abuja
In Lagos we will all come to the square
and make some noise, real noise
leveraging on the hashtag
that packed a bag to Qatar and London
Let us move in Minna!
Saturday is wrong for protest
city centre will be empty
respect the Christians, Sunday is no deal
only jobless people protest on Monday
couple of errands to run on Tuesday
Wednesday is great, but my calendar is full
can we choose Thursday
I should be back to town then?
if not, be assured of my e-support
Barka Juma’a.
January Rain
I
Behold the rain tickling the grounds in mid-January
Scribbling on grounds that break its force
sinking the water it brings
through layers of fried earth.
I gaze at the rain,
its edges on the roof
curl like your tongue
the lines zigzagging, saluting the wind-
This scene is a catalyst
amplifying the memories of your fingers
How my nerves bowed to their reign
When they traced sensations through the veins of creation.
II
First the threat builds up miles away
We flash the smirk reserved for falsity
The cloud slowly drags closer, evidence clear
The chaos of humans scattered near laughable.
The rhythm of the fall,
is the roof cracking or just moaning
or my imagination wandering-
Diagnosis: Wandering imagination. Mind drifting
Perhaps this is the realm I really belong to
exploring the moments you surprise with delight
the hands that slip in exploration, the feel
and when I moan, your smile bears films of fun
your bag full of gifts endowed with less drama
less drama than this noisy rain, more pleasurable than its water.
III
You are my shelter from the wind, from the angry rain
of January that pounces with undue vengeance
from the inconvenience of melancholy,
you shelter me from its danger; you lead me to burn with it
casing the cold to ice imageries, the fire to solder thoughts
You are my guide in this wilderness
You steer me to clip the daemons, to channel proper.
When I hear the rain, I sing for you
The January rain, they say, heralds more harmattan,
but for me it peaks the urgency for your presence
that I feel again and again, a new height of this feeling
that emphasises how much I miss your tickles.
Do you think you are a poet? If yes, send five poems of not more than 100 words each to [email protected] with a bio-data that includes your journey as a writer and two good photographs.