DEATH

If my life would halt before I wake,

Perhaps that would be our last meet.

And my mother would be helped by other

mothers to wail over my demise

then my friends would want to

close their eyes and open their voices.

perishing if I do,

uncertain of everlasting life,

heaven or hell is still unclear,

perhaps death is death after all,

and the soil be me and I part of it

never to see darkness of day, light of night

if my peoples eyes shall weep and bleed for a week,

perhaps with a dry cry we shall part hoping to meet again.

A Poem in 114 words

Yesterday I saw you

As you sang Halleluiah

Halleluiah praising the most high

For the good he has done for you

Today you are at the optimum of your voice

Lamenting, blaming God for your misfortunes

Instead of reflecting upon your present blessings

Of which you possess in plenty

Tomorrow is eagerly awaited

Anticipated for, to see the

Turn of events after the day dawns

Until the sun rests in the evening

When you cry, shed tears, wail

 For your loved one is late

Will you drink poison?

Forever is still unclear

Shall halleluiah! Halleluiah! still be heard?

Will you firm and faith yourself when disaster

and temptations call?

Make me not your scapegoat

Your sacrificial lamb!

A NOTE BY THE BEDSIDE

That I come from the holy church

With all those good spirits

And the first thing I meet are

Beings having or almost sexing

Saddest of it, on the only bed

And almost sit in your house.

When will you ever learn?

“do you know what the thigh of a woman can cost you”?

Were these not your words?

Don’t turn your house into a brothel!

Every good that was and is to happen

To you will be withheld with God through Christ .

I got annoyed and left

I will call you and come soon.

Your house is not a brothel, is it?

Thanks for the accommodation, am grateful my friend.

Yours truly ; FRANK

MADNESS & SANENESS

He twists and turns on mad

The man is a madman

Go turn and twist yourself on mad

See if you won’t run mad

That madman has been there

Since you were born

I want to be a madman

For men into madness never die

For even sickness fears madness

Because that madman has never

Been sick since you were born

 Make me run mad

But if madness is sickness itself

Never make me run to madness

The madman pays no taxman

Has no business with the rent-man

Food for thought not a meal

for the mad him

He who makes men mad

Should make me one

Has the mad man in your area

grown old and grey?

The one I know has no grey

On his head

He has remained as young for he ran mad

Why don’t you make me run insane

For insane men and madmen

Live better and longer than sane men and we-men