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Paschal Amuta

Paschal Amuta is a fecund poet who writes from Ilorin, Kwara state, Nigeria. He is a biochemist upon whom the Muse has bestowed the ability to paint pictures with words. His hobbies include surfing the Internet, writing and reading, with Wole Soyinka being his favorite writer. He goes by the moniker "Muse Son" on the Internet.



Otukpa!

The music blasts from the bar;
Two yards away
The criminal gulps down
Shots of vodka
In a bid to digest the horrors of his act
Only hours ago.
Eyeing the lady of easy virtue
two tables away.
Soon prickly conscience
Will be ejaculated,
Climax for a price.
Crime and lust to be entwined on sheets of obscenity.

Away from the bar
On the streets
The slut is unleashed,
Angel of seduction and child of Jezebel.
Face painted to mask her
Innocent past,
With long nails, to prey on men with
Pregnant pockets. Yet willing prey.

Breasts ripe and full
Hanging loose, to feed
The malnourished eyes of men,
Feeding their lust.
As wiggling buttocks
Tempt the contrite heart to neglect
The promise of penance
And reap the pleasures of orgasmic lures.

Beehive Otukpa! Must stereotypes be proven right?

NOTE: Otukpa is a town in Benue State, Nigeria.



Night

You cast a spell of
Darkness on earth
And unleashed the elements of evil
From within.
Light needs resuscitation;
Now your reign is supreme.
The wry luminescence of the moon
Fools me not.
Your grip, I can't eschew,
Stealthy like a cat.
I can't tell the figure of a friend from
A nocturnal lord in the dark.
Black, black, blackness.
Mask of evil.
The dead turn in their graves.
The footsteps of lost souls
Chirping, hooting, mewing.
The fabrics of a mysterious garment.
In a mighty stride of hope,
I close my eyes. Sleep ...



Déjà Vu

                    Déjà vu
A touch of yesterday,
A whiff from the yesteryears
Journeys through my nasal tunnel
On this warm afternoon
Of still breezes
And vacant heavens
With chirping sparrows
And fading sorrows.

                     Déjà vu
Everything is the same.
Save the taunting crows
Whose cawing left
Me cowering
On those days of our animosity.

                           Déjà vu
It is almost two years now
Since the bite from typhoid’s fangs
Made me commune with my Relatives of the blessed memories.
I swear! Death – much despised –
Is a patient man;
Not wanting the life of me ... yet.



Our Massacre

There,
Where I stood,
Unknowing witness of
Impending disaster,
I saw how
Your encroachment spelt
Our doom.

One nation,
So we thought, and
Allowed you passage to
Our niche.

The whiteness of your beast-pelt
Fooled us partly.
Gullible we!
Thinking, cows only eat grass and drink water.

But you came trampling,
Trampling on the reeds of our life.

Now the crows of doom
Have perched on our forest
Canopies.

And night told the tale
Of our bloodshed.

Dawn brings the vultures
That haunt the dying,
As streams of blood
Form a confluence
With the village river.

From the hilltop, where
I hid, tears traveled the
Distance to my cheek.
I am witness to our massacre.



Ogogoro

Today I sing the chorus
Of men who know your worth
And tread the path of the reckless.

Friend of the aggrieved and
Companion of the lonely,
Ogogoro today I sing your praise.

We have poured libations and
Relived the lives of our ancestors
Down our gullets.

When you anoint my tongue
My taciturn lips become a gushing tap
And morale is again accentuated.

Ogogoro, you have defeated your abusers,
Rubbishing and rubbing them
On the ground. Unable to go home, some
Have passed their nights in the gutters,
As lonely wives quit their vigil at half past three.

Volatile and harsh, Ogogoro has no time for secrets.
Kiss and tell,
Tell as you kiss.

Pure and innocent like a virgin bride,
You have no intention to corrupt.
But the greedy insists on meeting his Waterloo.

Ogogoro, how can you be this good,
Yet my liver decries our friendship?

NOTE: This is a poem about alcohol.



Crescent Moon

Old crescent Moon,
Friend from a distant past,
In the wilderness of my heart
Streams of nostalgia flow from a
Glorious past ...
Stories from the sage,
Nights of late suppers,
Breezes that brought peace,
Witnesses of relegated dark
And many others
All under your watch.

But today it is different:
One still night
And a lonely man
Faraway from home
Keeps vigil with you.

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