Godwin Inyang's Blog, page 25

The Great Book of Best Quotes Of All Time by Abhi Sharma
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Right from the preface of Abhi Sharma’s book, ‘THE GREAT BOOK OF BEST QUOTES OF ALL TIME’; you get the feel that your intellectual journey through it would be blissful and fulfilling. You’re confronted with a striking quote from the author of ‘Animal Farm’, George Orwell: ‘Writing a

(INTRO: Irony is the cream with which a people under despotic roof openly rob, I mean, rub their minds.)




PROLOGUE:


Our huge oil exports

Are placing undue weight

On our nation's coffers -

Come join relieve this oppression;

Let's move into politricks

And elevate our dear nation.



AGENDA:

Let's tar our roads with potholes

And bless our people with waterless taps;

Let's equip our

(iii)

Assemblies of toads, frogs, kites, vultures and hawks:

Altercation and predation are your tangible stock.

You croak, fight for spoils and yourselves mock –

Other beings having a good show directing their gawks.



Presidency of hippopotamuses and elephants;

All you do is trample the woods and moats.

You relish terrifying the fish, fowl and goats;

You care not if dying are

004Then time for food came - everyone ate and drank;The food was good and the yokel showed itGobbling and licking the bowl - here his rankTo other guests reveal wholly he did.
When we burst out laughing, our teacherWent about how best to emit laughter;He said it was wrong to reel and hollerLike a motor-park tout or petty trader.
Our schooling, he said, was to round offOur character - bad habits out we had to snuff.
005He'd be highly disappointed when pensOr books left owners' boxes and bagsAnd were found in the possession of friendsAnd sometimes with different names or strange tags.
Then, robbers were still tied to drums and shot;Our teacher would start a tirade of what's the lotOf pinching this, pinching that from Mama's potAnd thinking you're lucky not to be caught.
Desist, he'd tell us, before it turned bad;For if shot that'd be really really sad.
POSTSCRIPT: If you like the poetry form above, then my best chain of tennets is the philosophical narrative on love called '#A_Long_Love_Song.' Get the Kindle ebook or paperback and my other books @amazon.com/author/godwininyang

(i)

The crimson stage is set and the bloody clowns

One by one are sauntering in.

They're taking off their flowing gowns

And at the legs we see what hangs between.



Too keen to be different, ha-ha,

Wacky crab struts sideways into the arena.

And Bat thinking he could steal the Zany Crown

Resolves to sleep hanging upside down.

Then gentleman Pig, in zest to tidy things,

Pushes and

(i)The crimson stage is set and the bloody clownsOne by one are sauntering in.They're taking off their flowing gownsAnd at the legs we see what hangs between.
Too keen to be different, ha-ha,Wacky crab struts sideways into the arena.And Bat thinking he could steal the Zany CrownResolves to sleep hanging upside down.Then gentleman Pig, in zest to tidy things,Pushes and leaves his balls at the rear to cling.
Ah, humour has skinned mouth of lips:Teeth must bare their shapes and colour today.Tears are sliding down the walls of the cheeks;Tears for a giant perpetually on the stray.
Democracy! My sides are aching and bursting –I'm wallowing in this laughter and groaning!Democracy! Must the actors in the open peel off their gowns?Can't we get acts and scenes devoid of heart-rending clowns?
(ii)This politics is plain harmattanCracking lips, dusting hair and crinkling skin.Leaves scorch at the ceaseless blow of her fan;Chill permeates pores, organs and every vein.
Familiar walls spring icy slaps on our backs;Water in familiar bowls stings our hands.Familiar throats throw forth voice laced with cracksFor the freeze has mopped the oil from the glands.
Who hit these testy drums in harmattanAnd wouldn’t even bother to moisten the skin?Sheer folly is this crooked drummer's plan!Has vindictiveness sliced our nous so thin?
Who throws sparks around flammable forest attire?Be wary! This season's scary - it befriends fire!
POSTSCRIPT: The verse above is taken from my recently published 105-poem collection: 'COLOURS (OF LIFE, LOVE AND FAITH'. A novella should be out in the next couple of hours entitled: 'THE MANY FACES OF TRUTH'. Get the books @amazon.com/author/godwininyang

Fall in, let us steer round to some robust economics:Every goal achieved has opportunity cost;Building empire means you'd take some dire risks;Rounding up time for something means time for others is lost.Unless you stop gallivanting, time would be scant;Add discipline to yourself and every dream you'd realize;Raise the bar - shun things that to your goals aren't at a slant -Yeah, grabbing goals means to reckless fun you'd shut your eyes.

POSTSCRIPT: You need a good book to bless your mind with this new year? Then get my 105-poem collection, 'COLOURS (OF LIFE, LOVE AND FAITH)'. The Kindle ebook and paperback are just out on Amazon. It is a collector's item.https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07N8F9YL6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_taft_p1_i3

141‘This looks odd hanging onYour beautiful neck,’ the bossSaid, fumbling further with it.‘It’s a keepsake from a dead aunt,’My girl answered, bravelyStomaching the nonsense he did.I was boiling, jumped onHis polo shirt and hadOn my deadly focusOne of his eyelids.As he was pressingUncomfortably close,Hankering for a kiss – I veeredAnd targeted his lips.
142It was the nastiest biteI could give and Bulldog WinchThought he was hit by a bomb.As he jerked backIn utter surprise,My girl slammed anIron fist against his gum.The boss crumbledBackwards on the floorLike a blow-drunkenBoxer on canvas.Have you ever witnessedVictims who’d conqueredTheir fears and turnedOn their attackers?
143Alas, with her adrenalinePumped up, effortlesslyMy girl liftedThe table and landed itOn the boss’s skull.Bulldog Winch lay there,Bloodied, like the dead –His evil thoughtsUtterly in the null.I and my girl agreedOn one thing – if there wasA hidden camera,The boss had switched it offSo his subordinatesWouldn’t see his escapade;In fact, see himIn the bare and rough.
144We knew what we didWas unrecorded: we hadNo witness and the boysWeren’t alerted to it.My girl ripped offThe bed covers, bound and gaggedThe boss, then outsideThe door put her feet.The underground was litAnd deadly quiet, we followedThe stairs and burstThe escape route’s entry.We emerged intoThe mansion and walkedThrough the mazeOf corridors gently.
145At the garageWe debated overThe easiest and best meansOf escape from the place.We needed toOutwit or hamstringThe guard – in fact,Leave him in a daze.A jeep emergingFrom the garage,With me troubling himWould confuse the guard.I’d embarrass himSo much he wouldNot have time to think as ITackled him real hard.

136I got back to the cellAnd told my girl ofThe entire building’s layout;Then we plotted onHow best to escape –The main gate we considered;Letting the tunnel stay out.Even if we succeededIn unlocking the barriersIn the tunnel, it led toEither a swamp or forest:There we could loseOur way; main gate ledTo the street – that for usWas right option and best.
137We knew we wereEscaping but we didn’tKnow exactly how or whenThis would take shape.While waiting, time seemedTo be counted no longerWith the hands of clockBut a measuring tape.Of course, there was noOther alternative thanTo wait for that occasionalClick in the keyholeBut the tedium you couldSee by my girl’sUnrestrained tossing, wasSearing her deep in her soul.
138No access to the Internet,No books to readAnd paper and pen to write:Imprisonment isA strange thing – it isA deprivationOf one’s basic right.The mind was walking,Running and jumping –It went everywhere but couldn’tTake the body with it.A free mind, I knew that day,In an imprisoned body isLike a country’s economyRunning on deficit.
139And sustained deficitWould put a country inA poor and vulnerable positionWhere creditors wouldPrescribe strange concoctionsAnd you swallow themTo ease your painful condition.Our mean creditor,Bulldog Winch, came toThe cell at 0200 hours.Very clearly, he cameTo exercise his lustful rather thanInvestigative powers.
140There was the clickIn the keyhole, then the tap onThe switch and lightFlooded the room.‘Miss Freegate,’ Bulldog WinchCalled to inform ofThe awaiting freedomOr impending doom.‘Yes, Mr Winch,’ my girlAnswered sleepily, sat upOn the edge of the bed.He kicked the doorAnd it clicked close; ratherThan questions, he cameTo touch the pouch instead.

131I told her to eat as sheNeeded it and I’d goSpying the neighbourhood.I told her to have faith thatFinally we would escape –In fact, I comfortedHer as much as I could.I left the room finallyWhen she’d managed to takeA little of what sheWas presented as food.I did believe my wordsOf encouragementDid very well helpTo lighten her mood.
132I slipped out, stepped intoThe passage, linked a tunnel,A warehouse and the stairs’Landing leading overground.The structure was built inA manner that every part didn’tRelease but hold back sound.I ignored the tunnel asIt was the route we wereSmuggled in and went inspectingThe unlit warehouse.(With my goggles, my eyesAre ever sharp, night or day;Wherever it hides – I couldStill locate the louse).
133I slipped through the metalDoor and the inside was packedWith drums from floor to ceiling.I then left and steppedOn the landing, followingThe stairs to surveyThe other parts of the building.The upper landing was hiddenIn a remote part ofThe mansion, initiallyDesigned as escape route.The drug baron’s country homeWas massive and occupiedHectares of land and wood.
134A high wall topped withRazor wire marked the boundariesOf the residence.With just one massiveMain gate, electronicallyControlled, securityWas tight and intense.Bulldog Winch was the mostWanted man by the United StatesAnd the security agenciesIn his native country.Everyone thought he was hidingIn the jungle but hereIn their midst he livedIn affluence and glory.
135I left the security postAnd the guard loungingOn an armchair, listeningTo a soft tune playingOn the radio.I went assessing the garageReplete with latest makesOf jeep – fromHummer to a Prado.As I peered throughThe rooms in the mansion,I saw in one a ladyWith dark rings round her eyes.Her kids played with the best toys:Living in affluence yetHer face told me sheWas still far from paradise.