what kind of world
are we leaving behind
for future generations
forbidden dreams out of their grasp
within unchartered confines
of unprecedented realities
i see their trusting innocence
and share a mix of guilt and shame
as failed custodians
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Every drop of water,
Every breath of air,
Every blade of grass—
Whispers the same truth:
We are but custodians of this planet,
Entrusted with its care
For generations yet to come.
Custodians of ancient wisdom
Omens on wings of white
Symbols of transformation
Graceful watchers in flight
Harboring all the secrets
the creative and destruction
Protectors of the buffalo
Warning of the hunters
Beauty in white feathers
Mutation of genetics
Messengers of Apollo
Hauntingly prophetic
It's said that when you see one
"We'll know humanity as a whole
is shifting towards one of peace"
The white Raven
Mother Earths Soul.
History is the view of the far past in the present
Yet no present is without a past
Though the future looms before us
Yet nothing is new under the Sun.
Anything that is, has been before.
The present is life"s linkage to the future.
A future without the present is the present without a history.
The history of my people defines their pre-existence
The Nok terracotta, the relics, pieces of potters, are landmarks of a skilled civilization only being unearthed now.
The history refires their potentials.
History is you standing on thresholds of generations,
Whose genealogy has been lost.
You are the oral custodians that generations have longed to express.
A people without a history is a people without a future
Is a people without generational synergy
A people with traceable history have a future predicated on a great past.
(Written on the 9th of March, 2015)
if you are finicky or squeamish at all
do not crawl under that locked bathroom stall.
You never know what you will find on the ugly floor
crusty dried feces and urine, other awful stuff galore
if you are the one who locked it and slid out of the way
know that we custodians kind of despise you today.
Tired of the mind stuff.
It's hard to be free
of all those words
that drag behind like a long chain,
clinking in the silence.
Each weighted step leaves evidence,
deep prints beyond the reach
of waves and tide. They stay,
fossilized in stone, stretched back
across time, hanging on
to the heel and added to
by every taken step.
Think of wading out to the line
of breakers, feeling water
burrow into the eardrum,
offering oceans and fathomless
depths where only the light
from exotic creatures punctuate
the dark with their luminescence
pulsing along tentacles or dangled
in front of ferocious mouths.
These are the guardians
of forgetfulness, custodians
of dreamless sleep in which
even words dissolve
and wait in a nowhere
to become something
or nothing at all.
Hey!
The prodigals have returned.
The one we entrusted with our wealth.
The custodians of the granary keys.
They are here again.
Five years ago,
We sent them to legislate for us.
Very angelic they were.
Very blameless they appeared.
The prodiglas have returned.
Overseas they have been.
Offshore accounts they've created.
Their lifestyles lucrative.
Very egocentric they are.
The roads they promised to improve.
Till dystopic.
Bursaries in their accounts.
As our children languish in illiteracy.
Their son and daughters graduates.
Ambassadors and high officials they are.
The prodiglas have returned.
To persuade us into voting for them.
With incentives they have come.
Sweet words they have.
Very seductive they are.
The prodigals have returned.
@ Tha Formidable Cheru.
Heavenly body spinning around
Through a Solar System as the 3rd one down
Are we the only ones with their own planet
As life grows in and on it
Beautiful blue sky spreading out
As we trace around the sun thereabouts
How did we come to be
Planned by someone or an accident you may see
Do we own the blue planet
Or are we just custodians of it
Will we ever know the answer
Maybe we’ll just continue in our ponder.
© Paul Warren Poetry
How can we give to the Temple of God
when the whole world belongs to Him
We, His temporary custodians
on this earth while we've vigor and vim
Seems to me God wants a place in our hearts
that we build Him a home right there from the start
For the gift that He desires is the gift of ourselves
Not knick-knacks selected from hardware store shelves
While you battle with life like no tomorrow
Hustling and bursting the streets and places
Hoping for the fulfilment of acquisitions
The ordained course of life could be different
Each chose a path to thread before now
In this current journey of earthly existence
Known to the custodians above and the self
The path which alone can satisfy and fulfil
Behind my brows are horror scenes
Each blink am drifted in oblivion deep
In the fear archives within my genes
As cold trepidations in my heart creep
Beaming vivid horror acts of slavery.
Behind my brows I hear black souls
Wailing desperately in quandary state
Mothers nurse their toddler's sores
The custodians of the future's fate
Heavy load their tender shoulders bear.
Behind my brows I see dark images
Frantically wobbling under heavy wood
Whip driven further from their villages
Chained animals they're misunderstood
In the worst humanity servitude
Behind my brows fear hatchet it bears
Hides in wait to murder my black ego
Maybe I'm the off spring the feeble sires?
Or am the pious to white man's credo
Too scared in inferiority complex.
Behind my brows a distant flame glows
The rich jungle in between is my fear
Who will extinguish it when it's close?
Who will solicit loud that all can hear?
Who will unhinge the mind shackles bear?
Where peace should reign like water fills the sea
Where unity ushers multitudes to a place of prosperity
Where life is valued for the sake of humanity
Where the Spirit of Ubuntu is taught across generations
Where people with disabilities are offered opportunities
Where widows are treated with so much respect
Where orphans can be showered with abundant love
Where girls walk freely on the streets, without a fright
Where boys cannot be bullied by those older than them
Where elders share wisdom in their communities
Where young or old, rich or poor, black or white belong without being made to feel wrong
Where discrimination of any form is eliminated
Where nature is taken care of by its custodians
Where power is never used as a tool to oppress others
Where powerful individuals can empower more people
Where justice shall not be used to justify the unjust
Where corruption is not an option for those in high positions
Where visionaries emerge and embrace innovation
I wish nothing but the best
For this land where I stand
And that is my unfading dream for Africa
What if…
What if my nightingale sings that what is right?
What if all of this pain just stops for a night?
What if I can see it even if it’s dark?
The truth is there among this vanishing sight.
I am waiting to see what else I can find.
What if there is nothing after, to excite?
Our dark path will lead us into the darkness,
There is more darkness in this world than is light.
What if one day, we all wake up from this life?
from this wishful thinking, sorrow, joy, and fright,
and wonder that what if all was a big lie,
a losing game that we lost in a big fight.
We’re all custodians of life until death,
Then we’ll recycle in nature; we just might.
Go and live this little time that you have now,
There might not be tomorrow to do it right.
Forget all that there was, all that it will be,
Remember that it is now that it’s all bright.
I heard "Haloo" was singing to the moonlight,
The song was all about love and say goodnight.
12/24/2019 Haloo
yesterday
it was a
blustery
day as in
the pooh
books
the wind
had blown
in leaves
even as
far in to the
second lobby
nature an
croaching
making
custodians
cringe
but i
felt
comfort
realizing
someday
this place
would
succumb
so upon
entering
the doors
of purgatory
for work for
some it's still
a waiting
ground for
but for
others
it has become
hell so hello
has turned
into hell
no
but at least for me
there isn't any
shouting or
chanting
about
four
more
years
i'm done
in less then
one
Nigeria my beloved home is under siege:
A death trap I see in her third mainland bridge.
The crying blood of the slain in the North-east
overwhelms vicious politicians with guilt.
Humans with hearts of beasts ravage her North-west,
outgunning her corrupt weakened armed forces.
Catacombs of mass graves quantify losses
incurred from incessant farmers-herders clash.
Darkness looms as stupendous amounts of cash
are cast in an energy sector like trash.
Her healing centres are no more than health morgues,
and her institutions breed intellectual dogs.
Her oligarchs of the six zones unify
to plunder, rape and line their pockets with filth.
With peanuts they entice poverty stricken
youths, just to have their sit-tight bids guaranteed them.
Indulgences from the gullible gratify
custodians of faith endowed with seducing lips.
My beloved Nigeria has failed to hearken
to the values of the elders before them.
With priorities misplaced, we go seeking
for stereotyped reputations in our trips
to foreign climes for filthy lucre to acquire.
Good Lord! When will values my mother-land require?
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