Amidst the hustle and bustle of life,
She bore the pain and wore the scars;
Leaving behind the soulful hamlet,
She marched onward, lantern in hand,
And trace her footprints in the sands of time.
Though life's like a chasm, deep and wide,
She marched forth like Shepherds beneath stars,
A beam of light, a glimmer of hope shone within,
Like a lighthouse amidst the sea, she stands tall.
Life's naught a trodden path,
But one that awaits to be trodden.
And every step she dares to take
Become a path where none had gone.
Suddenly we appear
On a land with tinctured atmosphere
The cross, the moon and star
A sovereign state more ethnical than wazobia
A smooth and broad path before us
Hungry for our feet to break the hush
Alas the road becomes starved
With thorns and thistles upwardly breaking its soil
Like the ape, bigotry evolves
Extremist in every nook and cranny
Untamed by the scepter and khaki
Callously murdering people in cold blood
Enemies of peace lurking around
Refusing to walk in the path of love
Killing people with façade of hide and skin
The unpunished traitors of love and nationalism
Dedicated to those who lost their lives in Southern Kaduna massacre
YEMI AFO (2017)
She took many untrodden paths
And dwelt near unknown ways
Few took her in their arms of love
Few took her in their praise
But o, to me she was life’s light
The warmth of summer days
Few ever knew her, her sole friends
Were larks that came to sing
To others hoary she may seem
To me, she’s everything
And I took her up in my care
I took her ‘neath my wing
We flew together, her and I
I took to places, she
Where we livéd together one
In love and harmony
But one gray day she passed away
I dwelt in misery
And now I place a rose upon
Her grave near withered grass
Though very few of people knew
How great she was a lass
And even though she’s lost in time
And though o’er her time does surpass
I’ll keep her in my heart’s sweet clime
For all the years that aged their prime
And all the years to pass…
© 2013 Gleb Zavlanov
A night of one thousand moons
and I am dancing
in dark.
Circa.
My half-script was left
with you, under a scrap.
Now I am not
finding any punctuations
in the aerie.
At unknown heights
wake me up in blue depths
when sun does not rise.
Stones placed on hyacinth
will not bury the scent.
I might bring another red spike.
Satish Verma
Dawn in the forest,
tiny rainbow like sunrays
forming light spectrum,
an untrodden snowy path
waiting for my first foot print.
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