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Edward Babatunde Poem
She remains a partial gift
some have none, yet some have much
for her scales, sideways they tilt
yet we crave her soothing touch.
With jars of scents, ointments and creams
ourselves we paint seeking her face
fanciful, our grotesque masks seems
yet she stays mocking our ways.
But true beauty in these things lie;
the morning dew on thirsty leaves
the new-born sun that's up so high
even in Nature's smiles on lonesome cliffs!
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2006
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Edward Babatunde Poem
At every knock they panic
“Who’s it?” be their eternal cry
They scurry here
And flurry there
To hide the stock
Of their filthy gains
Under the bed, inside the roof
Away–away, from piercing eyes.
Achans of our time
Their “Come in”
Takes long in coming
“Whozit? Whozit?
Remains their incessant bleat
For wealth gathered in great untruth
Weighs down the bearer’s soul!
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2008
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Edward Babatunde Poem
I rise when time beckons,
plying along my destined course
as time doth ever blow by
to me the clock calls,
saying "On! On!! never stop"
My route I ply with time,
meeting faces along my tracks
smiling ones, grumpy ones too.
Some I touch, some I don't,
but every step draws me home.
The days, they pass me by,
even the flashing scenery too.
I laugh, I smile, I play,
I cry, I frown, I work,
sailing by on time swift wings.
But when time signals red,
who'd say otherwise?
Then know I 'tis my journey's end,
and reports would I give
at Zion's holy gates!
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2006
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Edward Babatunde Poem
In our deepest despair,
When misfortune like an albatross
Swoops down on us,
We let them burn,
All we love most...
When sore and unsure,
Separated from false strength
And all which gave false comfort,
We build brick walls...
Rather than bridges.
Yet we learn not
And hate that inborn impulse
To seek solace when hurt,
So we spurn true friends...
And hate our vulnerability.
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2006
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Edward Babatunde Poem
Soon my is will turn to was
Going stale in time’s larder
The pains, the joys, even the cross,
All I bore climbing life’s ladder
They become one forgotten cause.
And my was will be another’s is,
An endless spring to wet his thirst
And extend to him a soothing kiss
With knowledge to fill his chest
So his path he’ll never miss.
Yet my story burns ever bright
And though ‘tis now his-story,
It echoes in countless hearts
For ‘tis become a mystery
To haunt their thoughts day and night!
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2006
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Edward Babatunde Poem
Just a sniff or a whiff
soothes the soul,
a kiss of the syringe
fills with peace and joy
so great alas! Temporary.
Oh! what many'd give
to soar on wings eagle's
and to the highest peaks climb
amidst tunes angelic.
But many a soul oft shatter
under its grip inexorable,
bound in chains and iron fetters
to a sniff, whiff and
oh! A kiss of the syringe.
They sit back and fantasize,
but the Peace they seek
is naught but an illusion,
a dream they chase and ne'er get
till they bid the world goodbye!
Copyright © Edward Babatunde | Year Posted 2006
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