LOTO
A coin in the pool for strokes of luck,
We lobby the earth encircling circles for
rounded decimals,
Coordinates to the promised habour
of Milkened Honey.
Hungry rats rattle in hope,
Their mite transforms to might,
as faith dances in prosperous wonders,
dragooned under choreographed sermons.
“Give and it shall be given to you”
The man of God says.
“Treasures shall be found in Numbers”
the other men say.
Looto, Life is a gamble,
You win some, lose some,
“E remain small”
Is the epilogue of men who
swim in rivers of empty waters.
Footnote:
* Looto: A Yoruba expression for “Indeed“
ALIVE IN DECEMBER
In December,
Carnival breathes life into Calabar.
Dancers – Fine, stout, lean,
In many bright colours,
Armed with a smile, a wink — more,
As Visitors cave into night’s delight.
In Angola,
Men relive Peter,
on the holy Tuesday of Shrove.
Sweet Sin taps it feet
on grinning, chalked faces,
dancing Semba,
The Samba – our ancestors taught them.
In Cape town,
God indeed, is a Sculptor,
His works jiggle in decorated flaps.
Amidst the crunch, ambitious Scenes,
Make the cuts in Harare,
At the Mindelo, the Kreol and Takoradi,
Life resurrects in December.
