Life is a show

If truth be told
When you get old
Then you will know
Life is a show

IMAOBONG

Imaobong, listen to the yearnings of our souls
Imaobong, i wan tell the world say i love you so
Imaobong, even in hell or Zaria's cold
Imaobong, i fit die for you and i want it told

The spirit of the people

Yesterday, I wished I was a Spaniard. The joy in the faces of the Spanish people, when it became apparent that they were going to win the Euro 2012 cup, was huge enough to make them forget their economic hardship for a while. And that’s the power that football has; power to erase your travails and misfortunes, especially when your side is leading; Power to restore your faith, hope and patriotism to your nation no matter how bleak the reality may seem. Hmmm, but when the match ended, reality dawned on me, and I realized my Nigerianness. And I wondered, what straw can this Nation offer her citizens to tickle their patriotism and faith?

I RAN FOR MY DEAR ASS!

I was a barman in one of the renowned clubs in Victoria Island. Serving drinks to men and women and smiling to please them, even when I shouldn’t, was my duty. I was a Youngman of nineteen, broad-shouldered, tall, with an afro that was always perfectly groomed. People said I looked dashing. I always tried to look my best. It boosted my tips, anyway.

In my profession, we saw all kinds of people; the gropingly rich and the embarrassingly wealthy ones. You may be wondering why I referred to them as ‘embarrassingly wealthy’; this set of people could spend more than half a million box on liquor, but they would never tip. Occasionally, they would give you their cards which, most certainly, you would accept with both hands like golden eggs, but they hardly helped. However, I never got discouraged. I regarded anyone that entered the club as a big boy that might just be my ticket to the ‘big league’. So, I never hesitated to clinch. That was how I met Mr. Uche.

Men will do anything for a glimse. LOL!

WHY IS THE PRESIDENT REFUSING TO DISCLOSE HIS ASSETS?

During a media chat this week, President Jonathan adamantly rejected the idea of disclosing his assets, on the flimsy excuse that it should be a personal decision. In his words, “I don’t give a damn…”

Jonathan appoints Andrew Yakubu as NNPC boss, retires Austen Oniwon

A new management team got approved on Tuesday for NNPC by President Jonathan, with Engineer Andrew Yakubu leading the new team. The special adviser to the president on media, Reuben Abati, announced the appointments made in a bid to strengthen the on-going reforms in the Nigerian Petroleum sector. Unfortunately, Nigerians are fed up with these pretentious moves by a president who is as criminal as the criminals he purports to pursue.

OFFICER IN CHARGE

 

Black, smoky wool covered the sky

And darkness showered from up high

Blind birds lightened the street with mild music

Even the trees could not help but dance to it

The street was dark and deserted at this time

And a woman in black stood by watching for crime

Like a shadow, she stood stern with her black baton

She’d have to mellow, I thought, my mind ranting

“You!’’ I heard. She beckoned to me with authority

“What is it?’’  I thought, still holding my temerity

I LOVE HER

 

O, I love her

I love her like a fresh scar

I love her like a rotten egg

And daily, freedom from her, I beg

I love her bright morning smiles

I love the woes, that daily, she piles

I love how she strongly loves

Withholding her pleasures, and shielding her curves

PANTI IS WORSE THAN HELL!

It is with great sadness that I pick my pen and allow my memory relay this story of overwhelming abyss of pain. The night was of unthinkable blackness in every sense of the word and I was sound asleep without a care in the world. The time was about one ‘0’ clock. The doors were wide open so as to allow the air come in to caress my bare chest. How could I have known I was making myself an easy prey? Of course, I hadn’t committed a crime. I was as law-abiding as the law itself. But they came, with their abysmal fury and lethal steels.

The door-net was flung powerfully open with a speed that could never have been captured by the fastest lens. They marched in, seven hefty, blood-reeking, hideous beings in black with AK-47 rifles, all pointed at me. Uhh! It’s worse than what you can imagine. To make matters worse, a blinding flashlight was pointed at me, driving me to partial oblivion. To say I was shocked would be a gross misconception of my state. It was like a truck-loaded of fear was downloaded on me. I must confess; I died.

TEARS FROM AN OLD MAN'S EYES

Each poem in this collection is represented by the teardrop of the old man who, in his lengthy life on earth, has had a blend of extreme experiences of pain and pleasure; of hate (political irresponsibility) and love. The old man recounts an interestingly ironical story which as much as it is dominated by revolutionary strives, has a boisterous dose of romantic adventures. Thus, the tears from the old man’s eyes are not only of regrets for his country, but also of nostalgia of the sweet past which the present political realities are stifling and making impossible for the present generation.

Tears From an Old Man’s Eyes is rhythmical and lyrical, with rare use of words, lines and rhymes which guarantee an interesting read. Each poem in this book should be relished as it brings soothing pleasure to the soul.

The rhymes fall over the leaves of his lips without a blemish. Bob authors his spoken word into a written form without blotches or a bleach of meaning… Tears from an Old Man’s Eyes tells a tale of suffering and adventures, opening its lot to coming generation of ‘sidon lookers’.

                                                AJ. Dagga Tolar – Chairman, Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA), Lagos.

                               

Bob Ekat’s Tears from an Old Man’s Eyes: brilliantly literate, an array of provocative words, themes and thoughts announcing the arrival on the literary stage of an old pen with freshly-dripping new ink. An incisive debut!

Victor Ayara, Silverbird Television.

THIS IS NOT THE LAND

The lines of this triangle are breaking

The bond of the union shaking

The hearts of the people hating

Aching with too much faking

Fear now lives in Nigeria

Its intrepid steps sound in every area

Seen in the eyes of little boys

Little boys fearful of boko’s toys

Boko’s guns, boko’s bombs

Turning every land space to tombs

O, this land of our fore-fathers

This is not the land, the land of our fore-fathers