The talking gun
We don't say goodbye,
Not under this perpetual twilight, that our faith now tide,
When the moonlight ripples at our embankment settled,
If you wait,
our liberty is at war,
Lingering on the course of freedom,
And together shall we break
from these furnace gate of tyranny,
If you behold,
the fragment of our broken tears, would amount by the Indian Ganges
Let the embers cry all out,
our mountain debts,
to the eulogy of the whirling wind,
And by the nightingales,
this unity be rhymed at each babbling praise.
As we come to campaign through eternity.
While against the soaring odds of immortality
The guns shall boom,
Nor shall be halted by any power pawn jury,
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poem by Folayemi Akande
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Abeke
Abeke!
A sight for sour eyes,
A glocery to distressed souls,
A beautician of smile,
Oh beautiful one,
Adorned with spell
To ravage a man's world
With allure of carressing
In touch gentle slumber.
Abeke!
Your beauty roars like a ferocious Lion
Your beauty tumble rocks down the hills
Your beauty stills the wind
And incline us to the harmony
Of your gentle breath
And runs all men through a tumult of emotion
Abeke!
For men say you are a soul dresser,
Some call you the fig replenisher,
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poem by Folayemi Akande
Added by Poetry Lover
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