Skip to main content

THEY SAY I HAVE NO CERTIFICATE






By Akeem Lasisi


They say I have no certificate
As if you need the Cambridge magic
To bamboozle your way to the hallowed space
As if you need an Oxford’s ticket
To bully your way to the national cake.
I stayed in the varsity for so long
I bagged an Elderstudentsmanship with a
record break
I rocked the campus like a mystery plague
I got a bachelor of arts in a science course.
They say I have no certificate
But, online and offline, I rock customised
Lamborghinis plus oversight jeeps
Those who decorate their garages with
doctoral crests
Are writing my biography in a stunning haste
I am the elephant with a single arm:
I uproot a palm tree with super awe
If the elephant had two arms
It would bring the Pluto to its arrogant knees.
They say I have no certificate
As if a certificate is akpu and afang soup
That makes the visitor to Ibom to tarry long
As if a certificate is amala and gbegiri
That makes Ibadan a dangerous place for a
greedy mouth.
When did a degree become the sumptuous
tuwo masara
When did it acquire the power of fura de
nunu
Delicacy kings of the Northern belt?
They say I have no certificate
But Dejo is mad, Dejo is mad
Dejo eats pounded yam with the arm of a goat
Dejo is crazy, Dejo is mad
Dejo eats amala with the thigh of a ram.
They say I have no certificate
Yet I never conducted any medical test
Before I diagnosed menopause on the Senate
floor
The hen pecks at corn; it strikes at beans with
dispatch ease
Yet it keeps lamenting the absence of teeth:
The goat with a dental heritage
Has it ever eaten stones with its certificated
teeth?
If the farmer refuses to promise me choice
yam
I can cause the rain to hide in the sky
If the king wants to prove unduly stubborn
I cause the budget to hang in the air.
They say I have no certificate
And I appropriate billions with casual bliss;
Knowing that SANs are eager to plead my
cause
I misappropriate billions with jumbo swag
When they ask for my payslip
I slip a pittance into the stupid air
When they ask me for the total pay
I spin a myth like a master tortoise.
They say I have no certificate.
They say I don’t have certificate
Shame I know I do not have
But I flaunt my shamelessness with national
pride.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

HER MAJESTY

By Ola Vincent Omotade There was a village named Gini, a town blessed with mineral resources and oil. For a long-time the town had been under the pressure and control of Gbaduze a strong courageous king that ruled with excess superiority and power. A very sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, a seed of evildoers, cities where corruption reigned supreme, they forsake the word of the wise and were bent on doing evil, but at the later end Queen Marieke, a woman brought back glory to the land. There lived a king named Gbaduze, a long living wealthy king, dark shinning in complexion, a man of his own very word and power embedded due to influence of the Niger-areas in Okere-aje kingdom. However, when death came calling, he died and the king makers ordered that the Queen to ascend the throne of her late husband and invariably preside over the affairs of the community. On ascension, she rigorously studied the existing relationship between the three major tribes in Gini. Q...

FEBRUARY 27

By Ola Vincent Omotade Aderonke will be my only poem that never ends, For a good woman is but a poem. A genuine poem that comes in blue moon. You are a jewel of purest gold, The smile that never grows old. You are the beauty of the sunset sky, The intricate twinkle of a happy star. You are the keeper of an unborn life, A champion, heroine, a candlelight . You are a budding shoot, evergreen, a colourful sweetness. Your laughter is like the whirlwind of the spirit, it  keeps resounding in the valleys and hills of life and motions. Encircling the hearts of men with magical notions. So now the night of January is past and the day of February is broken Today speaks of this calmness, this brightness,the one you brought. Today carries  messages of heavy words, Words that are pregnant with beauty for you. And with my golden mouth and pen, I wish to celebrate your existence. What joy of a fuller and freer life, have I got if onl...

THE LOVE IN HIS EYES

 – By Hilanzok She breaks down in tears as she sees him. His eyes a shade of light brown surrounded by a shrub of lashes speaks volume of what he has experienced in his life. His face a texture of smooth avocado gleamed through the canvas-skin; coarse to touch, spectacular and perfect to the sight. She doesn’t know how to explain it, but she felt this tug in her heart, she knows this boy has experienced things the eyes would bleed if it sees, and the mouth would be reluctant to voice out. It is evident in the liquidity of his eyes, the expressionless look( like a 21st-century male Monalisa) they bore. His cheekbones chiseled and firm fitted like a glove to his trimmed face. He is beautiful, but suffering and despair loomed in his aura, he didn’t need to say it out, in fact, he didn’t need to say anything. She is satisfied just looking at his face, admiring and accessing the contours of his face. She feels the urge to lean forward and press her lips against his, she wants...