Skip to main content

I WILL BE FAITHFUL TO YOU





The earth has always been dark and that darkness is now  going blind.
As we now flip sides faster than a gambler's coin,
What can I promise now, that have not been doomed  to fail?
For my dreams can fill eternity but my life is only one.
So look into my eyes and contain the streams.

Truth and lies now wear the same haircut so where on earth do I Start?
For the sky used to be up and black used to be dark,
 but  we are no longer sure.

But in this civil war of uncertainty, there's a promise I dare to give.
I will be faithful to you.
We Cannot run in the rain and not get wet.
And here I'm promising you warmth at the height of winter,
But this is a promise you can be sure of;
I will be faithful to you.

I will stand by you until my last breath evaporates.
I will remain open like a faithful mission house.
Though I can't tell when wealth will visit or if at all he will.
but I will never leave, I will always be here.
Until here is no more, until here has left.

The rains may come sudden and may be accompanied by thunder.
But I have tied this vow to no condition.
I  will be faithful to you.
I will mind the fire and form a one-man choir,
And return your every laughter.
Promises are now on promo, but i offer only one ;
 I will be faithful to you.

I will wake  early each day to light up your sun.
I will listen to your silence and sing till you re asleep,
Then I can face the hyenas and bring home dinner.
The world is a pot with misleading things,
And the modern sky now rains with unholy tempts .
But you can tell them that I asked you to tell them,
That I will be faithful to you.

© Samson Abanni

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

WHY DO TEARS FOREVER FLOW?

By Ola Vincent Omotade As I lay on my bed this morning, with sunlight streaming through the window, a gentle breeze blew the flimsy white curtain and I saw the sky turn blue.. OH! its a new day I said. Just as I took a step to go get my pink hard smoker's brush and a Dabur-herbal toothpaste to spray on my brush, I heard someone crying in terribleness. I was weak in my spirit and all I did was to rest on my cushion, threw the brush on my carved mahogany bench and these were words that interfered with my heart. I realized coming to this earth, newly birth nothing in my hand I bring. simply naked to the earth I come, looking for dress in tearsa Oh for us We came hale and hearty, But yet tears trooped out from our eyes, the little helpless baby. Looking for ways to support living, we sow in tears but at times reap in joy, not always every time though. Going through the nooks and crannies of pains in craft works, handiworks and education (disciplined with tear...
Post a Comment
Read more

SALEWA

By Jonathan Oladeji I don’t know how many people have met Salewa before, even if it is not the Salewa I am talking about. What can you say is common about every Salewa? It’s usually their room mates that can testify better. I met Salewa in my 200 level and she told me her name was Sally. I stared at her for hours before managing to pick a seat behind her in the then AUD 2 on the Great Ife campus. Salewa is the typical tall, slim, dark and beautiful (TSDB) girl. I approached with all caution because I wanted to make a good impression. Even though I am not much of a fashionista, I could see her wrist bracelet, earrings and neck-piece were a complete set out of an A-Class boutique. Salewa was not the bend-down select kind of girl. I wanted to break out of that circle too by all means. We talked awkwardly at first, then kicked off with a bit of more fashion related gist as I noticed that was all she wanted to talk about. I actually wanted to talk about drawing boards and painting c...
Post a Comment
Read more

ÌGBÀ ÈWE (CHILDHOOD DAYS)

By Teslim Opemipo Let our mothers come like harmattan haze and swear by the sacrality of ògún if the roof lying above their fathers' house has never been stoned by a boy in love to walk them out for an evening talk. Let our fathers come like a windy rain and swear by the simplicity of òsun if the path that leads to the village stream has never danced to serenades sang by their soles in chase of maidens with braids so long. Let the elders come like a mid-year harvest and swear by the tranquility of the moon if they've not once tasted the bliss of childhood fermented with the morals of moonlight tales. In our village, childhood is made of water; kinsmen, remember, water is brewed with life and life is the laughter moulded on our lips when we gambol from rivers to trees and to fields painted in the colours of hopping grasses. Brethren, if you hear an elder saying: growing up kills laughter and joy, do not giggle for they once like us tasted the bliss o...
Post a Comment
Read more