may those who seek our downfall
carry baskets to fetch waterfall
let the owl who slip our perching sling
suffer the disease of unflying wings

we are not cowards who sow white flags on warfront
that breed only harvest of destruction
nor are we beauties wishing that cameras love us
as clown arts for screens of CNN talks

we are the ones who own no royal blood
and that becomes the gain of earned freedom
we have stabbed patience for diplomacies
for we do not desire feeding ghosts with victories

home beds and pillows are burnt ashes
attention ready with bloodthirst arches

onward! we bear only but burning banes
for down the damned road of hell flames
shall we never trail in hurrying gaits
without fierce fight of Menelik's faith

resistance | jonnyworks gallery

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their old spines set on slanted wooden seats,
as a child strolling those hood streets,
I saw them; good, hardworking OGs
rock their evenings with reggae upbeats.

even Musk's AI couldn't warn me of these;
turbulent moments that beg for bliss,
when my soul too is rescued by Lucky Dube's beats.
puffing and highin' on some wrapped sheets.
never nearing that bucket to have it kicked
'cause straight still are bones of my feet.

yeah! i walk gallant on choice street
not because naija hasn't happen to my steeze
but because I am more than naija and its shits.
happiness paves these rough streets,
i choose to stroll with rugged ease.

i choose | jonnyworks gallery

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Feet is this lush and evergreen.
Fingers is a touch of blue sky.
Eyes is lit and golden.
Brain is wind in dream.

Heart is a solitude in cosmic flight.
Ears floats in celestial ambience
that whispers enteral songs of Eden;
songbirds like angelic Enya's,
crickets like Enigma's meditation.

Nose is fragrance of dandelion.
Belle is pregnancy of pure spirit.
And all await Mouth and Lips
to be ecstatic language of a soul
Lost in nature.

Trance | Jonnyworks Gallery

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you are a tale told to a sick wind
a name written in a beach sand
tears cried in the wetness of rainfall
a voice amidst fireworks of new year

you're that smoke craving to ride the wind
unfound X in my arithmetic classroom
an ex whose empty skull is overblown
a balloon in dustdevil's play ground

if stupid was one of the names I give
you won't measure up to be called by it,
you see
for the most part while it lasted, you were

nothing; not even a memory

no joy | Jonnyworks Gallery

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call me a tall glass of crystal wine
that never makes it to any banquet
a kiss blown from sky dandelion
but the wind changes its direction
a restless memory that never dies
yet buried to silence of grave yard

speak of me as a disturbing noise
that keep you wake to parade of night owls
the one who flips open a locked cupboard
and leads the hands of skeleton to sun-god

see with me the daylight as I burn it
and the night sky as I repaint its tint
my cape firm to levitate mankind
still I fade here without even an anthem
no more am I than one unsung hero
those urchins left to craft his own halo

no-name | jonnyworks gallery

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as we looked on, there;
across the tempered glass,
eyes became still stage.
you could see an act in my eyes
an art of my own imagination;

that our lips could make wildness act shy
and our bare bodies
could gift lasting warmth to harmattan.
in my play you were the only note
until your danfo zoomed off.

brief meeting | jonnyworks gallery

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like the cavemen, carve with stone
on that rocky wall of a tunnel of your storm
an insignia, a compass, just in case you make it not alive,
so that a young warrior, centuries after,
may not lose next step and begin to ask
where in history he lost the battle
before even knowing the enemy

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some spend for arabian oil scent
others dare to seek in wide dry places
for some flakes of ice in arabian deserts
but greatest treasure hides in heart
and a heart of hand that gifts lavender
retains the fragrance of royal flower

i know neither the fragrance of love
nor clue on how rare it is found
but when a mother chooses for us
to expend her box of gold for our course
i seek no more to know scents of love
for it bears fragrance like mum's

scent of love | jonnyworks gallery

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sorrow said it saw itself across his face,
yet, not a drop of tear was traced
as his hardship squeezed rock for spring.
firm he stood even with his wings clipped,
beside a shallow grave of all his dreams.

last words, it said, lingered across his lips.
sun stood in a distance, shadowing his grief.
and across the grave his silhouette faded,
for his future must lay still buried
that his siblings' may yet thrive.

sacrifice | jonnyworks gallery

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some spend for arabian oil scent
others dare to seek in wide dry places
for some flakes of ice in arabian deserts
but greatest treasure hides in hearts
and a heart of hand that gifts lavender
retains the fragrance of ethereal flower

i know neither the fragrance of love
nor clue on how rare it is found
but when a mother chooses for us
to expend her box of gold for our course
i seek no more to know scents of love
for it bears fragrance like mum's

scent of love | jonnyworks gallery

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