Christmas in Chibok

No melodious drumbeats
No stomps of dancing feet,
All day as dry as bone, in bitter pain and agony,
Unclad trees by harmattan breeze
The maidens of the town are missing

Christmas in Chibok,
No Halima to cook the rice,
Chibok is a ghost town,
The hens stroll around
No rice grains to grind

Christmas in Chibok
No red roses
Grief is black
The mothers mourn their maidens

Bathsheba

The harmatan breeze blew,
the night went cold and dry,
Her thoughts ruled the consciousness of my being.

Suddenly I heard footsteps,

Her presence baked my heart
like oven-fresh Agege bread.
sagaciously she struts,
like a hen in a rooster house,
straight, blank she stood like a palm tree.

On her glossy chest,
pointed her silky breast,
divinely positioned like the stars of heaven.
Alluring was her perfume
like the witch-hazel
in the garden of Eden,

I began to writhe
like a dog on heat,
I held her svelte body,
buried my tongue in the juices of her mouth.

My snake awoke,
head-butted my boxer shorts like a plough horse,
eager to cultivate a farmland.
Delved into her farmland, combed through,
wee-wee in it, died.

She grabbed it,
gave it life with her mouth,
again it came alive
like the rod of Moses in the Jewish Torah.

Parted her red sea,
swam until the sea went dry,
came out alive
and nodded like the Agama lizard.

About Onyibe Oliver

Oliver Onyibe is a/an |Clerisy| |Social Engineer| |Lover| |Eclecticist| 

Find him on twitter @osawaruonyibe