Category : Poems
Sub Category : N/A
Yeah Femi,
I've your lights still blinking on my Radar,
I classified it as:
An IFO:
Identiable Flying Object,
A few days after I first spotted it;
And your light is blinking,
And your bird is bleeping on my screens,
Radiating out on my Radar,
And I am thinking,
What is it about this aircraft,
It sticks out,
And I'm studying it closely,
And I'm looking at it hard,
And I conclude it isn't an AWAK,
Or an enemy aircraft that is in to take out,
Or straight out,
I'll have scrambled up,
Some F 15's,
To confront you,
Femi,
And zapped you out of my bloody airspace,
And have you raining down,
In a ball of fire smoke and ashes,
Now I see you on my Radar,
Seeking a clearing to come down,
Now I am talking you down in a moment,
Femi:
To put down on my Runway,
And taxi home,
I am sometimes the only one in the Control Tower,
But I can talk you down all the same,
And get you putting your bird here,
In one piece anyways,
Trust me,
You won't be snapping ur collar bone,
Or ripping a shoulder blade,
In the touchdown,
Mine is an Airfield,
Close to a Battlefield you're approaching,
The Runway has been straight and narrow for some time now,
But I have built another,
Which is as open as the Sky,
But it is as yet a vision,
And remains on the drawing-board,
In my mind,
Now,
Don't expect a tarmaced Runway,
Or a smooth touch-down and taxying,
If you decide to to touch down anyways,
The Runway here is rough and bumpy,
Like some old track to a country in the backwoods,
And it's maimed with scars of past battles,
And covered with pockmarks of wounds from airstrikes,
And the hits from the rockets and cluster bombs,
And missiles that come home every so often,
Have left a few craters on It,
Am still on the Battle lines,
Mind you,
Femi,
My House is set on the Battlefronts,
And the battle here never peters away,
But I suppose one like you,
Femi,
Are acquainted with the Battlelines,
And time in the field;
I take it,
U've seen a lot of Fire on the Fronts,
In ur lifetime;
At any rate,
I must warn you,
The life here is more than just treading on thin ice,
It's like getting along on a field seeded with mines,
And having no Mine-Sniffing Dogs,
Or Eqipments of Mine Detecting Radars,
Having ur back,
But I have negotiated the life here,
Quite extraordinarily,
So far,
I have gone through Fields unscathed,
Not a shred of hair,
Or a fibre of flesh,
Has been taken down so far,
And I must warn u,
Femi,
The times here is like nothing on Earth,
It's like living out on the face of the moon,
Unlike those on the Earth,
Here,
We have no Sky for a Cover,
From the Caprice of the Temper of Heaven,
And on Earth they have the Tree to Shade,
Fom the heat of the Sun,
But here,
There is hardly any protective cover,
No,
There is no Sky above our heads here,
No Atmosphere to Shelter from the Firepower coming from Above,
And Asteroids that are always directed home,
Often you will have taken a moment of peace off,
The hard life on the Lines,
Getting a refreshing nap,
When you'll flutter out of sleep,
From a piercing Whistle of a Motar Shell that almost struck home,
And take this from a seasoned soldier,
Femi,
The deafening and maddening detonation of a loose cannon,
Can put you off for days,
Sometimes it is the Swishing of a Barrage of Rockets from some faceless enemy,
Bombarding close to home,
That gets the Bunker,
And rocks,
And stirs out of the peace in the depths,
Until the shock waves settle,
But,
Femi,
I'm thinking,
A battle-hardened homey like u,
Will be at home here,
This gaunt and hostile environment,
In which I function,
And I have a will,
And hell,
It is as tough as old boots,
And nails,
And steel,
And sure as hell,
It has always got me to my destination,
And I have a heart,
Warm,
Like a cup of green tea,
Working on the nerves at night,
Mellow,
Like yellow mangoes,
Stimulating the palate,
And a mind with a cutting-edge of diamonds,
And my firearm,
My side arm is always home in its holster,
My sword is always sheathed away in its scabbard,
Cultivated of good manners,
I have hardly ever any need or reason to use hardware,
Unless it is really necessary,
I know the Sky intimately well,
I am not one who underestimates Its Power,
It is always Glowering at me,
And It is always Blue,
And Seething with Rage towards me,
And sending out Whispering Winds around me,
And making Storms over my head,
It is the Sky that has pitted my life on the Battle Lines,
And this last thing,
Here,
Some of the ballistics that come home,
Are lunged from the Hands of the Great Diaus Peter Himself,
The Day,
Dei,
Yamu,
Yam,
(N)Yam(e),
HimSelf,
But I am,
Like Ali,
In the Ring,
I know when to sting,
And when to fly,
And when to duck from the slugs,
I have learned to hung on the ropes,
And swing around on the ropes,
Avoiding the jabs and hooks that are put out,
I have learnt in life,
To roll with the punches as they come,
All the time,
Minding my footworks,
That my movements hold traction with the ground or canvas,
I am keeping my eyes peeled for my opening,
In the moment of truth,
At the crux,
In a flash
My shot flies out,
My Upper Cut getting the Jaws,
And hitting the Mastoid in the process,
Knocking out the Currents in the Vagus,
Infarcting the Heart and the Lungs,
Cutting off the Stream of Blood in the Jugular and the Carotids,
A Streak of Lightning,
Striking the Bull's Eye,
A Gabboon Viper,
Taking down the Target,
And I will have a devastating knockout in the contest,
Oh I will have devastating knockout in the dispute.
Fritz Ampon.(C).