morning

Morning, it’s a new day;
Tis what the dawn gives way to’
With wings flapping,
Pride cloaks the cock.
A new verse and a new song,
Magnificently, proclaiming Morning’s presence.

Morning, there’s never a better time;
For Hope to smile,
Yawns subside and limbs stretched.
Optimism and strength are recovered,
Dreams rekindled,
A new will unearthed.

Morning, tis when God is petitioned most;
Praises and requests rise up to heaven,
New thoughts and strategies.
A novel comradeship emerges,
Stuck between eagerness and assurance,
Whiles possibilities beckons.

Morning, sometimes I hate you.
Again, I can’t do this any longer;
Same stuff, faces, chores and events.
What says thou?
Will today be different? I wish.
Good or bad, I go forth this morning

Good Morning, we chant;
A clean sheet, a fresh smell,
What will we do with it?
The minutes, coiled in seconds,
Turns the clock and waits for no man,
Soon, it will be Afternoon.

religion is sick

O Religion, you are very sick!
Filled to the brim with deceit and greed.
You lend yourself, the umbilical cord,
For the poor, the frustrated and the ailing.
Aren’t we all under the weather?

An invisible entrepreneur, you are;
In the howling storm, you offer relief,
Intangible products, displayed on your shelves,
At prices that leaves our pockets empty,
And yours full, it’s your little secret.

You are in bed with politicians!
The very virus causing our ailment?
Irony is a shaggy dog story,
No wonder, your profits are not taxed.
A charity? The richest industry, I say.

You make more money in a day,
Then weekly transactions on the stock market.
Through sermonization of prosperity;
Your congregation question not your objectives,
For fear of offending God.

You shout your goodness from the roof tops;
Materialism and consumerism has replaced your love,
Respect amongst men do you seek and ask for.
Compassion has lost its place in your heart,
Dining and wining amidst the suffering of the feeble?

The old way of worship is no longer fitting,
Tis the season when we enjoy the fruits;
Of our fathers’ labour, your homily delivered.
Give, believe and you will receive;
Truth twisted to outfit a selfish generation.

O Religion! A miracle we implore for thee;
You no longer trod the long narrow road,
Because you are so fat, partially blind and lame.
Your celebrity status is costumed by arrogance,
You have found solace on earth.

O Religion, in your affliction, you forgot;
The very canon you have preached for centuries,
Tis miracles you demand from Onyankopon-
How sick you are, testing the Lord God?
Implore His mercy, and turn away from your sins.