PENMIND t&lBy Olaniyi Abdulwaheed Penmind

Every land with living soul has a lord, the one that refuses to have one cannot escape the bite of law; but when call for redress, there is fiery tale of tussles.


Tenant; you that hawk earth around the street of your head

Calling yourself the owner of land-

That belongs not to you

Mere landlord,

You’ve gathered the streams of our wealth

In the corner of your pouch

Drinking wine from the gourd of our sweat,

With sweat from our chest

You irrigate panic in our heart

To reap the fruit of your wealth

And clear your throat with penny

Of our hand


Landlord; I never blame you

For you know not history of my wealth

I am the lord of your life

Every wheel of beings tag with my nail

You live in naked life

But I clothed you with roof of my wealth

A page of your life equals not

Single sheet of my magnanimity,

I carry the myth of your burden

In bowl of my heart,

Every moment

But whose being you are?


Tenant; which roof you have

Thatch one,

The roof smelling to the nose of the sky

While in our room

Every visitor of rain host our clothe

Sun’s rays knock our skulls

Under the basket of your hut

That you called house

Which make you grow mountain to heaven

In your shoulder

Landlord;   you forget your lineage, wretchedness

I gather you from the corners of the world

For you to wear the cap of my riches

Home is not my problem

But homeless is your barrier

I trip you along my wealth

For you not to craw in you despair

Calling you to eat

But you stab the finger that feed you

I know the number of sand that make

A morsel of one block

While you are in the womb of homeless

I travel across the heaven to find

One, laid for your cheeks on to rest

With my generosity

Tenant; what generosity you have?

The one that have died when you were

Embryo in the egg of life

Let alone your eyes know the color

Of ink used to write lines of charity

You hike price of each room

And hang it in the ear of cloud

To show the world your ugly sympathy

And named yourself lord,


I have my Lord

Lord and heavenly father

Created you from the soil of your brick

And for He shall

Planted you


On that day

When you rode horse in its horn

Landlord; that’s never strange to me

When poor one like you become poorer everyday

The first day I open calabash of your belly,

All I met was thorns, howling fangs

Dredging eyes to swallow my head

But a knock from heaven

Escaped me from your temper

Tenant; ohun oju n wa loju n ri

What make you cross the bridge of your brow

To pluck fruit above the bank of your eyes

What you see is the fruit of your searched root

Landlord; if you care not, so full

Your fore head shall turn my napkin

To dab my mouth

Clean dirt across the channel of my lips

Tenant;   O yes

You reprobate, insolent one and impudent

Turned our eyes to road

And flock your cars at the eyrie

Of our eyes.

There is another land

Lord sir.

About the author


Bada Yusuf Amoo is the publisher of thespeakingheart.com. He started the website in 2015, he has published both his works and other budding writers and poets on the website. He is a public commentators and his articles are on different websites.