BIAFRA

I ate Biafra, the zealot

fruit, come, to spirits, when

the umunna tarries the half sun

Biafra, a flying hut

neighbours with a parliament

at Uli's marketplace

TO BE YOUR LAST FIRST KISS

After bouts of shredding barks
When in sorrow's shackles tears flow
And in darkness' height depression looms
I want to be your last first kiss

When sad tales flourish untold
How they all came and left
Each with a splinter to the shatter
I want to be your last first kiss

In the days of depression
When the next day is a miracle
And strength to live through lacks
I want to be your last first kiss

Though they blow up my chance
And fear of another breakup overthrows
Making persistence hard to believe
I want to be your last first kiss

Though naivety and sobriety be lost
Countless times a chance afresh
Yet a familiar victim of heartbreaks
I want to be your last first kiss