Sitting here and waiting fast,
Hoping I’m forgotten last,
When is it I wrote last?
Shoulders like a Glo mast.
When I was a member people washed me like a body,
Now there are fine-artists, making up the way to make it.
But what is it I’m trying to make?
From which dream am I to wake?
What I wanted now is mine,
Yet I just redrew each line.
We are the smiles that were aimed to please you;
The sentences colored with ‘Sirs’ and ‘Please’ too.
Appropriation will still be the M.O.
But speed is not key, we win in slow-mo.
No hidden agendas, no need for speed sir;
Words are my ammo, my pen’s a healer.
It seems to me that Narcissus is back;
We all need to cash that reality check.
Someday we’ll all lick truth sundaes.
We’ll be real all the time, not some days.
I’ll be your growth, my art your laughter,
Love, Joy and Peace in the Sunday after.
Steady steady my heart, when I’m ready I start;
Stains hidden by light, the Word still is my might.
Floating above the norm, a star above the storm,
My eyes on who is in me, my ears on where I’m from.
Fathers will be fathers, their ignorance doesn’t diminish them.
The trick is to see their offices, we each all have a problem.
Growth should be the mission, everybody listen.
This is not by power, fear is still the prison.
We all fall down, pride grabs the steering;
We misplace identities, princes in the waste bin.
I am being made perfect, though not me alone,
Obligation is a rung on the ladder of adoption.
There’s still a hierarchy although we all are one oh,
Now there are stones where there once was bread though,
Their words were once enough, we all were well bred though.
So when they tell my story, I’ll win with more than ‘1-0’
Someday we’ll be examples, the future study our ways
We’ll be real all the time, not just on some days.
I’ll be your growth, my art your laughter,
Love, Joy and Peace in the Sunday after.
By Daniel Achikanu, 2017.
Christ a poet 