THE BEAUTIFUL ONES Roused in the heart of night I sit and stare Boiling in the rhythm of thought On this road, Life lost, Life saved, Beauty flies by and by Pain flies by and by Hope dashed against stones Story meshed upon stories Beforehand, They pop up like a RAVEN That fed Elijah meat and bread. Feeding the myriad of people with wad Under the gaze of sun, The throngs aligned on a longish axis As if money is doled out To assuage the flared-up sac There, mopping their perspiring brows Some pressed in bladder, Some pressed in the sac To give ears to the callings Of the hawkers spicy, relished rice When the day piggyback its tasty honey, They fed fat till they ran out of money The world is there at their feet Yet, they are sit-tight patriot. Skinny beggars of dough Lackey to their school-pundit, Judas Iscariot Those who paced them, On the golden throne-seat Are now confined to a wheelchair Waiting, on and on Dancing SHOKI Painting the street light for gyration The crabby cries "Where are the beautiful ones? Are they yet to be fructified? Are they still nipping at their Mother’s nourishing coconut buttermilk? Or probably still contemplating On their caravan to the world?' Oh yes! The beautiful ones are here Who play sweet smart in politics? Who put on the diamond-morning, Silver sun-smile? Who paint the sky green and white Like the Nigeria’s flag? Who do not give arms to the rustling wind? He is, Who surrender to the fear of his Maker © Martins Tomisin 2016