God is calling you, you said you're defecating;
I pity the vulcanizer struggling to be club organizer
Hmmm... to God be the glory
This tram is moving the fate way
No wonder I'm Chukwudi
(There-is-god or God-dey)
When dug out of mother's belly
Like a breathing tuber of yam
Mother was glad with fun
Cuddling me... so handsomely
Instead of them to bring me
Gold, silver and frankincense
They condemned my mommy
"Are you glad?" they said to her"
What nonsense?" they asked her
"Did you born Jesus Christ?"
Look at me now preaching
Preaching the gospel of poetic living
Residing in permanent peaceful valor
Though I'm devoted to sinning
Still they call me pastor! pastor!!
Every nook and cranny I step in
Pastor of poetic religion
Whatever flows in naturally
Is worth believing
Tortured to fatigue and complaining
Is complaining of always wearing shoes
Is complaining of having no clog-shoe
Can a soldier march with rubber slippers?
Can a diver swim with Timberland boots?
Whatever we are
Is what we should be at the moment
Whether celebrity or bedroom king
God is the author of everything
I do poetry not because I'm a clown
This is fate written down.
Samuel C. Enunwa aka samueldpoetry
(the Leo with wings flying)