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Even if I bow

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Title: Even if I bow Author: John King Ayanfe © Even if I Bow. Perhaps, later nor Now. As these tribulations rages; allying Trepidations. They're hymns of my persecutions For selfsame Job's (modern) Mysteries. Found myself I in my Days. Hope broken with psychological Devastation. I've been a wanderer treading in illusion Even if I'd bowed, Mr. Hardscrabble. Childhood negligence, struggles, survival, Lover's betrayals. Sunk spirituality - sorrowful existence Bitter life. Oh! Pains tick in the clock And, O' if I bow Bleeding. Let faith and spunk dance for Joy. Victory is mine! I fight to conquer At last. This warrior atop all brokenness bravely stand Happily I shall Bow. In thanksgiving, to paint my Mysteries. My weary soul shall dance in the singing of Victory. Bowing to life in life after death
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Ode to Sarah Baartman

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Genre: Poesy Title: Ode to Sarah Baartman (Hottentot Venus) Author: John King Ayanfe © My quill shall craft, my feather shall eternally portrait Men have forgetten what i repaint from yesterdays Oh Baartman, you were made of figure of speech Of an African decent - of an African accent You were an epitome of a mysterious wonder Your backside was a sitter for Kilimanjaro Your exotic psyche triggered lustful libodo I remember you! I sighted you in Khosa, Southern Africa Oh England, you casted an African daughter for her endowment Thy men cheered watching her butts roll like jimbe They gawk at her; oh faint inhuman skit You coaxed a princess and turned her a toy Oh Baartman, your voice echoes perpetual sexual assaults  Out of thy will; they - they fed thee fried locust How long shall man's gifts be his peril Syphilis, your extermination was premature, yet late salvation Paris, thou dissected the body of an abused soul Sarah, though it took so long to honour thy body Yet the...
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Storms within my soul

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Genre: Poetry Title: Storms Within My Spirit Author: John King Ayanfe © In today, i go back to yesterdays That yesterdays whence my lips kiss mics Truly, my fingers cause drums rumblings A charger to the lips which pray A voice which pierce the hearts for repentance One occupied with the activities in heaven Now a prodigal son without repentance Far from the gathering wherein salvation dances Dancing to the beats of life's challenges After chief hosts of altars spelt wrongly Converting celestial activities to financial enterprises Thwarting dreamers' dreams, salvation and elevation Preachers of salvation, yet givers of shackles Preachers of salvation, they yet need salvation Lovers of money and women; demonic preachers They murdered my spunk - they buried my drive Our leader has solo in worship and prayers Son of Spirit still connected; aroused by THE WORD For me is a battle of spirit and flesh Oh wretched flesh with a willing spirit Who wil fathom the storms within...
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