IN SEARCH OF GOD: Poem and Discussion

Oduor Oduku

In Search of God

I went to church in search of God

And sat peacefully among the pious faithful,

The priest in black gowns read the Mass,

We celebrated the Eucharist,

And felt warm with the blood of Christ.

Later in the inner sanctums of the holiest,

We drank more wine and discussed good and evil,

And danced merrily with nuns and altar boys.

Heading home, leaves of noise flew in the morning sun

And the crusade jammed to the hilt was hilarious,

The ‘word’ was shouted hoarse and dry

Till the pages from which they were read

Became blurry from drops of spittle,

And words of God were mixed with words of men,

And hurled at the pandemonium in the name of salvation.

Later we attended ballets with the Pastor,

Talked about the new sisters in the congregation

And later danced our heart out at the local hangout.


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Your Eminence.

At times we get so engrossed with personal and worldly issues and end up letting go of the ultimate promise! It’s common knowledge that most of the clergy seem to live a life of greed, deceit and blatant hypocrisy. They who teach on the aspects of love and sharing are actually very mean…

Your Eminence.

Your clerical collar won’t sanctify thy
From the darkening of thy being
Oh, you thief
You hapless insolent
Masquerading as the holier white
Strip down your cloudy wears
Those that you drag along
They burden thy soul in taints
And the acolytes
Your body oozes have poisoned them

Offer me a ride your eminence
Don’t zoom. Past me in a Porsche I
I’ll spray my dust on your seats
Then offer me a penny
I might hop into a bus to my abode
An act I’d rather abhor from
I might end up missing a bite

I noticed our exiginous tithes are quite a gem
Your kids  are enrolled into aced schools
Being dropped by our chauffeurs
How comes they so short of manners?
Mine, even after the government’s
Are in the streets selling nuts
My daughter’s afraid to continue
In this quest for knowledge
She’s ashamed of her patched dress

I’m in consternation to visit your abode
Pull down that ‘fierce dog’ post at your gate
Your mansion’s the recent allure to thugs
That I know
Your dog incommoded my wife
The one I’m in thralldom with
Under vows you stamped to

Reveal that ogre eye
Hidden within the confines of your mitre
An eye that has left me doleful
Showing your countenance to that
which He condemns
Dripping saliva swallowed
Relishing for those subtle thighs
Of the new sheep you confessed

Is your life what He taught?

Your last summon was captivating
‘Go against the church: face His
Is the church us?
Enlighten me on true religion

You’re a cracked pot
All your potsherds scattered
It’s time you fetch your own water
For a decorous remould
Simple and elegant in His ways
Devoid of pomp and circuses-
That’s His temple

©Rodgers Ogada, 2013.

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My Sanctuary.

From my daily endeavours, it’s always a matter of absolute exhaustion and my tired self only has to resort to coiling itself in a duvet and submit to Thanatos’ exemplification of death. My mind takes a roam through life’s intrigues and fantasies.

My Sanctuary.

Deep after dusks’ advent I lie
Drowning in my new found abyss
Sinking into the depths of my dark
As I lay dead my wearied being
As my spirit I appease
My candles I light so my dreams

My sanctuary of neutrality
Filled with picturesques of ceasefires
Rivals communing in earnest bravado
Voices echoing in their peanisms
Shaking hands in visions of accords
All in cachinations of conjoined merry
Blindly a reunion of fantasies.

My magnificent sanctuary tramples
Frivolously over undying egos
Boisterous knights slain by slumber
Humbled and without might
Albeit while the darkness reigns.

Blazing embers at dawn
Swallow whole my beloved
Spitting her into another sphere
I’ll most assuredly await her
That which gives dreams to the
And solitude-
Linking both divides of mortality.

©Rodgers Ogada, 2013.

Mr Officer.

They should put a notice along Parliament Road stating, ‘ WENYE NCHI ONLY, NO CIVILIANS ALLOWED.’ This poem is in solidarity with fellow poets who were arrested and manhandles by the officers guarding the National Assembly building!


That day I wanted to sing with a
melody so sensational
Of your progress, reform and
avalanche of diligence
You gave me no reason to
All I met were a recurrence of
seasons of yore
Handcuffs and clubs
My wrists and joints all itchy
Ruin and mystery your trademark
Our reverberating lips of treasure you
won’t browbeat
Save your threats for an assemblage
of thieves
Cold cells won’t clog our skulls
Nor our metaphorical spines be

The Supreme provides it freely
Or you think we’re too insolent for
your checks
All bragging rights are ours
Make merry and emancipate the
My camera isn’t for your dusty
Your at liberty to erase his captions
Your highly exalted ‘dead of state’
But spare my photos
Of me frolicking at the tenderness of
my fairest
Whose heart’s warmth, I’m afraid,
might render you jobless
And save your drawers for burglars

You stand warned!
You’ve awoken my exhortation of your
It wasn’t to be this nigh
Gladly give in to my whipping
My goad strike a recipe for pruritus
Running through and walking on your
Paint you serene with my quill of
Roar with wisdom on your your
doorstep s
Jump-start you back into tranquility
Streamlining your next move into one
with decorum

©Rodgers Ogada, 2013.


This Dumpsite


Down where we trash the produce of our crude ventures

the bloodied soulful miniatures

bringing forth mothers too vulnerable

raped without dire need for ransom

to be haunted by ghosts of his pleasures

the moans that sired his ecstasy

pains that were his usual treasures

she pondered if she’ll ever show mercy.


On my back I carry my sack

filled with no shreds of luck

with vehemence I whirl my trash

to put to end their constant lash

of the dreams with no fruition

cooked in pots with emblems of soot

hinged on stones cracking from intense heat

This dump is their fort

those who don’t fork from a pot

scavenging even before the break of light

just to give the teeth a bite

hoping to bump into a crumb

for the stomach is in a numb

by the time it’ll be bright

they have an inedible buffet.


This is our dump site

a massive concoction of fate’s fickleness

of hearts too broken to feel

of wounds too lacerated to heal

of bananas too sweet to be left with a peel

of infants unaware of their fore bearers

just to grow up to follow their flag bearers

of souls whose books are filled with blankness

hoping for ink to blacken their whites.

Rodgers Ogada,2013. All rights reserved.