I bet you didn’t think
I would know.
It wasn’t difficult
To figure out.
All the clues
Were there.
You don’t cover
Your tracks very well.
I liked the way you
Looked me straight
In the eye
And lied about it.
It shows me
What you’re really like.
I guess I knew
Deep down inside
But pretended
I didn’t.
My throwaway
delinquent
pack of lies
go over, fly over
birds’ wings in a soulless
search,
into sudden dreams.
There’s a crack in every lie that lets the light in
that illuminates the lie so it all just crumbles
all you need is to find the cracks
then there’s no more pretending
deluded euphoria is fun no more
politics will no longer be inscrutable
no falling for liars and their deceits.
Why poetry they ask
I will tell you
poetry shrouds
all those lies
hidden in miniscule
moments of truth.
I look at you palely, perhaps amused.
Is this you?
I see you’ve got a new coat
Not the very one you brought, years ago
When you converted Timi
and your brother Edisemi
turning a house against itself
Afterwards, you offered a meal porridge
it was a political scheme therein
the earlier sentiments stepped in
and you also – you claimed you could assist.
my brothers were too demented,
rash and barbaric,
archaic and old testamented.
you could help rebrand them – so you claimed.
It was all your scheme
I’m seated here, along my corridor
I look at you from this pigeon-hole
It’s obvious you’ve come again
In your eyes, I’m an aggrieved melancholy,
a derailed feminist
wallowing in unguided philosophies
a mind as demented
as a tattered ghetto kite,
a parachute on an okada.
You consider me an untutored pianist
but here you are – obviously you’ve come again
to listen to my rhythm
You’ve come again
to tell us more religious tales
of how Abel killed Cane.
You’ve come again in your might
to feed us more lies
of love and marriage,
how it would be vain
if none mingles with your kind
The creativity of a good lie
Has the shapely legs
Of a dancer that go on forever
A gratifying leap
Into unknown territory
A contortionist
As it stretches and frames
A story in a double jointed
kind of way
Spinning half truths into
Full blown lies
It can juxtapose
Any position turning
Inside out
Causing confusion
Make no mistake
A good lie is
Is a world traveler
Changing its map
As it weaves in and out
Of tight corners
Responding quickly
To dangerous terrains
In its willingness to risk
Writing its way out of jail
I looked at my watch
I’m late again
My liar opened the door
With a smile and said
Honey I’m home
Up they climb
with scaly arms
finding purchase
in the upper boughs
with flicking tongues
and tempting lies.