(1)
Is it not a great night to write?
What beats our lovely imagination
When stars fall with colors bright
Or as a ninja-faced Soy bean sprout?
(2)
The nights are like firecrackers
Blossoming into beautiful stars
When they hit the soft sky
Shedding light shots of hues
They remind a tired shepherd
Of the days walk with the sheep
And when the cold night comes
Before he sets his head upon a pillow
He shoves some words on paper
Making poetry of his wandering
Counting green trees he passed by
The mistletoes, the Teak and the Sycamore
The little mysteries of the woods and her lores
And when he does lay to a quiet sleep
Letting his mouth be on a Coconut sip
Smiling to the dreams which he held back
As all grow dim and the night become dark
Oke Iroegbu's Musings 