THE BLEEDING ANTHOLOGY 18
The chores of the day is set ready.
The mouth steals the day prattling,
the strength of street handy lady.
Resides where the tongue is mighty
surrounded like Mississippi,
To flow down tales from genesis till eternity.
O ye talking tom
This isn’t the legacy of thy mom
Your father admonishes a lot
That the repercussions could be worse
You better change your ways
Before your mouth put you in an iron cage
the king and queen parrot pay to her homage
I wonder what become of her at old age
she never stop even while facing strife
giving out in word, her marriage her life
she forgot she’s a mirror to her little daughter
raising strange fire on her altar
A loquacious talker,
No full stop with foolish talks
Like parrot babbling,
When she is little.
Her mouth chatter like a chatterbox,
All mouth keep silent at your present
For you keep offloading all without sense
And you dress up like a real Saint
But your gossiping attitude is a real shame
You, now, information minister
Pastor talk must minister
True or false, must say
Is it the right way?
Not again, people believe not your fallacy
Even your truth they find hard to agree
here I am preparing for an examination
*like a sudden rain she entered alongside distraction
*she talks a million mile an hour
*never weary nor tired even with throat sour
*she is an embodiment of gist
*ironically praised in her friends admits
Uninvited Tombo fly
Like drunk I feel so high
I say all under the sky
All story wrap in my palm
Knowing things from Adam
Where you there all alarm
Moving around every town like press man
Information carrier, I’m sorry for your man
Lokoja, kaduna, Lagos, is your mouth a ball?
They say your real name is sister amebo
You’re an embodiment of gists
The real and the twist
Spreading it from west to east
I’m here to tell your story
You beget fame on folly
And you claimed to be holy
Ask wise men one secret to success
They wilt say learn more, speak less.
Like a forming cloud, learn the essence,
For it gathers nothing but rains.
Nothing pays like mum chance
in the zone of confusion and chaos
Thou loquacious talker,
Thy tongue is mightier
Because it might be the slayer,
Stop prattling like a parrot
It might put thou in trouble
Hold it tight.
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