Hour of Death by Olajide Teniola

        PREACHER MAN  


Bring in the sheaves

As the wind blows the rusty leaves

The master calls in grief

Saying, life is so brief

Listen to the voice in the desert

Hearken to this message, so exact

He is cloth in noth but tatters

Gong held by the wrist

His voice abroad he scatters

Swaying along with the winds down the street

You care not for what he utters

Knowing that the fire on thy altar

Is extinguished!

And your soul in reprimanded anguish

“Make straight the crooked ways

Part ways with unbelief and sail

Away from the coast of Sodom

And Gomorrah, if you want of joyous kingdom”

His words stung deeper than bee

Words so true that sets free

He is a preacher! Words slayer

But you want none, certified Sinner!


Who shall I say I serve?
When my lips are swift lies to kiss
And in discord, I am so well pleased
My feet tread on evil’s path
Leading throng of army in alleys’ dark
My hands are as crimson, dipped in blood of innocents
Shed in the abattoir of holiness
Who shall I say I serve?
A blood-sucking god
Or a flesh, devouring dog?

Who shall I say I serve?
When my throat thirsts for painful tears
And my soul revels in others’ fears
My bosom offers poisoned solace
Thwarting many a person’s destiny, a living hade
Ills planted by the river of my soul
Thriving in hatred, seedling many foes
Who shall I say I serve?
A kind wicked god
Or an adorably hateful dog?

Who shall I say I serve?
When my deeds are as dark as night
Clinging on the cross yet denying the light
Not blind but going the way of the lost
Possessing eternal love yet lusting after lust
Drunk on living waters, yet swimming in river of death
Saved at no cost yet strangling the life of my “rebirth”
Who shall I say I serve?
A strong weak god
Or a mute barking dog?

Who shall I say I serve?
When the crumbs from my golden table is not fit
For the crippled beggars’ stomach to sit
The widow’s window is my orifice to drop a lump
Not of some sum but hormonal discharge in her oily sump
Greasing the palms of government officials
Discriminating after the order of facials and racial(s)
Who shall I say I serve?
A naively wise god
Or a craftily foolish dog?

Who, I ask, shall I say I serve?
When I apologize today and sin tomorrow
And in iniquitous matrices, I draw one more column and one more row
For a pittance I sell my flight to a perilous pit
Only again to seek for me a heavenly throne to sit
Has my soul suddenly gone crazy?
Has my vista become so blurred that with open eyes, lucid equals hazy?
Who shall I say I serve?
A sinful holy god
Or a sanely deranged dog?

Who shall I say I serve?
When the multitude I feed with truthful thwarted falsehood
Saying the way of eternal is not narrow and rough but wide and smooth
Believe me when I say I am of royal priesthood
But judge me not when from the riches of the poor and weak I loot
Singing Hallelujah and Hosanna, yet lusting after the female choristers
Only to recite covertly for forgiveness a thousand novenas
Who shall I say I serve?
A loving but uncomely saintly god
Or a demurely dressed naked dog?

Who shall I say I serve?
This being, my whole deserves?
Is my life not a perversed?


Dimming eye-sight, the day is about to die

Color rays that made a beautiful world,

Lose their appeal like a peeling scale of a fish

The tongue swallowing lost and un-birthed words

For it was the hour of death





At the hour of death,

Life comes visiting with throng of my deeds

Piled and arranged, stacked like a rock on a pedestal

Deeds from the day I took my first breath

Crying in shrilling voice, protesting leaving the womb-ly oasis

Deeds of wrong and right in no particular order

Forty-five minutes to the hour of death,

I was shown the ways I did lead

Ways of the lost and the passionate ways of lovers

Path filled with hatred, swords, pains and constant fear

Path of truth seekers whose emblem is everlasting peace

Giving to the poor while denying being my brother’s keeper

Half down to the hour of death,

Cold sweat across my brow form unattached beads

Am I not too young to die at a hundred and over?

Just some more years to do more good on earth

For on the scale of good and bad, I know not where my deeds sit

In reclusive grip I bowed, these thoughts to ponder

Quarter-hour to the moment of death,

A light shone on me at my right, I beheld to see

Angel of life stood to take me home if I emerged a winner

By the left, waiting for the hour of judgment, stood angel from hell

If I win at the throne of judgment, to live in eternal bliss

And if not, to dwell with the demons and their master-Lucifer

Five minutes to the hour of death,

Uncertainty of the unknown caused my pen to bleed

Penning to the ones whose hour of death is sooner or later

To embrace life with love, sharing blessings in oneness

Not to tread the way of unjust, but follow the path of peace in unity

For my hour of death is here and it will determines my eternal


April 9, 2015.


Olajide Teniola is a young poet that is based in Lagos. He is currently serving in Benue State. His poems have been published on different platforms online and in print. He is a preacher of the gospel via his poetry.


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