I hate women
Because they are women
They are good looking more than we men
They lured us then in the Eden

They have the minds, they are hidden
And their behinds mesmerise we men
And make we men long for their hymen
And create world war between we men
Foolish women; wise men, we men
So wise our brain we give women
The things we buy we give women
The bulk the dime we give women
The bunch of time we give women
We give our best we give semen
And wish to die for the women

And crave to marry the women

To give the dowry to the women
So why won’t I hate women
When everything sweet is for women
And everything sour is for women
The diamond rings are for women
The dozen gifts are for women
The mentral pains are for women
The labour pains are for women
The menopains are for women
The love for kids are for women
The love for kins are for women
The wars from in-laws are for women
And the broken homes are for women
Abandoned wards are for women
The special wards are for women
The love for God is for women
Not to mention their love for we men
So if truly I hate women
I must be mad to hate women
Or an animan amidst we men
For without women __________________
(a) There can’t be men
(b) There can’t be death
(c) There can’t be development
(d) There can’t be predicament
(e) None of the above.
 Please, choose the appropriate option and fill in the gap
Samuel C. Enunwa   Aug. 23, 2012.


”He who has a second chance should endeavour to use it right.” _ Samuel C. Enunwa, a nigerian poet. http://twitter.com/samueldpoetryMy street was deaf and dumb
For pretty and handsome phantoms
To play lovingly through the hum
-Ble watching moon in boredom
The vigilant bingos and hunting toms
And squatting ducks in docking form
To many mommy mouse picking crumbs
No noise not even an atom
Except the flapping ears like drum
Of goats in their sleeping uniform
While chewing their own chewing gum
For alone in my room I sip my rum
Since the stipulated time has come
”I won’t make heaven” was the lone assump
-Tion in my guilty cerebrum
While waiting Mr. Death to come
Suddenly God spoke through the storm
Of my blowing ceiling fan hum
And called me ”Sam! Sam!! Sam!!!
You’re pardoned, my son, stop sipping rum!
For thy notable death shall come!
In the year 2084 minimum!”
Samuel C. Enunwa Aug. 18, 2012.