Monday, November 19, 2018
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MAD VICTIM

Once upon a time,
A visitor at daytime
Came to steal a stone of lime.

He was caught in the act,
The stone of lime was still intact,
Then they all started to react.

They held him tightly at his bones
So he wouldn’t escape without groans.
Then came sticks, bottles and stones.

The visitor got beatings on his bum
Till he forgot where he came from
And started with an unknown sum.

Then they realized he was a mad man;
One locked up in an empty dark can
And separated from his own clan.

Every man felt sorry for him
After crucifying him to their brim.
A madman who became a victim.


Written by Jacob Temidayo
https://mayorjake.wordpress.com


 

EXCUSE EXCUSES

“All of you, come in.” Old Kunle said slowly on his deathbed.
All his children and grandchildren came into the room.
They were 12 in numbers.
It was easier to gather them because they were all living in a two-bedroom flat.

“I used my life the wrong way a man would ever will.” He started slowly.
“But Grandpa, you told us you tried your best and this was your best?” 10-year old Femi spoke.

“Well, maybe. But I should have taken risks. If I had…”
“But Grandpa, you told us that most of those risks weren’t right and besides, people did it 20 years before you and they didn’t succeed?” 14 year old Shola spoke this time.

“I could have turned out better than this. I could have made…”
“Dad, didn’t you say one time that you could have been better but your father was at fault because he left no land nor money?” His last child frowned.

“Now that I look at it, opportunities abound, opportunities in my environment that I could have taken.., you see…”
“Wait a minute, I thought you said we wouldn’t have been this poor if you grew up in a place like Lekki or Victoria Island?” Dolu couldn’t understand what his father was trying to say.

Nobody did.
Old Kunle looked at all his children and wept. He had been feeding them with excuses all his life. They were all now like him, giving excuses for all their woes and failures.

Old Kunle died with a last statement,
“Please, don’t live like me. I could have succeeded, if I didn’t look for excuses instead.”

Instead of looking for excuses why you won’t do something, save your generation the trouble by getting up on your feet to work. Your time is now.

More from the Writer: THE STORMWIND


Written by Okunsanya Abiola
okunsanyaabiola@gmail.com


 

SWEET POISON

Never heard of a sweet poison
Until you came along
You beckoned to me for a drink
And I find myself leaning in.

I know I should be allergic
As you’ve always been toxic
But still, I thirst for a sip
Like it’s an antibiotic.

I get drawn closer everyday
And I wonder if this pull is magnetic
Because this is all so surreal
How I never miss the thrill.

That comes with your presence
And the loneliness
That accompanies your absence
Should death be so alluring?

I ask myself over and over again
Because I want a taste
And whatever comes next
I’m ready to embrace.


Written by Iyiola Oluwabunmi
bunmigrace41@gmail.com


 

BENEATH HER

I saw the future beneath your today,
The one that holds the girdle of joy.
I saw the hidden pleasures beneath her pain,
The pleasure that will last longer than her pain.

Beneath her childish and ceaseless clung,
I saw a mother in her, I saw a home in her arms.
Under the hidden flames of her wayward soul,
I saw undying love and hope from her armed sole.

Beneath her flaws comes this perfection,
The masked one you call beauty hidden from you.
I saw something that is better than perfection,
That thing one hidden in the cave of her smile.
I will scribe with my blood on her wall.
Something deeper than word.

Beneath her shadow, I saw my bride,
Her silent lips said I do to the questions of my heart.
Beneath her beautifully I took a dive;
Too deep that I am not coming back alive.

More from the Writer: AJAN KOLO KOLO


Written by Oyawale Olabode
olatomibhone@gmail.com


 

THE TRIALS OF THE MIND

No matter how hard we try to create the life we want
No matter how fast we are to speak when needed
No matter how swift to listen we are when attending to trivial issues
One day we’ll close our eyes to death and remember them no more.

No matter the fancy clothes we try to buy
No matter the extent we try to impress those who look at us
No matter how silent we were not to get heated-up in arguments
One day we’ll close our eyes to death and those moments will matter no more.

No matter how many days we fast and pray just to make ends meet
No matter even if we didn’t give to the poor when we were supposed to
No matter whether we judged first before asking or otherwise
One day our eyes will be shut to the close hands of death.

Hate all you can, love all you can, cry all you want
Pursue all you desire, give up on life’s challenges,
Give back to the world everything you have,
One day those you think you never thought of losing will close their eyes in death.

Live the life that you think is better for you, I wouldn’t say you should be jealous or not, receive or not, lie or not. Ask Solomon; everything in life is vanity. Just become that person you always dream of because one day, the world will lose you to the close hands of death which no one can escape from.

More from the Writer: FORFEIT


About Ajayi Olubiyi

A writer with over 250 written articles published worldwide. A social media manager and Engineer. A person of impact. Read more


 

 

THE STORMWIND

Let every eyes be open
To see their own ‘man-sion’.
Let every pebble be taken
Out of our daily affliction.
Let them see with their own eyes,
The humble tears behind our cries.

Let every mind be spoken
And left without abstraction.
Let promises be unbroken
And carved sincerely into action.
Let them know with their minds,
The pricelessness of our kinds.

Let every hand touch
The broken bones in us.
Let them harm us much
And give us hurts in surplus.
Let them feel with their hands,
The patience behind our stands.

Let every nose perceive
The odour of innocent blood.
Let their lands receive
The visitation of a fat flood.
Let them smell with their noses,
The sourness of our pretty roses.

Let every ear hear
The sounds of weeping.
Let the strands of their hair
Be gathered for sweepings.
Let them listen with their ears,
The constant cries of 100 years.

Let every mouth speak
Of the hunger and thirst they caused.
Let vast famine bespeak
The words by which they’ve been cursed.
Let them tell with their mouths,
The storm they created in the South’s.

More from the Writer: WE WERE THE ONES WHO SHOT THE GUNS


Written by Jacob Temidayo
https://mayorjake.wordpress.com


 

LOVE, YOU LOOK YOUNG AGAIN

Love not a bit with mere words
Like a warrior fighting with plastic swords.
For love is an application of action
Yielding to a new heap of satisfaction.

Father taught me how to last longer in suffering.
He taught me how to give patience as an offering.
He never allowed me to know an envious emotion
Just as he taught me how to have full comparison.

In my presence, he has never flew off the handle
Like the way the fire doesn’t just fly off the candle.
To my mother, he didn’t at all let his love deflate,
Neither did he allow his pride as a father inflate.

He is never thoughtless towards my mother.
His carefulness has never made her bother.
He has always been a fan of her silly decisions
So as to avoid several unnecessary divisions.

He has never used words as harsh as the sun
Nor as brutal as an accident on mother and I as fun.
A night, mother insulted him, he hugged her to sleep.
He was strong enough, he didn’t want her to weep.

He did his best to hit the hammer on the nail;
Taught me words so that I’d never have to fail.
His little but mighty words taught me to believe
That even with the little I have, I can achieve.

He was the man. How much a great vantage!
Yet, he didn’t manipulate issues to his own advantage.
The night before he left, we ate under the rain
And he said to mother, “love, you look young again”


Written by Jacob Temidayo
https://mayorjake.wordpress.com


 

ANARCHY

If the rains fell with no caution,
Earth would have witnessed
Floods of destruction.
If the sun never cease to shine,
The greens will only last a while.

When the wind hijacks a sailing ship,
The captain’s voyage is thrown in turmoil.
With the rule of law dead and buried,
Heads shall turn to wheels and roll.

Then, the snake would
Decide not to eat fresh eggs,
It’d opt for cash meal instead.
The monkey would leave
Baskets of fruits
To cart away bags of lucre.

The thieves would need no mask,
They would dress in suits and ties,
Confidently showing their faces on the television,
While they keep looting the wealth of the nation.

Our road shall be built with bullet and canisters,
And covered with the fluid from the vein,
While some effortlessly labour with pain,
Some will painlessly loot their gains.

Young leaves shall leave their branches.
Flowers shall be plucked before they bloom.
This is the effect of kakistocracy;
Living and wallowing in the ruins of anarchy.

More from the Writer: CONJUGAL BLISS


Written by Olanrewaju Trimiziu
lanrewajuayinde@gmail.com


 

ÀJÀN KÓLO KÒLO

Àsàké the radiant maiden of Ayédáadé,
The daughter of Àshàbí Onílèkè,
The one that is gifted in the craft of beadings,
Ìyàwó Àdìó the wealthy cocoa farmer,
Àdìó Òkolà, the man whom tribal mark fits.

Àsàké will grow up tomorrow, yesterday said
Yesterday didn’t lie about Àsàké, she has grown today.
Even the whole bachelors in Ayédáadé can testify
That Àsàké the daughter of Àshàbí is a goddess.
Her beauty will drive you insane if you’re not careful
Dauda ómó bàbá èlému ni ówo-òpe told Àkànmù.

Àdérèmì ómó obà, the heir apparent to the throne,
ómó Àdèwàlé, the one that brought the crown home,
Àjòké is the mother, the queen with the magic look,
No wonder Àdèwàlé couldn’t marry a second wife,
Àjòké is a watered beauty in wet pasture.

Àdérèmì will pick the next queen during òduń Ígbàdún,
All the maidens in Ayédáadé will assemble at ojude oba
Where they will dance till the prince chooses who to
Dance with and finally gift the golden bracelet,
The spirit of the gods shall be ahead of you.

Àsàké ti se irun, Àjàn kólo kòlo lo sin sori,
The beads on her waist wiggle to the gangan,
Aderemi is already enchanted in her beauty,
He gave the bracelet to her while other maiden watch,
Àsàké ti di Àyá obà lòlà.

The crowd sang as the couple receives the royal blessing.
 

Asake: A name given to Female
Aderemi: A name given to a male in Yoruba
Adewale: A name given to male in Yoruba
Ayedaade: A local government in Osun state (Nigeria)
Odun igbadun: Enjoyment festival
Aya oba lola: The wife to the next king
Ashabi onileke: A bead maker

More from the Writer: BEFORE YOU CONTEMPLATE ON THAT CREATIVITY SUICIDE


Written by Oyawale Olabode
olatomibhone@gmail.com


 

THRILLED

I woke up that Sunday morning craving for my parents like chocolate. I stayed with my aunt and her boyfriend while my parents resided in California.
After washing my aunt’s many dirty clothes for about an hour, I picked up her black Infinix phone from the living room’s center table and dialed my mum’s number. I pulled a chair in the dining room closer and sat down. She picked my call at the first ring and said, “Hello Feyikemi, bawo ni (how’re you)?”

I told her I was the one phoning her and not my aunt. I answered her question on how Nigeria was faring. I was so thrilled to hear her voice, it was like listening to a new song by my favorite music artiste, Travis Greene, until she said, “You know, I can’t even recognize your voice over the phone. I doubt your dad and I would be able to recognize you when we come to Nigeria. That’s if we would ever come back.”

She broke my heart the more when she added, “How old are you now? I don’t know your age.”
Then it struck me. My mother didn’t know my age.
“Can I call you back please?” She said hurriedly and ended the call without waiting for my consent.

Not long after, she put a call through to me and spoke immediately. “I heard you won the Bible quiz in church last week. Your aunty told me you won a Mathematics competition two months ago. We are so proud of you.”
I sighed and mumbled a ‘thank you.’ I won that Bible quiz two years ago not last week and I had won the Mathematics competition last year not two months ago.

She continued. “I was told you were made a prefect. But how come? I haven’t seen your last examination results.”
I told her that I had sent photocopies of my results to her and dad. I sent it three months ago.
She was quiet for a moment and then apologized as the photocopies had been lying on the dining table without being read. She and dad thought it was one of the many letters of me missing them.

I was shocked and hurt by this but asked to speak with dad all the same. Dad replied my greetings curtly. He was always as cold as the weather. I told him I had started menstruating, a stupid thing for me to have said. He told me he would send some money to my aunt’s boyfriend so he could buy me sanitary towels. A silly thing for him to have also said.

I regretted calling them at that moment. I was about to mention a major issue disturbing me which was the most important thing I wanted to discuss with them when mum told me she and dad were to have brunch with some friends and so they had to go.

I was so down in my spirit. If only my parents knew that Aunty Kemi was an irredeemable drunkard. If only they knew that I hadn’t been made a prefect because I had many holes in my school uniform and shoes. If only they knew that I hadn’t gone to church for the past six weeks.

Aunty Kemi’s boyfriend might rape me again today. He did that every Sunday. It was irrefutable.
I felt so thrilled to call them today but now, all I feel is cold hatred for the parents who conceived me.
I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst tonight… RAPE.

More from the Writer: A MOTHER’S LOVE


Written by Agbonde Mojoyinoluwa
mojoyinsep@gmail.com


 

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