In This Dream.

Last night I had a dream;

I’m inside this vacuum,
It’s so dark,
And I can’t breathe,
I try to cry for help,
But my tears get stuck in my lacrimal,
My voice struggles with my larynx.

I hear your voice calling to me,
But I can’t answer you,
I’m trapped here,
In this dream,
In this vacuum,

I can feel this darkness sucking up my emotions,
The ones I have held on to for too long,
The ones I wouldn’t let go,
The hurt I couldn’t remember to forget,

I try to cry again,
To relive my heart of this pain,
But the choking blinds me,
Now all I have is this darkness,
And the fear it brings with it…


In This State.


A little piece of you dies,
And you scream,

Not for help,
Because it was you,
Who also ignored the tears,
Of those who were once friends,

You scream,
Out of pain,
The pain of death,
As its toxic smell engulf your being,

You scream,
Not for anyone to hear,
But for yourself,

You scream,
For a second chance,
For life,
For hope – even though you never believed in it,

You scream,
Out of helplessness,
As clarity goes berserk and the uncertainty you once held dissolves into an ocean of fear,

You scream,
As Hades sucks in what’s left of your breath,
And all you have left is vacuum…


The pen calls to me ,
In a still little voice like she always does,
I hear her voice and I hesitate,
I’m not sure if she meant to call me,
Maybe it was a mistake,
Maybe she meant someone else,
Surely not me,
I have erred her,
I don’t deserve forgiveness.

Thousand of times she has called,
In the still little voice,
And thousand of times I have ignored her,
Thousand of times she has whispered,
The same whispers that turned ink to gold,
And yet I ignored,
I could hear her whimpers,
Her tears of rejection,
Hands stretched forth with none to hold,
Love given out with none to receive.

The pen calls to me again,
Voice not still as before,
Voice not so quiet,
And I have no courage left to answer,
I’m far too gone,
I don’t deserve this forgiveness.

Writer’s Block.

My muse is gone from me again,
She was true to her word,
She left after plundering my mind,
In the dark of the night.

I put my pen to paper,
The words taunt me,
They sing a song that evokes nostalgia;
‘Boju boju oo’
‘Oloro n bo ‘

My literal soul goes into a fit of entropy,
Why have the words betrayed me?
Have I not been faithful?
Haven’t I heeded all her calls?

I put my pen to paper again,
I see them,
The shadow of the words I seek,
I move closer stretching forth my arms,
Embracing emptiness.

My muse is gone from me again,
She was true to her words,
She left after plundering my mind,
In the dark of the night.

[ Dedicated to Egbewole Oluwadamilola]

Miasma II

When you look into the mirror,
And that stranger you thought you left behind stares back,
How you felt naked in his gaze,
How you felt shame despite the haze.

They told you he was gone,
That he is now a fragment in the past,
They said old things have passed away,
And everything is anew.

But here he was,
Back in the shadows again,
Maybe they lied,
Maybe he never went away.

He probably got tired of the denials,
Of masked smiles and hidden tears,
How you called him a stranger even when you were the visitor,
How you only let him through when no one was there to see.

They called him a demon,
And said he had to go,
How you casted and binded,
How you prayed and fasted.

Those chants that wove a web of delusion around your mind,
The bells that rang deep into your consciousness,
The torture you endured so that he could leave,
The pains you bore to aid his pursuit.

Now he is back in the shadows again,
With him the memories you thought were forgotten,
The hysterical laughters,
Taunts through the nights to come.

The hiatus is over and the search for solace begins again,
A little respite for the pain,
A river of pleasure to numb the mind’s ache,
Before reality’s heavy whip comes biting again.

(Inspired by @DrealGenie ‘s Poem titled ‘Miasma’

For Crayfish

A tiny spike has made my throat its home,
The journey we envisaged,
It wasn’t smooth,
It had met a dead end,
A broken bridge,
A ridge riddled with thorns,
Gall bladder dipped in honey.

As I stood by in anguish,
Savouring each lingering taste fast fleeting,
My lacrimal burst forth its bank,
And a narrow river of warm brine trickled downhill ,


The walls around me are crumbling,

The fig they told me was life,
It wasn’t really a tree,
It was simply a conglomeration of wool,
Fastened in deceit,
Camouflaged with leaves,
Rooted in lies.

This new fruit,
The one I had tasted yesternight,
Has left a strange taste on my bud,
The scales have fallen,
And the unfamiliar shards have pierced through my soles,
Straight into my soul.

I have fallen,
Fallen from the fig that wasn’t a tree,
And now I’m left to drift,
In this vast ocean of doubts,
A wandering spirit seeking a home.

Kokoro Ife (Love Bug)


Shall I begin to sing?
A song for all seasons,

Will you drink from the well of passion?
Springing from this heart,
Lest it swells and bursts its banks,
And I become like a diamond,
Lying bare on a dung hill,

Oh maiden!
Will you hearken your ears?
To this intricate melody?
Woven from purest of desires,
Give ear I pray thee,
And take note of the most beautiful of arts,
Springing right from the core,
Of this love-struck soul,

I will lay this age-long weight off my chest,
And drown the anchor,
Holding this heart down,
In the dark abyss of coyness,

I’m drowning,
Slowly in this sea you have built round me,
Your charm has cast me far,
Far into the depths of the sea,
But I will not budge,

I won’t stop loving you,
Not now,
Not yet,
For this desire for you has become like a bug,
Eating deep into my soul,
Spreading like metastasis,

I should be scared,
It is a worm after all,
But I’m not,
The thought of you had ridden me of my senses,
Ridden me of fear,
Of everything else but you,

It is not logical I know,
I can’t explain it,
I can’t help it.

At the hands of this feeling I’m helpless,
Like a drowning man holding on to straws,
I’d rather drown then,
In this sea,
Let the aura of your charms escort me into the world beyond,
In the nice little world I have created in my head,
Of you and me,
Into a pool of eternal bliss.

(Inspired by Gabriel Afolayan’s ‘Kokoro Ife’ )

Tears for supper

Fate has dealt a blow,
a blow to crush souls,
souls of men,
men of the world.

The morning is here,
the laughter isn’t,
the soldier ants have entered the pot,
and the soup is gone.

At the edge of glory he said,
we are not at the edge anymore,
this is the brink of disaster,
the morgue is full and the streets are filled.

They say ignorance is a disease,
but this isn’t,
this is war,
a disaster.

At the table we sit,
with wails for dessert,
staring, watching, hoping,
must we look on as we eat tears for supper?


The dark clouds are here again,
but I smell no rain,
life’s wind blows harder against my chest,
wandering thoughts devoid of rest,

A single star in the dark,
the only stock in the rack,
alone in the midst of friends,
tumbling in a tunnel without an end,

It’s dark and all I see is my light,
ghosts of the past hover round; threatening to blow it out of sight,
the world sees this smile but who hears my cry?
who draws near when the cold is nigh?

The dark clouds are here again,
and i’m still alone; alone in the rain,
the only star in sight,
the only bird in flight.

If only

If there was a word in the world,
To describe the pain in this heart,
A malignant tumour of the soul,

If there was a play in this plane,
Or a drama maybe,
To mimic the hurt searing
through this mind,

If only there was a fluid,
Strong enough to quench this thirst,
An oasis in the desert?
Water drop from Abraham?
Or maybe if I became a mirror,
And you could see through this body,
Then you would behold this sore you cursed to be
On cupid’s scarred heart,

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.


I hear the peals again,
The monotones of the gypsies,
It calls,
On the street,
In my ears, it echoes,
Louder, into my labyrinth.

Still I sleep,
Slipping into familiar grounds of delusion,
Mist blurred,
I am a mirror,
I am their mirror,
Their faces stare into mine,
As clear as the blood diamonds,
They cry,
Lift these heavy hands,
Why cry?
I am here,
I scream in horror,
They can’t hear,
Are they deaf?
I scream louder,
Mother! I’m here,
Don’t cry,
My screams die in my chest.

The mist gets clearer,
This is not delusion,
I am floating,
I see me in the mirror now,
A brown statue,

I hear the peals again,
Its all in my head,
A cold sensation?
A dog’ nose?

Eyes opened back to reality,
I just survived the antarctic,
And I just died.

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

White Masquerades

Brown earth, red ropes,
Rolling tongues, white robes,
Heavenly voices,
Hands joined, chants, cries,

**Ara orun ti t’ajo de

No sticks, no canes,
No palmleaves,
No masks,
This is not an *Egungun,
Then astonishment.

**Ara orun ti t’ajo de

Maybe its a rite,
Aimed at making things right,
Or a ploy,
To manipulate our minds,
Cowering in awe of their diviness.

**Ara orun ti t’ajo de

The masquerades have come,
The masquerades have gone,
Were they really masquerades?
Celestial bodies in human flesh, bells, dances,
Then more confusion.

***Ara orun ti t’ajo de nitoto.

* – A masquerade.
** – The ancestral being has returned.
*** -The ancestral being has certainly returned.

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

Mother Earth

Dear mother,

In supplications we kneel,
In unification we plead,

These bloodshot eyes do not speak of weed,
These tatters signify not insanity,

The pains of the past,
Promises unfulfilled,

Tears from our eyes,
Forming into sea,

Blood from our hearts,
Spilled on the fields,

Exhausted and unyielding,
These nerves will not be broken,

Rejected and forsaken,
Our souls remain unshaken,

Battered and bruised,
On this winds we shall still cruise,

Dear mother,

Have our tears not watered your gardens?
Our whimpers the lullaby for your workmen,

You looked on,
Mere mortals trapped in the shadows,

Palmoil and eggs at your table,
White doves for dessert,

We came bearing gifts,
in exchange for freedom we toiled,

Its aroma filling our nostrils,
Our buds crave for it,

Dear mother,

On these hills were your children slayed,
In its crevices did their bloods stray,

Yet you deny us,
Aren’t we but children of the soil?

Hawk filled skies darkens the sun,
Won’t you protect what is yours?

To My Songstress

Out of the cacophony buzzing through this mind,
Noise filled ears,
Feet tapping to lullaby,

Out of this happy madness that surrounds me,
I have found solace,
In that tiny heartbeat,

Your songs keep playing in my head,
I am enchanted,
My songstress,

The world is invisible to me,
Oblivion entraps me,
I am lost, and lost I’d rather be,

Aren’t you but part of me?
Aren’t you mine, the core of this soul?
Aren’t your cries like music to me?

You are the first of the tripod,
The adventurer,
My first daughter…

Day 5 #TheLoveChallenge with Oluafolabi

Read and Enjoy 🙂

struggling bookworm

Oluafolabi is a gifted writer. He’s also a wonderful friend. Sometimes he blesses my Twitter Timeline with his poetry and I always feel that a mere retweet and like are inadequate to show just how much I love his writing. His Twitter handle is @Oluafolabi.



there are nights

like this one

when I pick up my pen

stare hard and long into these walls

the silent spectators of our battles

and I try to rewrite our story.

I try to paint a picture

where you didn’t have to leave

where I didn’t have to cry

where this heart didn’t have to die.

But these walls

won’t let me grieve

they offer no inspiration,

they won’t let me paint new words

over our story

they tease me with silhouettes of you

deep into the night

depriving me of sleep

of dreams.


these walls,

they curse me…

View original post 31 more words

The Road.

I don’t know where the road is taking me.

I move a little distance,
The mist blurs the rest.

I take each step,
Not knowing if it’s the last.
Not knowing what’s left.
Not knowing what’s right.

This road is not mine.
The journey is all I have.


A Love Poem.


I try to quantify continuum.
To see if these tingles beneath my skin,

Can be described adequately with words.

To see if I could make you understand,

That there is a butterfly in my abdomen,

That doesn’t flutter,

Until it hears your voice.
To see if I could understand myself,

Why this asymptomatic heart

Suddenly runs into tachycardia

When I hear you laugh.

So tonight,

Like in Ankyloglossia,

I try to mumble words,

Hoping you find meaning in them,

Hoping you find the ladder

In the midst of this chaos.


I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Strong. Anymore.

You break me up a little inside,
And when I think there is nothing left to be broken,
You break me up even further. 

You cause me pain,
So much that pain doesn’t feel like pain anymore,
It feels now like breathing,
Like eating,
Like thinking.

Each time you hurt me,
I try to rediscover myself,
Thinking next time would be different,
But you don’t see me like that,
You don’t see my heart,
You don’t look as deeply as I want you to,
You think I don’t try hard enough,
So you hurt me again. 

I have lost and found myself so many times,
So much that I’m not sure anymore,
If the person I am right now, 
Is who I thought I changed into,
Or just an illusion,
An illusion of change,
An illusion of strength.

I am not as strong as you think I am,
I don’t even want to be strong anymore, 
Because it hurts even more to pretend,
To pretend to feel no pain,
To pretend that this all I am.

I don’t want to be strong anymore. 
Not for this pain.



This is a poem I wrote as a guest on a friend’s blog for a while now. I have been meaning to publish it on this blog but I have both been very busy and lazy at the same time. I hope you enjoy it. N.B; Happy New Year in advance. -Oluafolabi


I dug a grave,
The soil was moist,
Just after the sky has finished crying,
She must be mourning again,
Was it a son this time?
Or a daughter?
I’m not sure,
But the sky was in tears,
And I dug a grave, while she cried.

Then they came,
Many of them,
To look at the grave I had dug,
I see the look on their faces,
I can’t read their thoughts,
But their faces had spoken the words their mouths murmured,
It is pity,
No! not pity,
It is a look of disgust,
Or maybe a blend of both.

They see me beside the grave I had dug,
Smiling and talking to myself,
About the loss of the sky,
Why she shouldn’t cry more lest she drown us all in her tears,
I look at them and I pity them too,
They don’t understand,
That I dug the grave to appease the sky,
A little grave to bury her dead.
They whispered and spoke in little voices,
‘He has lost it again’
‘The gods must have taken his mind from him’
‘Ikunle Abiyamo ooo’

I look at them and I laugh at their ignorance,
A loud hysterical laugh,
I see a woman in tears,
I wonder why,
She is rolling in the mud,
Swearing at unseen forces,
‘The gods have taken my son away from me’
‘They have taken his mind hostage’
‘Egbami ooo’

Who is she?
Why cry when I just saved the world?
Why cry when the sky is to be appeased?
I look at her again,
I look at them,
Then I ran,
Away from their ignorance,
Away from the disgust,
Away from the disgust and pity,
The holy book was right,
A prophet has no honour in his hometown,
The sky poured again,
And I ran and ran.


* Ikunle Abiyamo* – Yoruba exclamation for ‘It is on bent knees I gave birth’ .

*Egbami ooo* – Yoruba exclamation for ‘Please save me’