I have heard many talk about you,
In different shades of tales,
Some say you are a beast,
That sinks their Titanic of a muse,
Into the great ocean of doubt,
“Ajayi” said you are the desert fire,
That turned his once river of words,
Into a dry and barren desert,

Until now, you were just a whisper
Of someone’s imagination to me,
Moulded into bits and forms,
Brought to life through the valley of his mouth,
Until you crept through the window in my ears,
Blocking my writing fluidity,
Drying up my poetic prowess faster,
Than a woman hitting menopause,

Now, I set my gaze upon the stars,
Like they said you would when in my dry spell,
Hoping that there would be an inspirational discharge,
To leak from the folds of the grey matter in my brain,
And I must admit that you are the worst thing,
That ever came in contact with my poetry.

Olaoye Adeleye
(c) 2018