Do you still consider me Your child?
Do you still love me?
Do you still have a place?
Even in this sin city I call my heart,
With all these shortcomings of mine?

My question is?
Do all murderers have a place in your house?
Can I stab you in the heart,
Nail you to the cross,And turn my deaf hears to your world,
And still go to heaven?

I remember the first I saw you,My eyes were the colours of the sky, You took my life and gave it a new breath, And from the mouth of that very moment, Nothing else mattered, only you, Nothing was ever the same,

Until a bug flew past my eyes, Until I got stung by the swam of distractions, Then lost I, the view of you, The once crystal view became nothing but a jagged reflection, What was left of our broken love, Fell in the little Bird’s feather, And flew away, Nothing seemed to work, And progress seemed like a distant walk,

Then you took me through your words,
Gave me a silent kiss on the cheek,
Assured my ever pendulum-like heart,
That if I could trust the words write,
On the tablet of my heart,
I would be wanted for Murder,
The first degree murder of my flesh,

Olaoye Adeleye

(c) 2018

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