Tag: poetry
5+2 efforts
Religion has been nothing but a complex language,
A puzzle that never gets solved,
In the folds of my grey matter,
A mosaic with lots of mystery pieces,
A mortar of rules
There’s nothing my brain detests more
Than figures that never add up,
Or records of extraordinary events,
That stare nature in the eye and disobey her
Yet I find myself in their midst
All I know is we sniffed your mist,
The broken, sick and lost,
All we want is to get fixed,
And from the smell of what I’ve heard,
I knew you would quench,
The desert of a thirst we had
I had a hunch about our lunch
The idea of you feeding us,
These swam of crowd
But not with the 5 loaves and 2 fishes
Mother wrapped in case I grew hungry
You reminded me of math class
Another world of confusion I melt into,
But right there in my very presence
You made integration simple
5+2 equaled 5000 and 12
That day, I went home
With waves wrapped around my hairs,
All He needs is my little to make big
All He needs is my life to make it worth it
Olaoye Adeleye
(C) 2017
GENERATIONS
I have really wise friends
I have really smart friends
And then I have these other friends. These ones I don’t know how to classify them.
For when you hear their thought process, you will wonder if this part of the body called a brain is vestigial in some animals.
When they utter words, you automatically want an occupation with hammers for every thing they say make you want to break their head.
But then I got to thinking;
6 years,
10 years;
200 years from now and these same ‘not so senseless’, poor in making decisions, and utterly tiring friends of mine would be known as ‘the ancestors’
A status men will begin to idolize.
I see us use a whole lot of our mind’s compartment to believe things that were told to us by people who couldn’t figure out simple things, I mean, some of the very learned of them actually argued that the earth was flat, like a table.
Hollup!
I am not even talking about the unlearned ones from your villages that birthed those you now call grandpa. Just imagine it.
They told you to pour drinks on the floor for the ancestors and you agree, well it’s *Omenala, so it can’t be broken.
They said a woman should be shorn when her husband dies and well, who are we to not obey the voices of ignorance passed down to us?
We carry knowledge like tentacles on a snail’s head but still slip back into the cave of ignorance we use to shell whatever good we can make of life, just because we have been told to ‘stand on the wisdom of the elders’,
Now guess who said that? ‘THE ELDERS’
I feel this is rigged.
Then our faith, love, strength, and even humanity is subject to a broken past called tradition,
Something that might have been suggested by a ‘not so smart’ old man who was only opportune to live before us.
So I take a stand today.
I will relate with the rules of the ancestors like they were still alive now
I will weigh their wisdom based on how wise it is, NOW!
I will not waste my time in their myth, only to satisfy their dead bones long gone with the sands of time.
I will make decisions now and then advice younger generations to learn from my words, but before I go from this earth;
I will let them know I wasn’t the wisest
I wasn’t the smartest
I was as man as man can be
And most of all;
As they grow, and find better ways to do what I said couldn’t be done,
They shouldn’t be afraid to discard my letters and fly the plane of their imaginations to outer space and back.
For no matter how sacred we decide to treat the scrolls of heroes past,
And bend always to their judgments on matters, using them as the ultimate yardstick to measure life.
I dare say that many of them were also as confused as we are at some points of important decisions,
And to crown it all, some chose wrongly.
Which only goes to say that we with them were all normal humans.
And if I won’t let another man dictate what I do and decide I run my life, I’m including the great ancestors too.
*Omenala is the Igbo(Nigerian Language) word that means tradition
MISS FORTUNE
This is a story about a girl in her twenties and a guy in his twenties; late.
They went
On a date when every other person walked into the mall hands in hands and shoulders;
That’s today.
Their fates already sealed by the late mr Kori and little Miss Kate.
So I know, and you know that he would be leaving this evening with a no,
And she would have dodged another bullet of a man sent to rent what’s left of the tattered clothing of her shadowed past,
Park into her heart with no rent.
Brothers and sisters, you relate with this right?
How often do we already decide what he intends, from the last person we met who was from the same tribe?
Has the same look, with a similar beard, same complexion, from the same country;
How we now act like everyone with the same ‘dark’ name plays the same bad game has left me wondering;
If this field will ever be fair.
I mean, long before I came along your path someone, somewhere already did my name a smear, so all I do with whatever I do, or do not, would be to remind you of him, how awful?
And when you can’t seem to box me you still find a box to box me, your low blow finds a way to make ‘all men, all women, the same’
Dear dearie;
Just because we all carry the Y chromosome doesn’t make us the same with your EX, the same way your X doesn’t make you miss Kate,
Our meeting was not a mistake.
I am not Mr. Kori.
I wouldn’t choose quick seconds over the trust you give;
I wouldn’t love you and leave;
Or maybe I would, but please
Let me not pay for what he did.
And don’t let him pay for what I did,
And if you can do this for me, I promise to hold up my own end of this bargain, and not think you only came for the money,
not let you pay for all she did.
No I’m not saying ‘snap out of it’, I know you still hurt, you are human so you should feel;
but let’s consciously drink from these bars tendered to heal;
And in a short while from now,
A little walk from this bar; we would have drunk to fill.
For only then would we walk into the mall, hands in hand,
And maybe, I would be fortunate enough to get a ‘Yes’ by the end of the night, this time from the real you, on this date, the day we finally let go.
Let’s face it,
Nobody is really real with all the weight;
So we can lose the hate, and plan to love again, today.
I = LIFE
It came in a flash like some Allen knew exactly what was on my mind.
In the midst of 2 strangers in a BRT bus, one looked like another normal guy, and the other like a boss.
*Lagos my location, but I had thoughts in heaven.
So I felt heaven on earth, well that’s what you get for being in Him.
Have you ever wondered how lovely it would be to spend a whole day without bad mouthing anything, anywhere or even anyone?
Like No…
Bastard; playfully said
or
Fool; with a lovely pat on the head
No…
‘You will never amount to anything’ from a mother to a child and perhaps;
No pastor would lead a congregation of well meaning followers to a battle ground that makes a post of ‘deaths to whoever’ and then tag God in prayers like he was a supporting cast in this horror movie on a steady loop in their mind.
But they don’t see it,
We don’t see it,
I mean how black can a heart get before truth can no longer wash it?
I wish we can all set a day apart;
A day when we will all agree to rather trade punches than hurt with our words
A day when we will be focused enough to not let any slippery dark word go unapologized.
A day when we stop using these black knights to bat men, but rather;
Step into the light and use white to bathe them.
A day, when we master love
Then We try a week,
Then a month;
And soon it becomes abnormal and weigh a thousand tons on our lips whenever we try to muster the courage to plant a word that will grow into a scary tree from these our mustard seeds.
So I decide daily, surely, purposely;
I choose to believe differently
To fight differently
To speak differently
See differently
And actually stop playing the devil’s hate game with him.
Since we are buddies, let me play a little with God;
For I am in Him
And He is in me
Heaven in *Lagos;
LIFE!
I will be that one drop of oil that will float above stormy waters.
I will fight alongside anyone I can, till my heart goes silent with its beats.
It’s who I am, it’s what I give,
LIFE!
*Lagos is a major city in Nigeria.
Love Would

Love would bring you before a garden
Fill your nostrils with scents of wild flowers,
Knock out your reasoning…
Then put you in prison.
Love would make you see tomorrow,
Blindfold you against today,
And the little dry leaves you place before fire
Get you animated
Then disgrace you as an animal before people you never met.
Love will be your solace,
When the whole race crown you a sinner,
Deprives you the freedom to love,
Yet claim they belong to the kingdom of love
UNMASKED by Kingsley Ohakwe
He feeds strength to my vigourating weakness
And light to my luminating darkness
Feeds my worry filled organs with humour
Shielded in his grace, he is my unseen armour
Defiled laws to keep me undefiled
Defined laws which were undefined
Brings the gold out of this dust, to no longer keep me unrefined.
Fed salvation unclad
The road to my mansion is untarred
Though the devil seems undeterred
The flames in hell do not retard
Mountains wax down in his presence
The whole living still can’t comprehend his ominipresence
Sole being in history that has the remote to the future and present
Souls living in misery, he took out of dark corners where the smell is loud and pungent;
With evil as its paints
Placing them on a cloud of scent
Sing with the crowd of saints.
He kept my fears under my pillow, thats why they are suffocated before I wake
The earth may quake
But the hymen of his word knows no break
A life staked for billions sake
A stripe healed more than a billion mistake
Into skin, himself he baked
Our sins he raked, caked and devoured
Beside the Almighty in heaven, was his to take.
