My Poetry Diary

At the patriarchate side I woo; The cemetery in silence and at lone; Where the European ancestors lay in frozen wool; As they mellow darkly in their medieval bone; Long gone lost are their sonorous cord; Whisper of sounds only comes from shattering jaws; From their sockets they stared at an African god; Me’ an erstwhile slave at their door; Only here to have a chat; With the masters we served in temperate blood; My slave master that fettered mother to iron cart; I ruffled their soil now as an African god, Bring now out thy smoking whip of teeth, Those with blades that ate so deep; It drips even to thy bottomless pit, And this will haunt them as they sleep. But to the spirits that once walked with love, To them I will play my poetry song; As they make stories at their gravely doors, Still, their beings bow to an African God; Their internment gowns askew on holy bricks, On their beds, their bones quake at its legendary; With incense and beads, I bid a requ...

In my silence a soul traverse; In a cavern at manna la rossa; The gods and deities on its walls converse; I saw Tallinn ancestors and medieval la rossa; An African Manhood on its wall it glares; So dark and thick like the one I bear; O’ black and sumptuous; my companion stares; Adam and Eve stood bare chested in pair; From vana-viru a goddess walks; Her body moves with the seas and the snow, Like the waves of the Jägala waterfall ; A beau with the sun thou wantonly glow; I have seen her before in seasons past; Wildest of shape and beastly heart; Our countenance has never for once a minute last; Thrice I asked for a memory pact; O’ my chronicle of Lady Anca; A beauty I behold from afar; An affection mixed with anger; A rare time traveler I refer ... Thy shadow trails the snowy wild; Like a doe shadows her feeble fawn; Thy footprint rides the tempest tides; For seasons, am thy greatest fan. In this historical apothecary I quaver; From thy mysterious gleami...

On the eastern shore I perceive the Baltic wind, Elevated with thy touch, thou made my earthly body skinned; Beneath the snow, thy shoals and reefs beckons,  Thou a pure magic my soul wantonly reckons; Wantonly I traverse thine sea on thy butterfly wings; From Saaremaa to Hiiumaa thy magical wand swings; The herring, sprat, cod and flounder wanders in thy shallow; Pure magic thou art in this snowy hallow; On kalamaja’s coast, the fauna sings; The flora blossoms as the butterfly swings; Pure magic thou art, on the fairy anni’s wand; On thy pure spell, thine beauty with an African god wantonly bond; There I was at the sea only few can see, Surrounded by mists and frosty me; At each shutter, a kindhearted made me beamed, On this pure magic the nature humbly streamed. (“At the sea only few can see” … while Kai Kuusik-Greenbaum; a very kindhearted and heart warming woman; took me around Tallinn in Estonia to visit some amazing places; then she took a photo of ...

Play it back, show me those moments lost; Not of the darkest losses or those scornful years; In this silent yard where some fleshes has been to dust; Some alive has gone buried in fear ; Life is to live, only for a brief;  Wantonly full for those liberal with wit, Dust thou art, when thou returnest don’t grief, Hence a sunset at the wooden box in the pit; Many times in slumber, asleep like a lost soul, But thou In eternal slumber, six feet away in the unfathomable realm; Bounded by brotherhood; now severed at the crossroad, As the soil upheaved we wailed in whelm; Life is but an empty space adrift; Though voided with shouts and untimely climaxes; The air, The flesh; is just another makeshift; While on this side; I plead take all the fantasies; If thou could, wholeheartedly stay burnt in the sun, Fly the clouds like the birds in summer, Both the sunrise and set would be thy rhythm and song, Though the end knocks - life is just as normal...

It was a clear blue sky; The day of my tiny first cry; Though it was a silent darkly night; But the sky was unusually bright; Sparkling was the lonely star; Afar off at a glance so far; Wantonly in pain, swam the crimson flood; At two arms apart; So leaped from the dripping blood; Alas, this moment the softness of the tide; Battles with the roar of the joyous pride; Today in this white I humbly slay; At the end; in this white I will eternally lay; As this flesh wantonly groves it’s birthday; So as the spirit awakens beyond deathday; This is my prayer as I traverse this road; For a tender blue sky for the meek and bold; A beautiful love that’s true and deep; And a soft earth to rest when time to sleep. (Written on my birthday: 13.09.18) Gafar Odubote, “First Cry”, copyright 2018 ​

My bosom kinsmen just came from dead, He brought a tiding from the underworld beneath, Alas! Their world is full and over-populated, “All these tender souls are not from Death; What a despair, what a shame! Their ghosts came with empty skulls and gravely wounds, The graveyard swarmed with toddlers from warring zones, Wantonly their lives were so greatly ruined”; So remorseful I am, for the war and strives we caused, So sorry for the trees and birds that died along; The wailings from the plateau still hauntingly bites, From the grave also came the elergy of songs; Sheath all swords and all fighters be still, Break up the guns and let there be peace; Disband your army for the grave is full; Peace is Possible; all conflicts must cease. Gafar Olorunleke Odubote, “A Peace Message from the Dead”, copyright 2018

I will sleep now and day-walk among the stars, The only two giant lights at two arms apart, One dwell within here and the other at mars, This is the field of Gaffy where heaven attracts, Within its wildness lies the gorse and rose alike; Where its fragrance makes the frail becomes golden at heart; Two thousand years will I walk this field astride, And dwell within its plain and mystical path, I will traverse here a day before forever, From its aperture will I watch the sun rise, On this field no anguish, shame, whatsoever; At its gate shall we make the final byes; I will sleep now and make symphony with the wind, Amidst the softness of the grass and trees, While the birds, the beasts and the cricket sings, On this field I am eternally free. Gafar Odubote, “Field of Gaffy”, copyright 2018