My Poetry Diary

Those eyes I saw, Held me nigh like a crystal ball; O’ Mirror, Mirror thou watching the world; I know already she is the prettiest of all! So succulent, So raw! Wildly enticing, I wanted more. But I knew those eyes I saw; Thou a goddess basking by the shore, Entangled thou bid me to thy eyes; slowly I met at thy flirty stare; Thy magical voice is a fire and an ice; Thou so seductive, thou so rare; Those eyes burns like the sun; I seek thy heartbeats, I found none; In thy grasps the flesh heaved to spun; Awestruck, thy webbed arrogantly won. Those eyes; O’  Näkk  they cunningly stuns; Thou so seductive, thou so rare; Thine hypnotic murmur wantonly burns; O’ charmer of the lakes, thou with snowy flaming hair, Thy charms had me wantonly in thy snare; In a quicksand I dare fight not in thy lair. By the river in thy abode I knew where, Those eyes I saw are magical, I swear. Gafar Odubote, “Eyes of Näkk”, copyright 2019 ...

The accuser of the brethren came stealthily with scythe and dye, Bow now! he said with this breath of ash, Alas! He struck and the wheat bleeds crimson and die, And thro’ the dye he faked wounded with a slash; The wheat stooped but deeply rooted with the tide, The crucifer grinned and climaxed in front of the sire; He accused again with a flirty wind of pride; Let’s burn his stalk, he said with a fire; The Sire nodded and said not in my eyes; The leaves are yours but the root is not for thee; The wheat heaved to the opinion of the wise,  Mother Earth whispered, ‘i will nurture thine fibrous feet to a tree’, The sage pleaded for a truce and not much. Howbeit thou bury a dust on the urge at thy please? Gloatingly he strutted, and that’s the end of such. For eternity, the tree is at bliss. Gafar Odubote, “the accuser and the Wheat”, copyright 2019

O' beautiful morning breeze, sated in thee; Thou my lover, a pure magic indeed; A little more sunshine and tidings will be, This is pure magic, like the Nordic singing bee; At such a time when paradise is far, The youth at its prime, gazing the star; Alas he said, "what a sight to grope", "To see the star, a pure magic i hope“ O’ what a sight, when the lily wakes and smile, A sight to behold as I breathlessly wait for a while, The petals unfolds to thirst the morning dew; This is pure magic, a magnificent view  But a pure magic i divinely seek, To see Africa radiantly at its peak, Only love and unity and no parasite, And the environment is clean like a paradise Gafar Odubote, “this is pure magic”, copyright 2019

She smiles with perfection, like the star; Of happy bright lights adorning the sky, A reflection of all beauties both near and far; So adorable her looks, wantonly high; Her smile I match not, mine a musky tar, Only goddesses have those, a beauteous eyes.  And on the cheek, and o’er that lips, A joyous stream flows, radiating like the sun. So serene so pure, captivating to a grip; So divine, so bright, charming to a stun, The smile softly beckons and all hearts skipped, Deeper in love, what a smile has done. On her face erupts with the brightest smile, Like the daffodils blossom in spring time, A reminder of the solemn moment on the aisle, Creates in me a symphony and a rhyme, Shrinking Lagos traffic to less a mile, Howbeit it took me such a while, Gafar Odubote, “She Smiles with Perfection”, copyright 2019

I summon thee my voice, From the crevices of the thorns, Break free and forth from the weedy noise, Those from the clansmen jealousy drums; O’ what a dissonance their blabbering uttered; O’ voice Come forth with thy ethereal melody, Thou as horned from the ancestors alter, Let thy sweetness conquer their greed and parody, Flow with thy pure magic and healing balm, Like the symphony of angels voice, Heal my clan with thy rhythmic psalms, I summon thee my voice. Gafar Odubote, “I summon thee my voice”, copyright 2019

Ode to my grayish woolly socks, Tightly thou hug my swollen butter feet, In thy comfy room my toes joyously tucks, Howbeit to thy flesh it sinks to bits; Tirelessly thou mop the tears from my toes, Gafar Odubote, “Ode to my Socks”, copyright 2019

The wind is widely awake, Rattling my mind into bits and away, Tossing my essence a thousand mile to thee, To thy abode, a place beside the Baltic Sea. Little longings though disturbing but I crave, For a place in thy secret fairy cave; Where the roses make the night golden hue; And the day a summer butterfly blue O’ wind, now I bid thee to my will; I seek a place where two hearts wantonly seal, Like the waves to the ocean bond from the core, I would lay tangled at thy Baltic shore; Tonight I sail wondrously on thy wings, Like the feather on a summer wind, Tomorrow I care less, only at thy side I want to be; A thousand mile near the Baltic Sea;

Òhún mìí, thou a subtle one but deep, Erstwhile thou sit among the gods and glory, Thy sweetness resonates from beneath the dip, At thy stead, conveys the untold story; Once upon a time a stammering òhún quakes; As a little brat on strings and harmony, Amidst the emeralds and diamond flakes, Òhún broke her chord and lost the symphony;  Thou a warrior, Jaguar of my clan; Without Spears or steel the flesh bleeds at their shriek, Savoring  In beginning was a void, A void broken by a sound; The sound of an eerie voice, My òhún chant as the god of òhún abound; And there it sang, The wisdom of the tides,

As the sun escaped the grasps of prying eyes, I found myself in awe of thy folded arms; I lost my breath in the silhouette of ecstatic cries, No two heart beats as we become singular in folded arms. The shrieks, hoots and wind came at still, The crowds, chaos and gunshots all at ease; There are no cries, wailing, or shrill, In thy folded arms I found my deepest peace. #poetry #foldedArms

If ever I seek thee; i know where to go. In the field of daffodils near the pazarjik plain; At its midst, thy spirit gently rustle with the golden leaves; In the August wind a Persian beau wondrously  sway, In thy eyes the beauty of the earth wantonly beat, At thy touch, the cloud, the sun, and the daffodils swoon, The sunlight and the golden yellow gleefully twine at thy feet; At thy beautiful thought, the petals joyously bloom. So I know when I see the cloud hovering over the hills, And I hear the whistling of the morning birds and river flow, Then I know thou is dancing with the host of daffodils; If ever I seek thee; i know where to go. I seek the daffodils. 🌼  (c) gafar Inspired by a friend who loves the nature.

O' aye! i see the night wantonly brewed, Like the ale of the middle west, O' peace with thou not my subtle mind subdued, I may rest from the stormy hand of thine woes and unrest; Two letters i got from thee, O' whirlwind, Thy stampedes came hauntingly at my camp, Like Sennacherib king of Assyria on Hezekiah skin; Thou not heard his army went beyond earthly ramp O' thou foe and friendly foe, Reap now what thine sow, O' aye! the darkness over the brim wallows ;Calling with a husky voice i seldom know, Thy shadow came like the dunes and its hollow; Thou a foe and a woe, With thine thick darkly veil, thou cant see,  I call now every illumination of light, Come forth thou and end all darkly spree, Come forth, my humble knight. I call thee God of Elijah, may thou begin; Let the wind now cease ! I call thee every illumination of peace; I command thee, whirlwind now cease ! Gafar Odubote, “thou foe and friendly fo...

At the eve of birth a being I saw, That stands between Eden and heaven’s door; The eyes shone bright and fine like a crystal ball, I am Africa – the subtle voice whispered and called; All around me are fairies and fireflies, In awesomeness, I gazed at a paradise; Towards the light, in four I gently crawled, I am Africa – the subtle voice whispered and called; ‘Hold my hands and walk with me, Traverse with me the land beyond the sea, I am in the wind – the gentle and strong, I am in the season, the short and long,’ I am in the field – the trees and shrubs, I am in the water – that flows and drops, I am Africa - the subtle voice whispered and called; I am Africa – thy heritage of thine mud. All around me in awe and leaped from slough, My mama called me Africa – the spirit of love, I am Africa – the voice whispered we are kin, Bright is thy being, though black is thine skin, From the mountains I flew askew, Kilimanjaro and Olumo spoke a f...

The wondrous six on a starry night, On an island from an harbor height, With his quill he humbly wrote, The magic that wantonly floats; The music and the wind were both as one, Silent touches made sparkles and burn, The flesh and spirit became singular, And whispers of sounds curiously unregular; Perfection thou art with the night, The sea and the waves wantonly ignite, The mathematics is infinite, And the chemistry is definite; The formula becomes magical like flying floral, Like winged petals in a windy aura, The atmosphere was perfect from falk’s calculation, Perfection thou art, alas, no modification! The music and the sea made a flaming light, So beautiful from lady Anni’s sight; At the shore of Les Canisses by the hills, Where two folklores sang by the sea; The palms and shrubs; in unison twined; As the cats walk briskly and dine, O’ lady, thy eyes shone like the stars in the sky, So magical and charming like thy smile; T...

A beauteous woman I saw, On one of my journey to the north, Her eyes shone so bright like the sun; In her arms I found a forte; On her right hand is a map of beyond; A luminous place for few to savor, Where lovers meet by the Mediterranean pond; Made of an ethereal ink of sacred flavor; On her right feet is a Balearic poem, Made of seven letters and is pure; A poetry only from the goddess realm, How long will I see you, so much to endure? Then her voice came afloat, With a timbre honed by Ibiza honeycomb, So soothing like the sixteenth note, Nostalgic I felt at the homely tone. Gafar Odubote, “Beauteous Woman”, copyright 2019 A poem describing a women of a Spanish decent – from Ibiza – one of the Balearic islands in Spain;  whom the writer met on one of his journey to the north.

It was a magical night, The sky was blue and hot; Your beautiful eyes illuminates the light; With thee, my heart wantonly sought; There I saw thee dance, Twisting softly like a feather in the wind, I couldn’t help but to ask for a chance; To hold thee as thine body swing; In thy rhythms I found my lost song, No hiding, thou so charming strong; Thy movement makes a perfect song, In thy arms I felt no wrong, Thy eyes shone bright like the sun, Sending a glow that’s pure, From thy gaze I thought I would burn, Howbeit it came soothingly as a cure; So soft thy hair like a wool, Thy lips is like the petals of a rose, Under thy pure magic I swoon, So magical while I had you close; With thee, I wish for more magical nights, Where I will find you dance to the moon, I wish for more of those sights, I hope it will come very soon. Gafar Odubote, “Magical Night”, copyright 2019 A poem describing an encounter of a young man with ...

G: In my dream, A dangerous dream; I found thee in my arms; And I held thee in my arms; A: The dance starts when the plural becomes singular; In the whirlwind of sounds, rhythms and symphony; The whispers of breath and heartbeat becomes unregular; Thy touches brings a perfect harmony; G: Two hearts beating as one; Atoned with an African sun; I saw the stars and the Moon; Reflecting thy beauty and I swooned; A: There are no walls, limits, time or void, No words, No accents, the universe is at pause; There is no hiding in the oldest of languages and all; The universe becomes ours and clouds to us G: I felt thee so real, Thy affection is ethereal, It sparkles more pure energy; Thy body symphony makes a synergy; A: The hearts are naked, Only in the silence of words can the souls truly speak, An affection was created; We dissolved in the moment and now at the peak;  G: It must be the rhythm and blues; So charming how our...

There she stood the last girl on earth; Barely ten; barely here; The wind took her faraway from birth; With glassy tears I know she stares ... From the aperture, the medieval face quavers, Like the cracked brick of the Sahara ground; Her face bears countless maps like the path pavers; I sank in tears with this I found; In my fine linen I stood ashamed, A wild affair with the black lady of Timbuktu; The gods are not to be blamed; My clansmen have forsaken our Ubuntu. Or can we blame the gods? A foretold destiny my ancestors waded; Fela Anikulapo the sage communed through the pods; When he smoked to them sated; Where is our Ubuntu? The last girl on earth is dying; Where is our Ubuntu? The gods are crying. (“Ubuntu” is a poem I wrote after participating in the Nigeria election and i saw how my people are only after their selfish interests without remembering Africa heritage of humanity.) ​ Gafar Olorunleke Odubote, “Ubuntu”, copyright 201...

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 ...