My Poetry Diary

Àpęę jęùn ki ję ibàję, Sùgbọn ilę sù lọ, ò súù lọ, Kini a ò sè bí ònję bá pę dé, Àriśé làrikà, Sùgbọn ęmi lè bọ, Baba ęni à má wipè, Bí ò pę tìtí, àléjò á dì ònilé, Sùgbọn áwọn ònìlúù tí mù ilę dì ọwọń, Ìbáwò ńàá ńí á ó dì ónílé? Ę tù'jù kàá, Ìjá dòpíń, ógúń ti tán, Dię dię lèkù ńjáwọ, Díę díę lęyę ńmù ọsáń, A ò mọyi Ọlọrùn yiò sè, Ni Kò ję ka binù kú, Isę ọwọ ęni lò mù ni làá, Ilę súù lọ, Igbá dìę nàâ la'ò kù A ki walę fùn adię ję, Ajùmọbi ò kan ti àrùn, Ki àlápá mù àpá rę lè, . (Poem: "ilę sù lọ" - by #olorunlekepoems ) #poetry #poem #yoruba #yorubapoetry #yorubapoem  #tales

Your Majesty, O' mercy I plead, Harken thy heart, heed my plea; Am just a wandering African breeze, Let me in, lest I freeze. Will thou put me behind those iron bars? I'd spent like eternity on this road by air and far, I've valid papers but is it my skin? Please show mercy and pardon my sin. But I treated thee well when thou was in my home; I gave thee another summer so thou wouldn't feel at lone; With my flesh thou flourished and thrives.. Which our forefathers handsomely paid the price; Your Majesty, O' mercy I plead, Send me back home, from my heart I bleed; My bones ache for African soil and sun; Thou hurt me like a spoil for fun; No wifi, so dark, no one to call; No helper, so dark, few things I saw, My ancestors were fastly shackled to those grates, With smile and bruises; O' what a fate! O'My clansmen, you all have forsaken me, I emailed, I called, my government rejected me; What a fate, a lo...

I was summoned to the land of the mountain and cloudy gods; . Those that tamed our clan with a mirror, holy book and the sword; . Their darkness was overwhelmingly thicker than the covens of the black, . They smoke like a chimney to commune with their gods with garlic rods; . At their abode are gloomy angels that stand in ravens cloaks; . Those martyred for the mundane fleshy feat; . From their cleavage flows the source of murky greyish dip that hid the sun; . The darkness is at their horizon, hovering at the tip of every wreath; . I know It beckons... the end of the world, . The apocalypse have sucked out every tiny air with its wooden pipe, . Those pipes that connect our world beyond the path of redemption; . The air is gone, so choked we are yet the harvest of the world is yet to ripe; Poem by Olorunleke Odubote

"I heard the whisper that don't cross that line; But I am diversity - I am not bound to a clan; Now becoming a mirage - no longer invited to dine; But l've being here from the early days of man; I know the homes of kings and places of treasures, I bring positive critics to your teams and boards; Within my arms peace is possible and we all know for sure, I bring resonance and symphony with my strings and chords," . "Like an unwanted guest, we chased you out; We left you shattered like a broken mirror reflecting million faces; My clansmen called you names, such as being north, east, west & south; My darling diversity is only here like a bridge to connect us to heavenly places; We sunk your ship beneath the deep sea of time, My nation has forgotten the climax of 1960 and the likes, We crashed your pride like a calabash of slime, Now at your absence different nation strikes, . "We are here, we are one; We are Divers...