nice poems

Monday, February 29, 2016


Once upon a time when kings were kids
And princes searched for princess in the ball
With deeds I wrote my autobiography of love.
During my stroll through that intellectual park,
There I carried a sweet rose that picked me,
Gladly fell for a river with romantic tide
And boarded a ship whose captain is Love.
To worship in that temple with a virtous glory;
A virgin garden for my seed,with a hot altar
Where my flesh would sacrifice all night long.
She was a hive that dropped the sweetest honey,
Despite her hostile bees,I was an addicted fellow,
That laid on her green pasture yearning more
As an aloused calf,tantalized by her yoghurt.
Meeting her I knew a star has blessed me.
With the frame that can't seduce the eyes,
Yet came the spell;a force genius can't define,
And the magic penetrated through my ears.
In the early chapters of the genesis,I rebelled;
But she held me strong like knot tied by fate,
Now i wish,I heeded the verses of revelation.
With her,this poet in me was greatly reborn.

The virtous Siren happened to me,I was into her.
A sweet maze where I was losing myself,
Trying to find the diamond mine of her heart.
Deeply in love,and hers unknown was quite a pain.
I was obsessed,depressed, nearly possessed.
The ship sailed like a romantic roller coaster.
Freshman in the game,I played a wussy crew.
Failed to make great scores,the mark unattained.
She's a prize not won, never deserved or gotten.
Long gone to find,I was all alone in the ship.
Her presence just a fair cast of my imagination.
Her role in my story isn't over,why drew the curtain?
Exited like a mean actress without an epilogue.
She died to me yet lives in another ship of her joy.
I built a silver coffin in my heart to bury her.
Nay! Couldn't close it, now living with apparition.
Like Elisha,the magic is still in her skeleton.
It haunts me and her last words was a stab.
Memory of old love fades,doesn't die but lingers,
Stimulates Aphilia,turns a celibate to cassanova.
I landed in Lovelorn island, and my chest's locked,
The golden key rest with my true heroine.


IF I LIVE BEYOND TOMORROW by (C) John Chizoba Vincent

If I will live beyond tomorrow,
Know that I have died thousand
Times before the baking of today.
If my words sustain tomorrow's hunger
Know you that they are not mere words
But they are land that connect borders.

I have been brave before today's eyes,
I have been battered in the hand of sickness.
If I live beyond tomorrow, the gods kept me,
The gods that sprinkled their spit on me are alive.
Through the testimonies of their weakness I am
Made to be strong and brave in the race of life.

If my poems stand a chance of appreciation in the heart of tomorrow's hazard, know that I have not slept for a thousand nights and thousand days.
Perfection is not in the work of my art, NO!
If they won't  live beyond tomorrow, the gods are to be blamed; for their eyes I see the beauty of the world.

If my name will live beyond tomorrow,
Search in my secret places and see what I have done.
I do not just sit down and wait for tomorrow to come
But I work and walk like the Elephant of the forest.
Don't look for me among the Rich but find me among the Thorns in my Backyard; they made me who I am.

If my man will live beyond tomorrow,
Acknowledge poetry because he made me who I am.
In the tattered part of my heart he dwells before I was birth into this world by that immovable and immortal tree in Nkporoland, she is the sun of the blessed day.

(C) John Chizoba Vincent
   All Right Reserved '16


She rushed out of the house with a heavy load on her head, drastically she moved without minding what would become of the baby in her womb. She had been cheated by nature many times, now, she wanted to go and face her 'Chi' and ask her why she  torment her with a child that could not come and stay. She thrust all the things she met on her way aside and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. All that she wanted is to get to the other phase of the world where the pains of motherhood won't hurt her again. The pains that pierced through her body every year does not make her a successful woman but a failure as she see herself. She must go and see her 'Chi' and know from her if she was a worst kind of woman that calamity would befall her all the time. Last week, she lost her husband, Obikaku, who went hunting and couldn't return home again. He only told them that he was going to check his traps in the bush and he never returned home again. He didn't return home to see his family. He didn't say goodbye to them, he didn't bring the bush meat he promised to bring to the family. He just left; went to the otherside of the world where human souls speak of truths and honest, then left them here to perish where demons hunt for human souls. He left them with nothing but a broken promises that bleed blood. He left them with debts to pay; debt of palm wines, his age grade meetings, the goods he bought on credit. He left with so much debt that his fifth generation won't be able to pay. And  now on the ground is her son, Obigbo, who collapsed  this morning.

The earth has mocked her enough, the sun has baptised her enough with suffering, she wanted to end it all; end the madness that look at them like a friend but he is an enemy; enemy of progress. The air has tortured them enough, the water now look at them like people without hope. The dancing of the grasses around her home does not mean the grasses are happy for her, but the dance signified anger; anger and pains in their side, pains; because  she has failed the world as a woman who lost all she had in the cold hands of death and, anger; because she has no one to talk to as a child except that which laid on the ground lifelessly.

She kept moving at a faster pace without looking back. Her hair looked dirty and unkept, on her was a tattered cloth which foretells the future. All the veins in her body stood, her breast kept thrusting her backward but she continued in her race with the demons of frustration that followed urging her to commit the suicide in her mind, her head; heavy with an emotions so rare to find among humans.

"Ugonma! Ugonma!!  Some screeched in fear.

"Come back! Come back and don't kill yourself!
Others shouted going after her.

"Life is unfair" some waved their heads in pity.

At the midst of the madness in the air, she was caught in between death and life. The men held her to their ransom. While she barked and cursed the air, and beat them but they didn't mind. They bundled her home desperately. At home, they saw Obigbo on the ground, sprawling like a person that overfed himself. He looked pale, skinny like a person who is being chased by a fierce death. The people that gathered took pity on him.

" I want to die and meet my 'Chi' then ask her why she is punishing me like this, in this condition of pain. I want to die! I want to die! Leave me alone! Enough of this pains and poverty life. I want to die.". Ugonma kept ranting on the ground where two men kept guide on her.

Looking at the little boy of ten years old on the ground, many mouths began to wag and give out their suggestions why Ugonma has taken the step she took. Many knew she lost two children last year, Obiulo and chiamaka, and last two years, she also lost a boy, Onwubiko. Now the skeletal body on the ground seemed in a hurry to go, to leave her again and join the others. Some promised to take Obigbo to the hospital to be taken care off while others promised to assist Ugonma in terms of her family upkeep. Maybe that would show her that the people still cares about her.

In less than an hour, Obigbo was carried by some men shoulder high into a car with his mother and the vehicle drove off towards the southern part of the village. As they went along the wet road, the  leaves of the trees waved in joy, the birds chirped in their nests, the breeze drove many papers in the air. Right in behind the road are men and women coming back from Farm, some have pans on their heads while some with cutlasses and some, a hoe or spade. They were all happy people, smiling and laughing. Ugonma wondered why her life is different from theirs, why she is not like others. She took pity on herself and managed to give out a weak smile after looking at Obigbo and discovered that he was now breathing normal. When they got to the hospital, Obigbo was brought down from the vehicle by two men who volunteered to follow them. The driver helped Ugonma out and they went straight into the emergence ward so that Obigbo could be treated as soon as possible.

Two months later, Obigbo came back well and hearty. Ugonma was joyful, joyful because the once lost child is back to normal  and bubbling with life. Ugonma looked forward to the day she would have the money to send him the school of his choice. That day she would be taking him to school among other children. But not quite long, Chief Okeosisi visited,  he was a business associate to her late Husband, Obikaku, he came for his money; the money that Obikaku was owning him before he died, he signed a deal with him that if he could not pay up his debts that his son should serve him as a slave until he could save up the money owned.

His stomach was as big as the surface of a mortar used for pounding yam. His head, small and  shaped like a coconut but fashionably shaped in a fashionable manner. He wore Agbada with an embroided design on it. He looked good and fashionable. When Ugonma saw him in the room, her heart jumped out from her stomach racing through the sinful cold ground. She looked confused looking from one angle of the tattered striped house to the other. The baking of another problem has just begun.

"I don't need to introduce myself anymore, I'm no longer  a stranger here. You know my deal with your late husband, Obikaku. It is either my money or your son is leaving here today with me. You chose one." Chief Okeosisi explained, face up.

" Chief...em..em..em.chief." Ugonma stammered

"Keep quiet! Quiet woman!! I will not hesitate to drag him along with me if you refuse. My farmlands need labourers, if you are not blind, you will see many of those boys and girls outside, they are from my debtors. Some I will marry and some, I will make my slaves and; some will work in my plantations and your son is not better than them".

"Endure for a while, Chief,  I will pay you before this month ends" ugonma pleaded.

"Lele, chelukwa! Where do you have  in mind to get the money? In fact woman, I don't need my money again, I need that boy to serve me, Inugo! Obigbo! Obigbo!! Where are you? Come over here we are going home now."

"Chief, chief, chief,  you can't do this to me. Please temper justice with mercy. I will pay you in due time".  Ugonma pleaded on her kneels.

"Your husband said the same thing before he died, now I won't look back on your tears, no! Fair exchange is no robbery." Chief okeosisi ranted here and there in annoyance.

"Please Chief, just give me more time, None but the brave deserve the fair, a drowning man will always clutch at a straw. As a twig is bent so the tree's inclined. I have been brave many times, answer the calls I make now; for we never miss the water till the well runs dry.". Ugonma wailed on the ground pleading.

" We always set a thief to catch a thief, he was a thief before he died but so unfortunate I didn't catch him. None so deaf as those who will not hear the beating of the drums in the market place. Fine words butter no parsnips. I have to do that which is in my mind"

Fiercely, he dragged Obigbo outside without even allowing him to take one or two cloth from the house. He cried and screamed for help but none came to his rescue. By now many people had gathered in front of the house watching what was going on between Ugonma and Chief Okeosisi. Many people knew him to be a hard man, who hard-hit people because they were poor. He never pity his prey whenever they fall in his trap. Some of those that he took their children as his slaves came around also, pleading and begging to no avail. The village torn into two as people wailed here and there just because of Chief Okeosisi rudeness. They were under the same cloud of frustration but no hope seen, even the king can't help.

Some pleaded with Chief Okeosisi but he didn't listen rather he dragged Obigbo along with him and others. Immediately Obigbo was dragged out of the room, ugonma fainted on the ground in tears. She began to bleed profoundly. Many women rushed to her but they were too late to save her life, too late to save the baby in her womb, too late to help to couple togther the madness in the air, too late to break a silent that  chip off the old block that had built a home in the heart of Ugonma; she was gone, gone with her baby, gone leaving her only surviving palm fruit in this wicked forest called life.

When Obigbo heard the scream of one of the ladies among the women that rushed to help his mother, he knew that something has happened. He was dead-beat. He wanted to free himself from chief Okeosisi' hand but he couldn't. Desperately, he snatched a digger that a girl among them was holding and stabbed himself on the stomach. The world became silence to him, a film like a dark cloud covered his face and he was gone to join his mother. Every was frozen, not even the living was moving.

(C) John Chizoba Vincent
   All Right Reserved '16


A friend like you is more priceless than the most handsome  diamond. You are not only strong and wise,but kind and thoughtful as well as handsome. Your handsomeness I fell in love with. wish u llnp dear..when the world turns down on people around help restoring their hope and gave them are a great person and would always be...wish you llnp

Adding a year is not an easy task but also a great joy                       you are one in a million type with one in a million likes.                 You never discriminate but instead you impacted              
 For all the things you've done,the battles you've won,the way you deal with people and their problems by the ton,we thank you so much.
Party hard,feel they vibrations highs a bright we're feeling alright,happy birthday celebration.            
We know the key to unify all people is in the dreams that you had so long ago that lives in all of the hearts of people that believe in unity...we will make the dream become a reality. I know we will.                       Cause our heart tells us so. Happy birthday my love

Let the GOD decorate each GOLDEN RAY OF THE SUN reaching you with wishes of Success, Happiness and prosperity for you. Wish you a super duper Happy Birthday Dear.

Fine birthday  to you bro.
Blessed of the Lord finally your day is here. Happy Birthday to you and many fruitful returns. You will do exploit especially as you grow in wisdom and maturity. Men shall come to the brightness of your rising, no weapon formed against you shall prosper, Apex only shall  you be & not beneath, you will do better than your peers. With long life and affluence will your Heavenly Father sustain you. Happy Birthday day once again bro.

Let the God decorate each
golden ray of the sun reaching you
with wishes of success, happiness and prosperity 4 you
wish you a super duper mm birthday

A special person like you is just like a rare flower, it doesn't bloom everywhere, but wherever it blooms, it brings a smile every time! thanks for coming in my life.. Happy Birthday

To you Sunsampaul,
My friend I see not,
Got to meet you on Facebook,
You add me to your group and becomes my mentor.
You impacted me with great knowledge,
You make me get better.
I pray to God to give you long life,
Bless you with a supporting wife,
My brother keep on your strive,
And I see you winning a Nobel prize,
All I am saying is Happy birthday to you Sunsampaul


When birds whistle, be still,
When goats bleat, bleep not,
When owls blink, steer safe,
When dogs bark, fear not.

A large eye looketh upon the earth,
Pure as ice, enriches us with birth,
Fear not branch, for I am your stem,
That same courage that shot out the sperm.

Mama is big from love’s last stroke!
Long awaited thrust, new being unfolds
tough umblical cord, wetin man go do?
Sucked enough? One breast no go do.

Great creation, blue fusion of two,
less deception, the world awaits you,
Ask Graciano, he was caught cheating too,
Simple one plus one, they don’t know equals to you.

How beautiful it was, that celebrated day.
Ages past and it’s happy birthday.
Years ago gates of hell was let loose,
alas, tears of joy, mama has brought rain.
Happy birthday Sunsampaul d Philosopher

© Onwa Fc


Onwa FC is a graduate of chemical engineering FUTO. Whenever he's
not doing public speaking or writing poems/spoken words, then he could be somewhere molding fufu into egwusi soup. He has beliefs,  and rational but he hopes to inspire his generation with a new concept of art, check out "5th September spoken word video" on google. Don’t look too far when it concerns finding him. He  breathes oxygen too.
Hit him on instagram/onwafc, facebook/onwafc. twitter: @onwafc

Happy birthday to you Sunsampaul da Philosopher. Many happy returns, have a blast. You rock.

Bashiru Afolabi

Kick off your shoes, take a break, Crank the tunes, Dance & Shake, light the candles, cut the cake. Make it a day, that's simply Great!!! Happy B'Day..

A Quatrai Homage to The Philosopher

A day the tongued words adds a drop
An erudite sips from the taste of age
Those specs of his
A grammatical symbol of wisdom.

Ikechukwu Emeson.

HBD.. Birthday,birthday,birthday
On this very day,some decades ago:
Mama travailed whilst papa prayed
You were far too entangled betwixt life or death,disease or sickness.
Birthday could have never been without the grace of god and a destined lad to par:
A palatial personae of the creative sphere and a magnificent pillar of strength and wisdom.
He is a furtive of excellence and an embodiment of grace.
Many poems for the poet
Many lyrics for the singer
More tones for the instrumentalist
Many gold for the estate of invaluable treasures
But what i have is the homely recognition of this maestro
More than words to comprehend
More than wishes to find
I say happy happy happy birthday to a brother and a friend.

©Babatunde Odubanwo

I do not know if rain fell that day
Or if mama was in pain
I cant tell the precise look on papa's face
Or whether grandma chewed her fingers
But I know for sure
That when the little head of a boy so pure
Popped out
Mama smiled
Even papa hid his grin

Today we celebrate your victorious history
Many years of pain and misery
Washed away quickly
Days, months and years have gone by
But the stroke of your pen on scroll stays bold
Sunsampaul the philosopher,
Happy born day another day.
Here, I beam my silence

Ashele Grace Omolola
#Sunsampaul's day


01:18 am
25th 02 2016

So teach us to number our days
That we may apply our hearts unto wisdom
So says Moses in Psalms

The radiance of the day
The blooming of flowers
The blueness of the sky

The eagerness of the birds to sing
The whisper of the Holy Spirit
The joy of the Angels

The gladness of parents
The happiness of siblings
The congratulatory messages from friends

Is not far-fetched from the remembrance of a day
Connoted to be 'FEBRUARY 25'
Is all about a young and promising man

The man who makes me laugh
The man who is not partial;
The man who at the first instance was said to have 'no head'

Now becomes the head of organisations and unions.
In fact, it was indeed a joyous moment for me
Just because it's 'FEBRUARY 25'

The D-day a foetus of several months
Became a baby, today, a man
All is just to celebrate

My sister,friend, in fact, caring, loving, mentor,
A lady i learn a lot from & thought me thy way to go

How pleasant it is to have you?
How favored am I to have you?
How glorious God has made me to have you?
How wonderful it is to have you?

May we continue to remember this day and celebrate forever more. May you, who has been and is becoming 'head' never become tail. The whispering and the joy of the angels is just to shout:

                  Happy Birthday!
                  Happy Birthday!!
                  Happy Birthday!!

Crystal E Poet
©25th February 2016
All Rights Reserved.

Monday, February 22, 2016

THEY ALL LIED by Williams.A.Beloved.

Promises and agenda are in vains.
We voted for them in the rain ,
In Sun harshness we aren't tired to vote,
The only ultimate gift we get from them is biscuit and note.
We are been lied to, yet we still follow them like sheep,
Our believe in them was so deep,
Yet, they all lied to us,
Without an inch clause.

Our road is now a pot of holes,
Our country is not whole,
Yet they tour around the globe.
Our hospital are with less probe,
And we have a lot of difficulties.
Our leaders are there ignoring their duties,
This is not the promise they made,
They all lied to us and make their promising words fade.

They all lied to us for a let go,
And they don't just listen to our boo.
Our right and dues is theirs,
No better days ahead for our heirs.
Suffering does not give us break,
Our development is still crawling to the peak.
They've hijacked our right of vote,
With lies that give us reasonable quotes.

They use our resources like free gift of nature,
Our land is fertile but no one to nuture.
Is this life to them or a torture.
They dismantle our money and create a puncture.
They all lied to us because they have to,
And they have nothing to offer us than to destroy and go.
This is a real scene of deciet,
After all their delicious talk, it is just a conceit.

They All Lied.

THE GAME by Williams.A.Beloved .

If you are into politics , you are definitely playing the real game.
This is not anyone's fault and they are not to be blamed,
The rules of the game is what they abide on.
If you and me are into the game, I know things would be over do.
Our heart has been polished dark .
We don't fear any one neither our creator nor the covenant ark.

Oath is just like an anthem you must read,
This game is not meant to feed all, but to fetch them everlasting bread .
The game is meant for smarter and sharper minds,
No one cares for brethren, everybody is after is own find .
This is the game factual reality,
Though all the prank is vanity.

The game is not for the lame ,
The game is not for people who think of shame.
The game is for the people with no conscience .
The game is for the people who have lost their patience .
The game is for the people who are earthly minded.
The game is for people who are demonic bonded.

The game is now a count of scores,
You shed bloods and count the score of human skulls.
No loss , no cross to bear than to go and shop in hull.
This is the filthy game of politics ,
And our leaders are no more morally didactic,
This is the new game of politics.

Corruption is the main man in the game ,
And the players are after money and fame.
This is the game everyone in pursuit of wealth are after,
They play with sweat words in campaigns and change their agenda aftermath,
These game is for the wealthy and greedy,
Which gives no path to the needy.

The Game.

Williams.A.Beloved .


Ordinarily, there are certain things a young writer
could do to shred the tag, "budding poet" off of
his face. From reading other poets, writing better
and to choosing a better means of displaying his
or her works. However, I thought it'll be much
more fun to tell you for free these 10 sure things
to do if remaining a budding poet for a lifetime is
what you want. So here they are:
UPGRADE: Believe that poets are born and can
never be made. Don't read the works of others,
you might end up sounding like them and it won't
just make you stupid, it's a crime! Seminars,
conventions and workshops are for only those
who can't access materials about literary devices
and figures of speech on the internet. For you,
there's nothing new to learn there. You need not
adulterate what Odin, your father has deposited in
you with their mumbo jumbo. If you must be in
any workshop, you should be the one teaching.
The mountains must go visit Mohammed!
licensed poet and poetic license is a veritable
excuse for inadequacies and errors. Don't let any
jabroni insult you by telling you that your tenses
are wrong or that your capitalization and
punctuations are wrongly placed. Whoever that
does those is just trying to capitalize on your
not-so-noticable blemishes to shine at your
expense. You mustn't let that happen. Show him
or her your lie sense!
3. BE SELF-CONCEITED: Avoid sensitive
sociopolitical subjects. Great poets like you
should write only about themselves. Tell people
that you write only what you feel and not what
you think can save the world. After all, you don't
feel what others feel and you're an alien from St.
Monica in Mars.
improvement by the increase or decrease of the
likes and comments you get on Facebook. When
your twin brother or sister says he or she is
standing on the heads of GEJ and PMB and
doffing his or her hat for you because of your
poems, just believe that your post is faultless.
5. BE AN EXPERT PLAGIARIST: Other poets may
research for weeks before writing a poem, you're
not wired like that. Lifting lines of other writers
after all is research also. Don't think up concepts
on your own. When you're caught, fire back at
your critics. Tell them that no idea is virgin. Tell
them that what you just stole is a cento, parody
and/ or an adaptation and that they're just being
jealous of your fame. This is going to put you in a
bad light and make you popular for the wrong
reasons but what do you care? Being a budding
poet forever is the mission here. You can't afford
to compromise that for anything!
6. RUSH TO PUBLISH: Aside from his white hairs
and beards, the only difference between Prof Wole
Soyinka and you is that he's published. You really
should consider dyeing yours and publishing too.
When you're done publishing and you succeed in
selling only 15 copies to your family members
who palpably don't look like they're going to read
the poems, tell everyone that Nigerians don't
read. Don't they know that they just have to read
your lines to survive? In fact, become livid and
disillusioned. Don't write again. They should all
starve to death because they will never read the
Jesus in your lines again.
7. REMAIN IN YOUR COCOON: Poets like you are
eccentric, don't join any poetry group. Refuse to
enter for slams and don't expose your mercurial
self to exhibitions. Competitions are not a true
test of quality and talent, remaining in your room
is. Just sit within closed doors and wait for the
big break that you alone very well deserve. MTN,
come and beg you to release few of your lines in
exchange for some millions of Dollars. After all,
you're the most current talent on earth and they'll
need your help to get to billions of your fans.
controversial makes one very popular. Beguile
yourself that being controversial is same as
becoming troublesome. Fault and fight popular
poets and get popular too. Always be on the
lookout for lacunae and rifts between two poetry
promoters and publicly insult the one you think is
at fault. When to your greatest dismay, both of
them eventually make peace and remember to
forget to include your name in the list of poets to
be featured in their platforms, get mad at them
and start your own poetry platform. Nonsense!
poet, why settle for Kukogho Iruesiri Samson as a
mentor when he's not yet as popular as Chinua
Achebe? The 'boy' is only 31 years old! You know
that you need a mentor to help you perform your
spokenword pieces better but why settle for
Kemistree when Jannet icks is far more respected
globally? That small girl? She's still a student!
Even though you know that Achebe is late and
Jannet icks is far from your reach, just tell
everyone that they're your mentors, read their
works and lift some of their lines and you will be
rewarded with more regard. Whoever that had
said stuffs about how best it is to start small
must have been faithless. Take snapshots with
Dike Chukwumerije, Uche Uwadinachi and Sammy
Sage Has Son and in the pictures, make sure
you're seen rubbing their heads with your hands
so that it'll be easy to proof to your friends that
they're your buddies and not your mentors.
10. BE A JACKASS SNOB: Since you've had 3
invites to perform your poems at events (maybe a
requiem mass inclusive) and the other poets
haven't got one in almost a year, it means they're
all inferior poets. They're too wack and having
them hang around you is suicide. They're no
longer in your echelon so just move on. Should
they call you, pretend you're seriously preparing
for an interview on CNN and drop the call. They're
now social climbers and you can't afford to be
their ladder. Who says you'll need their help any
time soon?
If you as much as do any 3 of these
unrepentantly, being a budding poet for a century
will not be any much of a challenge to you
anymore. At least, not in this lifetime.
11:33AM. —

Thursday, February 18, 2016

CHANGE TO MAKE A CHANGE by Olaleye Samuel Abiodun E.A

Days and nights passed away making some ages,
Our forefathers had glow in the freedom mirage of changes,
They fought earnestly for the change of this great land of ages
Although their sage of change was applauded with rages.
Our freedom fighters struggled for where we are today
But what has happened to us?
Why have we decided to disrupt the tune of freedom obtained by the blood of our forefathers?
Why should the echoes of suffering and enslavement be pronounced?
The world is dancing to the rhythm and melody of perdition
While we get set on track to run the race of poverty and starvation
Our ho-hum journey of governing has been through stargnation
we cry in pain and agony with tears flowing like rivers of rain
While we sit back and look for our freedom to be hunted and deraigned
Our government in diaspora is lost in slavedom lane
As what we have now is a freedom feign
Why should we allow the freedom hunters pull their triggers
Into the marrow of our nations system?
Why should we allow our victory be trampled upon by sycophant?
When are we going toget the antigen from our mudded mentality?
Our laws and customs of change is nothing but immorality,
Corruption has moded us into the shape of irresponsibility;
Forgetting that we own a duty of responsibility to morality.
who will revive our hope of a true ambiance of humanity?
Change has come to America was the cry of Martin Luther King,
When the sacrifice of revolution was offered.
But why has the struggle of our revolutionist not be rewarded with our dream destination as a nation?
We have rendered useless their spirit of Jingoism,
And we have relinquished the government of nationalism;
Still thinking we are flying high the flag of patriotism.
But wait, enough of this sleep and slumber from skepticism
We cry day and night for change and freedom,
Forgetting that we're still enclosed in the embryo of slavery mentality.
Change is invisible without our changed personality
We speak of change without effecting changes to our personage
We cannot get the desired change until the change start from within
The change for change is the change of age
we have to leave the path of lawlessness for this change in exchange
Let's declare the new era of commitment to be self engaged
Nothing will change with our entralling enrage,
Until our spoken words of change is granted for action.
The costly sacrifice for change cannot be for rentage;
We're the change to make a change
It's the right time to be change agents and not as borachio of opprobry.

CHARITY OF IWALEWA (a poem by Olaleye Samuel Abiodun E.A)

I was entrapped to write to this piece
Going on a voyage of rumination.
I finally fell into ocean of thought of the woman of my dream
Have not seen one but I saw someone like her.

At this sight, I became a diligent student in the school of romance
I was seated in the class of Angelology
I offered Angelus with my hands crossed for your fate to cross my way
A fortiori, I almost mistaken you for Angeleno.

Ask me a woman of substance and clarity,
And I will show the Angelic Charity.
Ask me a lady of great fidelity,
And I will show the Angelic Charity.
A woman of virtue and quality
Inestimably complex and full of capability.
Her passion lies in the strength of her capacity.
Let me tell you of her ability
She is a vault of pure heart and sincerity
Her state of reasoning is nothing but sagacity
Her actions and thought are the outplay of her fecundity
My heart travelled in gravity
At the sight of the rapidity of Charity's essentiality.
I still cant believe this sight of angel in reality
Iwalewa Charity, the dream of all men,
The helmswoman of the virtue's vault
This is my telic that Richard should work hard before men do him hard.
Let my quail stop dancing before I find myself entangled with agraphia.