When shall the ones in diaspora return ?
I ask when shall they set foot upon our soil again?

When shall the sun from Kumasi no longer scare our brothers 
from their sunset of police Brutality?

When shall Trevor Martins leave America 
for Lagos or Accra or Freetown?
 Don't wait till another young blood is spilled.

Africa is home,
come back home,
though not as deceitfully beautiful 
as the shining metal of death pleading self defence;
yet, it can be as beautiful as the words of Marcus Garvey, 
surely as real as the honourable blood sacrifice of Malcom X.

When are we going to claim the Nile as ours?
When shall the princes of the North accept who they are?
When shall the nation at the feet of Africa sow its torn xenophobic clothes?

I sprout forth from thee,
yet you are a seed planted in me,
growing always with me,
I am from Africa,
for I'm first a Man labelled, Blackman.






Lákásagbá died in Lágbájá's house that day, I remember

I hear wailings, rumblings and diversified noises from their rooftops;

I'm certain that their drops of tears will penetrate a bulletproof

The drops of their tears of course looks everlastingly heart piercing;

Like their previous days of laughter was a waste away


I passed by their house again the next day

I wanted to stare, perhaps I'll learn more about the world as a kid

Then Bàami covered my eyes with his palm, as I expected

We walked past, but I hear noises in my head

I couldn't stop thinking about it, I couldn't


I then asked Bàami out of confusion, fear and in thirst for the truth

"Bàbá I don't want to die" with tears like drops of water on my face

"Bàbá I don't want to cry"

"Bàbá Lákásagbá had money and he died, Bàbá death will not take money from Olóyè Bórókìnì"

"Bàbá I ... Saw Lákásagbá the day before his death, I saw him Bàbá"


"Bàbá, is there something I must do that they didn't do"

"Bàbá take me home, perhaps those I care about won't cry;

"Bàbá I hope it's not painful, ah baba no one will listen when I speak again"

"Or Bàbá must I die to get there?"

" Bàbá where are we even going?" I asked as I was obviously scared about my existence


I am still in search for Ìyè, For I know that death is certain

Or did you see Ìyè for me? I heard a man came to die so that I may live

Bàbá did not answer my questions that day, death took him away too

Ha... Tell Olówó Ayé and those who live life like tomorrow will never come;

That they will die one day, I've seen people like them


Àlàní the wealthy blacksmith, had seven wives;

He died one sunny day like that

Ìyè! Ìyè!! Ìyè!!! You're not far away, I'll find you

I heard a man in white is the answer, who knows?

Even Bàbá died without an answer to my questions.


NAME:                      ENIAYEWU VICTOR





This poem is no new message, I’ve written this countless times;

Maybe this is just the visible version of it

I’m used to being left alone, and you can assume that I’m a fool

Love as we call it had a different meaning our dictionary


I’ve written this poem the exact number of times, I’ve been heart broken

I remember Kate in grade three;

She broke my tender heart and I broke the other half

Once bitten twice shy, they say right?


I’ve written this poem over and over again, at those moments;

You felt I subscribed to hiding my sanity, under the guise of humanity;

I learnt a lot of lessons already, and only if you knew that;

I really had some real affections but scared of heart bisections


I’ve written this poem, because I don’t want to miss you

I’m just a human with a fragile heart, and I heard love is heart piercing

I want you, yes I do but I don’t want miss you

Who knows if it’ll be better if privatized all these thoughts?


I’ve written this poem before

I’m not heartless maybe I just don’t want to be stupid, all in the name of love

I will still stare at you in my darkest hours, because I’ve been hurt; every time I open up

I’ve written this poem because I don’t want you to see me cry

How about loving you from afar?



NAME:                      ENIAYEWU VICTOR






Tell her, Begiola is lonely,

now I’m at loss,

Ibadan born never shows fear,

but here I am, shivering,

once again I’m betrayed,

even with my SUV and status,

my heart is broken.


Who can bring me back Wuraola?

is there any Knight in Ibadan,

that can rescue my beloved?

How many sacrificial items,

will it take Egungun Alapansanpa,

to return Wuraola to my arms now?


Ah! Luke 6:24,

will riches be my consolation now?

Oh No! Ori, take your riches,

and find me Wuraola again.

she’s stolen from me, my love is stolen,

snatched away by the cold hands of death,

just when I waved at her across the road,

Gbegilodo, agent of death, hit her!





Wuraola, it is not your fault that you left,

that you sought after greener pasture,

and left my Paul for Thessalonica,

I won’t blame your guts my love,

who prays to love in poverty,

and romance in abject lack of wealth?


A man is a man,

so our said,

while I ran errands for riches,

and beckoned the call for wealth,

there, doubts approached you.

I know my woman’s strength,

Like Romans 8:35, my love for you,

can’t be separated by any disappointment.


Wuraola, like I said in the past,

love knows no hurt,

love sees no pain and records no crime,

true love measures not with vengeance,

love sees only what it desires to see as love,

I am Begiola, my arms are open for you,

Wuraola, when shall I meet your father?


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