Let me have a touch of your aura,

raising the knob of darkened altar,

splitting this hot steamed flower of life

into the oiled creamed beam of breath.


Genocide, Xenophobia, Massacre,

3 blood sucking brothers of the West,

who dwell beyond the mighty oceans

casting arrows of division since 1884.


Alas! flame returns with dizzy hiatus,

voices in millions chanting one love,

yet, continent is divided; stolen from.

All, with no Black Alliance; Sirte 1999!



[email protected]

Lady Medecia



when the night calls it a day
and the dark voice knocks
yöu run hare like to the club
to see the new delivered flesh
that your eyes want to devour

your eyes is big enough yet,
not see tomorrow
it gets wet every time and day
yöu long to devour them
her shapy laps is your choice

fresh blacks on a day one
sweet fair damsel on another
yöu shed innocent blood oh
for your shatty desires of cash

they hail yöu even to your grave
yöu drink PARAGA today
take POROGO on a morrow
digging your own grave early

there yöu dine with the devil
yöu carry YEMOJA with grin
your grim enough to wake a soul
a sweet bitter moment await yöu

she danced and rolled her waist
twatting on your evil blind eyes
yöu thought yöu ve won to struck
ohh! it your end hour

yöu mounted on QUEEN MENINA
this fun is now your last
she struck like a flaming fire
and melt off your heart.

PoetSolo's Series



Where is our honour,
Where are the badges of honour of our great nation,
And the honor of we individually.

I can say;
Nigeria lost its edge because it lost its way.
We forget what we here for.

We talked about freedom and democracy
But we practised license  and anarchy.
Where there is no purpose,
There is no self-control,no moral conviction and no ethical boundaries.
Where is our honour?

Nigeria revive your honour,
The badges of honour.

The world needs you and the purpose for which you were born,formed,established,
Your birth is the evidence that your purpose is necessary to the world.

Let's work,unite together to restore our badged of honour.

Nigeria is the way it is 
because of why it is 
You are designed for your purpose
You are perfect for your purpose.

                            -Oluwabukunmi Solomon

Olasumbo Ajibola's Series


*The call* 

 _24th March,1985_ 
 _All saints Chapel_ 

We were all dressed in sparkling black,
Awaiting the commencement of the service.
Our heads  bowed in utmost reverence.
Mouths weeping,eyes screaming .
And our lacrimal glands dried like rivers licked up by an angry sun.

We mourned the deceased,
Thought about everything we shared that  evolved into memories
And nothing told us we will meet him again.

At the cemetery
 Tears bursted again and our faces almost rusted of wild weeps.
A shout from here,a noise from there
I stood still,trying to be a strong man
But my conscience never denied me of few tear drops.

I saw the vanity of life.
I saw how great men become "late" after their last breath
I realised honours and riches are mere fantasies that take us nowhere near the boundaries of heaven.
We sang hymns  again,mournfully but tunefully.
From dust to dust.
Oh death! an halt that reduces all to little aughts.

 The thoughts of heaven encompassed my mind.
 *Would I be called to rise in Paradise?* 
Or would I be summoned to pay for my ills and misdeeds.
They say life is an infinity of struggles
But one day,death will converge my struggles to an eternal rest
Just like it did to my dear friend that just departed this sinful world.
What will be said of me when I am gone?

 *When I close my eyes and open it at the throne of judgement,* 
 *What will be my portion* ?

 _Olasumbo Ajibola_

Alberto's Series



They didn't just trample on the name, Òlúbádàn!
They came to our school
and started to do like fool.

Hence, they awoke the fierce of Armageddon! 

The day came like all anticipated,
even the sky carried our label.
Pfuuuh Pfuuuh!
The game of samba started.

Òogbórí began to get pissed at the 2nd goal,
the dribble before the goal,
was what made the field blow. 

By the time it got to 5-0,
boys' joy was down to zero.

Our plan was to burst the ball. 
But, boom! a boy hit the ball.
And that didn't stop until it went above the wall.

Then, the rains of gathered stones. 
Many casualties were recovered with broken bones.

Adèkílẹ̀'s boys didn't get goodwill,
they entered our boys without chill.

One thing Òogbórí warned the boys about.
He said troubles would only bring itself about.
Although he still nurtures the trouble.
He was seen plotting wars on his table.

But, he insists no war brings peace.
It is either it leaves the village scattered in piece.
Or it causes the roof to mourn a piece.

In pure love,
all could be resolved.



You said you like not girls, 
except those endowed with big breast.
Your radar of Wi-Fi is really so hot.
Its amazing it automatically connects any hot-spot.

On the day you walked with Salewa, 
we heard the night chastised her with your manpower.
Kelechi, Khadija, Ibádílọ̀lá, Beatrice, Bankẹ́ , Lábákẹ́, 
80% of our jewels are all within your benefited bracket.

They say ladies are flowers, 
Our village is a known garden;
like the gold, to ivory Coast, 
like a goal to a Keeper on goalpost... 

You are like Lionnel Messi, 
you feast on our trophies without mercy.
You are like Arabian Traders;
you exploit our wealth with few rababas.
Just like an angry Harmattan, 
you remorselessly roast our roses without frying-pan.

Your vigil is dominated by melodies of "Oh Jeez!" 
Your true religion is only holy around fine cheeks.
Boys in The Association of fine-boy's, 
aren't really mad about this.
But it is this your silly case, 
that has been disturbing their craze.
So before it turns to a serious case, 
they said I should ask you; 
"Hope no be sey you dey craze?"


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