LAUTECH: The Story of a Motherless Baby [Poem] – By Pele Olabanji

The groaning of child birth

Reminds me of mothers

All over the universe

Those who are still alive

Even those who have gone beyond


In pains, unbearable and excruciating

They long for the cry of their baby

Their discomfort notwithstanding

The innocent loud cry

Is more than a comfort to them


Nine months of determination

Nine months of perseverance

Nine months of heaviness

Still, they remain steadfast

Waiting for the arrival of their child


A child curdled in his/her mother’s arm

Unlike a child in the hand of an hiring

Can tell of how satisfying

That calm, and tender loving arms could be

It’s a place of comfort, an heaven on earth!


A child that enjoy motherly affection

Have a better story of life to tell

They who do not, mature in suffering

With their rights denied

And their hope, cloudy.


But how unfortunate is a motherless child?

Everyone voices to be her mother

Yet, nobody is ready to pick up her responsibility

A deceived child of all

Who is indeed a child of none.


What then is more unfortunate

For an innocent child to be mistreated

What then is more unfortunate

Than toying with his/her future

Creating more havoc than good.


The saying that a new born baby

Should not suffer evil in the market square

When the elders are present.

Is becoming an old saying

A mere codswallop and claptrap


For I have seen a new born child

Suffered humiliation in the hands of the elders

I have seen an innocent child

Disregarded by wicked hiring, called mothers

An heartless, irresponsible ones.


The same is the case of LAUTECH

With innocent sons and daughters

Who are students of the institution

They’ve suffered, in fact still suffering

In the hands of those who ought to curdle them.


Seven wasted months of industrial actions

A seven fold waste of destiny

Yet no one listen to the cry of this helpless baby, LAUTECH

Who will stand up for her?

Who will come to her rescue?


Enough, enough of this malady

Enough, enough of scattering

Enough, enough of irresponsibility

Let the womb that brought this child

Takes full responsibility of her.


Thousand of disciplined students

Across the country beg for the re-opening of her gate

Oh, helpless fearless LAUTECH

Normality will be restored to you

And your once upon a time integrity


LAUTECH is crying aloud,

She seeks for justice

Justice in all its ramifications

For it is only justice

That can remedy injustice, not time.


Pele Olabanji

POETRY: I Am Funaabites by Ajenifuja Abdulalim

(Written for the robberies, the death and injustice)

I am one; I am Funaabites.
And they barged well into my peace
arresting my innocence with charges
of aches and wilderness;
They say I slept with smiles every night
in the days of great sessions,
and to rape joy is to be sentenced
to two semesters of agony!
The peak of all; Black Thursday!
I’m axed and past the heavens in pain.

The beauty is the beast
disguised in human garbs.
So they say; I have been the beauty,
And in waterfalling tears, fears or force…
I am again that will be the beast!
My face is forced to face the east,
The sun and my eyes are loving ends of the magnet.
And what shall become of the ends?
Love? Joy? Conjointness?
Show me the difference please
between ‘Admins’, ‘thieves’ and ‘poLICE’.

They put me off-campus to love my tears;
To love my bereavement, rape and death;
To make my tears into a flowing ocean
that will sink my grades and life
in the fear of every night.
My agony is the plain pain in my complain,
But they muffed their ears; danced to soundless nodes,
See their cabooses meander, like..
the swag of the humourous inferno.
But I laugh not! I am burned!

They put my eyes in the deep of the sun,
Till with the sun my eyes become one,
The pain is painful!
But I’m now the hotness in the sun’s atom,
My body is black and my face; red!
They thought I would live but at all.
Nay! I will die but at all!
Now I want to shine my burn on them,
I want to bless their dark with light.
Dark is evil in peace, Light is justice!
I am the tarantula, the sting in tears;
The crux of awoken slush,
The crush of chameleon mangabeys!
The feeling of left or right in the middle of woes,
I am determination, I am Funaabites!
When front fronts back backs,
And who should shoot the sun but the police.
He shot my eye, he has blinded Funaabites!
Nigerians will tell em all that ‘one eye lost…
is a million selfless ones gained!
The beginning of Justice… 
is my depth of call; The witness of law;
The heed of help.

© Ajenifuja A. Abdulalim

Coker Oladipupo: Let no one speak ill of the dead

Let no one speak ill of the dead

Death is a debt all men pay
Adiye irana ki se ohun a je gbe
here we are
Our eulogy of he, an illusionist
Him who travelled through thin air
Confusing authorities and Information Technology at Heathrow
Landed at Muritala
Hero unsung
Dressed as a woman
Finally we got to know
His arrival we heralded
On how effective our juju was
Native doctors clientele surged his testimony
Later a sham
Laughter for our soul
Fela my Uncle rest in peace
“Suffering and smiling”
A prophet in your own right
An extradition took you now
To No-man’s land
A land we may never see you come back from
A coronary was the reason
That much we were told
Ai rin jina, ni a ri abuke okere
Eni ba tule tule, a ri a’yan funfun

One extradition superseded another
Tales abound
Some founded
Some unfounded
Here we are Onibode
Adie irana we brought
He ate several his own we bring now
Him born of woman
Successor of him with no shoes
Who trode us down with our gifts
A ruckus this is still
Let no one speak ill of the dead
Death is a debt all men pay.


Busayo Coker: Lethal Weapons

“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people”

DMX Lethal Weapon IV

A strange truth as all profoundly true statements are

The notion of the absurdity of the statement in itself terrifies

One truth you would expect a lie in a nation

Even one ruled by thugs and tyrants

In a democracy an anomaly

Yet this is true

Truer with extortionist manning check points

Trained men, with egunje as their sole motive

Trigger happy, conscience seared with hot iron

Death holds no meaning

Life is for a few dollars more

Ruled by kickbacks and nepotism

Superior beings clothed , the devil in black black

Human in heart blackened

Pots of Mormon

Dirges we still sing for you

Suckling plucked from her mother’s breast

Mother died not willing, she gave her life once for her suckling

She got back a gift

Her life now she lost, her gift she lost

Hippocrates oath mere words

Life holds no value

Emergency services mere words

Nothing all is nothing

We bid you sleep in peace

Black is death.

#Poetry: Tea And Blood

He drank from the mug

Prepared him by their maid

He wished she was his…

His view of her ended

As she left the door behind her.

He would not stop thinking

Of how she would give him

More and new children

Better in beauty and character

Than the gang of scoundrels

His “till death do us part” gave him.

… He could trade them,

He can trade them

For that hour-glass figured,

Dark, plump, graceful

And gorgeous Puerto-Rican,

Not that ugly blonde, ungrateful

Descendant of the queen….

Suddenly He felt pain

Resembling a mixture of marital regrets

And a cut from his lower lip.

Tasted like Tea and Blood.

By: Dinah Adams @DidiYargata

#FromTheDarkRoom: One Little Death – Japheth J. Omojuwa

He died yesterday! He said to me, you are going too fast, you are doing too much, and you are scaring everyone… he died yesterday!

To be alive today is to be guilty! Cynicism has become the oxygen of existence, we drink it, we eat it and we live it. We do not believe in one another and ourselves anymore, how then can we even believe in a common humanity?

A child needs a dose of inspiration on her birthday, reaches out to a celebrity she has never seen for some of it, “please retweet this to make my day!” or “please, wish me a happy birthday!” and like a gift never expected even when desired, the tweet and retweet happen. And what happens? The crowd gets in, “you are begging for a retweet?” “You must have low self esteem issues,” “what is in a retweet?” and all those words and statements from the predictable bible of cynicism as the world’s biggest court room unleashes judgment from its never resting judges.

But you don’t see it, it was your birthday, the tweet, retweet and the message from that person you loved, without any reason even you can explain, that message changed everything. It inspired you, it made you believe, in the midst of everything, someone cares enough for you to do something for you, little it seems, but it was done for you and like the sun, shines on everyone but not everyone knows how much each sunlight means, you value that gift.

You are happy, though momentary, how long does that feeling last? Oh As long as you want it to because, this life is what you make of it. You can save the moments of happiness within, your mind is the only bank only you can determine who steals from. So, you save those moments for when the world throws contrary ones at you. Happiness can be created and recreated. It is the essence of recycling. Nostalgia comes close. You cannot live happily, ever after or ever for the moment, without at first finding happiness inside of you.

It’s in the eyes you see in the mirror, in the old pictures you took at places you may never be again, in the words of children, their innocence and your guilt for when you were their age and always wanting to grow up quickly. Adulthood you feel turned out to be a lie but it died! You are a new you. You can be that child with the responsibilities of an adult. You can see the beauty in a flying butterfly and even see the value in a roadside beggar. You see more. You feel more. You want to take everything, live through it all. They will judge and abuse, curse and word-beat you, but you are never going down except you lower yourself to their expectations.

They hate the fact you are single, they know no story about the one you have loved, the one who loved you back and the unwholesome realities that for once defeated the soaring power of two love birds.

Who do you blame, when you have done all within your powers, said it all, thought it all, and it just never fits together? You blame no one. If you can do it again, try again. If you cannot do it again, let it be. God knows best. Let it die! In peace. That you, that cared about the report from others, that you, that thought so much into the canvas of you painted by those who don’t see your mind, who see your face but never see your heart. Let it die! Because, too many die everyday. No, they don’t lose their breath, deprived of oxygen forever and let go of life. They just die!

One bad word from the crowd; One little death! A failed marriage or relationship; one little death. A lost friendship that never should have been; one little death. A lost job; one little death. The doctor report that should never have been; one little death! Death everyday, you don’t see it because it creeps up on you like time, slowly but surely, moving and never stopping, the little death that comes with losing sight of the beautiful, of your progress and the love the world has to share. The love you have to give.

Because the world tells you that you are guilty of everything, all that happens to you and all that you happen to; so, you dress your guilt, wrap it up and leave it in your heart. It grows, becomes real and eats at your joy; one little death.

Day by day, you live it to the full and live it on your terms, doing your best to make each day count, for you and for others. And to remember; you live one little day more in joy and fulfillment or you die one little death.

He died yesterday! He never had much say in my life, because I always ventured, always said what I felt, how I felt it and to whom I felt it but I saw there was still a little life in the doubts within, so I crushed it! I killed it! One little thing, that tiny doubt, I killed it!

Because, the world of creation was made of little things and destruction comes in bits. That little death; kills you faster than the death you fear the most! Live today!

But if you must die a little death, die as a seed, sprout again, bloom and blossom, bear fruits that give life.


#SpeakWithJJ #AnotherDay #AnotherBeginning #LiveJustLive #DoItDoYouDoRight

To Those Who Sit in Dark Places – James Ogunjimi

To those who sit in dark places,
To plot the downfall of the just.
To those who gather with hidden faces,
To cause nothing to the righteous but a fall.
Posterity says it has not slept or forgotten;
Nemesis has just one message: “I am coming.”

To those who sit in high places,
Looting and stealing collective resources without care.
To those who fight and leave in their wake broken maces,
And promise to wreak more havoc without fear.
The law of ’cause and effect’ says: “I am still active,”
The grave says: “Inside me is where you’ll live.”

To those who gather in religion’s name,
To destroy, maim and kill.
To those who deceive the people with clause and phrase,
To keep them perpetually in need.
Scripture says: “The triumph of the wicked is not for long,”
Life says: “Remember Abacha and return.”

@hullerj on Twitter
The views expressed above are solely that of the writer and not of or its associates.

Don’t Tell Me We’re Free – James Ogunjimi

Don’t judge us by the Smiling faces
And conclude we are happy.
Don’t use as examples just a few cases
And say it’s reality.
For Smiling faces do not mean the same as happy people,
Neither does smooth talk translate to goodwill.

Don’t see the big cars we drive
And conclude we are rich.
Don’t look at the clothes we have
And call us the real deal.
For big cars do not mean the same as rich men,
Neither does big clothes translate to big men.

Don’t look at us ‘going places’
And conclude we can soar.
Don’t look at us like cheetahs running in races
And expect us to roar.
For ‘going places’ does not always mean it’s in the right direction,
Neither does aimless running translate to eventual elevation.

Don’t look at our feet without shackles
And conclude we are free.
Don’t look at our faces without wrinkles
And say it’s the good life we live.
For the invisibility of chains is no proof of its absence,
Neither does smooth face translate to a life of rest.

The views expressed above are solely that of the writer and not of or its associates.

@Hullerj on Twitter

When The Cheer Begins – @Olladave

When the cheer begins
When the lights are on
When the music is loud
The screams, oh mine
And the flashing lights see paparazzi
I'm fresh money- karma karzee
When I am demi-god
When the crowd finally meets me
They think I am legend
When they eventually touch me.

Knowing that I can change many things
As I represent my family
I'll so much love the smile on mama's face,
That's my baby mama says
I'm the leader of a zillion fans
So put your gaddem hands in the air.

Cos when the cheer begins
Then I'll be king
And I'll reign supreme
That's if the cheer begins
Alas! When will the cheer begin? 

Written by: @Olladave
Olladave is a singer and poet

Centenary Mark: Cries Of Abel – Dr. Soyombo Ayomikun

1.Dead & forgotten are becoming the days

When as one we lived sharing countless goody trays

Unheard of were words like ‘terrorists’ and ‘bombs’

Happily we survived though on morsels & crumbs

Without fear from North to South we could easily travel

Ours was a unity causing distant lands to marvel

2.Dead & forgotten are becoming the days

When if just one should die all recline to sorrow bays

As a family we shared victories & defeats

Young & old alike aspiring to world-changing feats

When night comes we even sleep not closing the door

Both the paupers & kings happily played on the floor

3.Thoughts of our past fills my orbits with tears

A glimpse into tomorrow my heart with fears

Oh! that the beauty we once had not become a forgotten tale

That our generation not perish leaving behind an invisible trail

Can we give love a chance to heal our hearts again

As hatred & greed will never yield us a meaningful gain

4.Ink mixing with tears I’m pleading for that resurrection

Of our ailing spirits on the verge of extinction

Nigeria still remains a beautiful people with a soft core

So let’s refuse to be thorn apart by sublime political rancour

Enough of these sleazy pursuits ruining our souls

That one day soon we may again share supper bowls

5.Commissioners & Senators gathering to decide

That even without a pay they are ready to toil

Governors that won’t slap taxpayers with their sweat

By terrorizing them on the streets with fierce looking guards & sirens

All we want are Presidents that will neglect the office embracing the weakest

Yielding their backs for all to sit upon on a ride to glory

6.All over the 36 states day & night we pray

From sunrise to sunset in different offices we labour

Kindly treat us as prisoners no more but as citizens

That we may uphold the nation’s honour & glory without regrets

Not by mouth but acts again tell us you care

Else our vengeance call will not cease as that of Abel

The Poet’s Mathematics By Ogundipe David Oluwasegun

With his canoe, he paddled on the lone sand

Deafening noise and yet no sound

For years he awaited the sun’s appearance at night

He grew so weak that he became a knight

His greatest fear is that he is fearless

Taking caution with him implies one is careless

Those in his future died in the time past

So slow that he won every race before they start

Perfectly imperfect to be seen as perfect

Gallantly, he strolled around the crowded but empty market

And towards the woman who was the husband of her wife

Then she sold to the man who neither came to buy nor sell

Long life to the king destined to die young

Through whom their happiest sorrow “sprung”

Sadly, they composed the song for his coronation

Happily, it was sang at his funeral

Where he delivered a speech as their general

The lines are hidden inside the moon

You need a missal to crack this.

Tribute To Adebayo Ibitoye (Big Bamo) By Abiola Akintunde

How could this happen and how did it happen,
When did it happened and where did it happen,
A life so dear has been lost,
Only a body to mourn over.

The sun as bright as it is, so much of a life giver,
Has refused to continue to shine on this flower,
Out of love, he was planted,
With passion he germinated out to this world,
In tenderness and careness he grew,
Only for him to radiate the same,
Never to expect such benevolence from another.

Why? Why has the sun refuse to shine?
To shine on such a beautiful flower,
Why has the rain refuse to water this tree,
Even if it was a drop like a dew that will rain,
To survive longer, to see his smile once again:
I would have gone up the mountains;
Praying day and night for a drop of dew,
I would have appeased the gods;
Only to have another drink with you,
I would have pleaded with the gate keeper;
To deny you entrance into the after life,
I would have turned a prophet;
Just only to make your last day here forever,
But I wasn’t given that opportunity,
I was caught unprepared.

The dusk of a new dawn,
Has turned a night without end,
Like an unanticipated eclipse,
Turns a bright day into darkness,
So as your untimely death,
Darkens the brightness of our days to spend,
Only to brighten the memories of our days together.

To stay with you I hung unto the past,
Lost in your memories yet it was pathfounding,
Your goodness echoing through the blank space you left,
Your smiles illuminating the darkness,
Which you left us with and only for your care,
To fill the vacuum you created.

A rare gem you are even than jadite;
The rarest of them all.
Shocking and painful it was,
To hear you had an accident,
More shocking and painful it was,
To hear you had passed on to the world beyond.

Unfortunate it is for the world,
To have lost you so untimely,
More unfortunate it is for the gate keeper,
For our thirst to see you once again,
Might cause an underworld break,
Still the dead can not walk in the midst of the living.

How could it be you
That will be shot to death by flying bullets?
Why is it you that was smitten down by death itself?
How could you leave us without preparing us,
Your departure caught us unguarded.

We miss you as the plants misses the sun,
We miss you as the predator misses its prey,
We miss you as a pathway misses an enzyme,
We miss you as the hunter misses his sight.
In your memories we seek solace,
In God almighty we seek comfort.

Big Bamo can’t be forgotten,
Big Boyo will be missed,
Zemeze will always be remembered,
Boyo Logomba rest in peace and not in pieces,
Till we meet to part no more.

When My Time Comes – Fatima Garba Aliyu

When my time comes I will leave, there will be no BEEP…


I may not be ready.. yet I must leave, heard that the pain is DEEP…


My knowledge and knowing all must leave, left alone my wealth you can share the JEEP…


If my time comes, please don’t go to my grave and WEEP…


Because am not there at SLEEP…


If my time comes, all I need is a prayer you’ll KEEP…


Fatima Garba Aliyu

Kano, Nigeria.

Silence! Silence!! Silence!!! – A Poetic Tribute To Ifeoluwa Ojikutu by Oluwasegun Olufemi

It has no season

It has no time

It goes and comes as it wishes

Sometimes like a thief in the night

Always ready to strike

Never minding the pain that follows

Oh Death! Why are thou cruel?

Thy sharp claws knows no one

Not the old nor the young

You care not about our grief

You dig our hearts with horror

Cover our faces with ashes

Watered our eyes with tears

Turned our garments to rags

Oh Death! Thou have struck again

You have cursed our sea with storm

Thundered in hot sun and caused our flowers to wither

Oh Death! Why now?

It’s funny how you can turn love into horror

It still amazes me how you turned a white day into a black one

Are thou now glad that roses be placed at their tombs?

You took away a rare gem

You took away our smile

You took away a person of passion

You took away our pride, a legacy!

You took away our friend

You took away the future of a generation

You took away a jovial woman

And left us without strength

We’ve cried out our hearts

But you feel no sympathy

We are lost in thoughts

But you are unto the next

The echoes are still around

It still feels like a dream

My voice still trembles

I refuse to believe

Just imagine

Imagine the absence of the sun when our dresses are wet

The absence of the moon when the nights are dark

The absence of rain when there is drought

The absence of a blanket in a long cold night

Imagine the absence of our beloved friend IFEOLUWA… “@royalamebo”


Death! Why?

You’ve painted our rainbow black

You’ve folded our heart, and caused it to bleed

Oh! Why at the pinnacle of a man’s life

Why at the cradle of her success


Silence! Silence!! Silence!!!

Oh earth, do you not feel her absence already?

The absence of a Motivator

The absence of a friend

The absence of a daughter

The absence of a lover

The absence of Ifeoluwa Ojikutu @royalamebo

Till thou come visiting again, I curse thee to the deepest part of the earth..

N.B: I never met her, but she touched my life. There was a time I tweeted, “I’m tired of life,” she simply kept a ‘smile’ smiley and replied, “it is stupid to give up when you don’t know tomorrow.” Thank you for giving me a reason to live on. You will be remembered even in death.

Oluwasegun Olufemi

To The Soul That Never Dies – Okikiola Asher @asherstuta | #RIPIfeoluwa


Like a ray of light in the darkness of my heart she came forth

Her words cut through the bricks I spent all my years building

Going through our conversations over and over again

The memories we shared…our stories….our scars

Our pains…our happiness…we shared it all

Nothing was held back.


To my friend, my companion, the one who understands my fears

In just 63days Ifeoluwa showed me what it means to love

She lived every bit of her life with so much passion.

My friend loved me just the way I am.

 poured every of her essence on my inside

She told me things ….

I heard the wise men say all that is beautiful fades away

My friend is beautiful in all her essence….she captured my mind

She tried so hard to make me see the death she was fighting

But she did it with so much grace I thought it simple.

Ifeoluwa Deborah Ayokunnu Ojikutu you are more than a friend

You are my sister! So many times you told me how much you loved me

She told me nothing can separate us from the love of God! Not even death.

And how much I challenge you to see the next day

I guess I ran out of fuel

My friend lived

I love you ifeoluwa.

I’ll miss you.

RIP Love

RIP Love

Before We Met – A short poem by Fatima Garba Aliyu

Before We Met – Fatima Garba Aliyu


Before we met, I was minding my own business,

Before we met, I was a peaceful African Country,

Before we met, I was termed the giant of Africa,

Before we met, my elites were strong and united,

Before we met, my people were hard-working,

Before we met, transparency was what I adopted,

Before we met, my leaders were after good leadership,

To serve there people, And not to be served,

Before we met, those at the top respected those at the root,

And those at the root honoured those at the top,

Before we met, a universal understanding was between my people,

Before we met, I was bearing the name Nigeria,

And not the name Nigeria bearing me,

Before we met

Before we met

I was a corrupt free society

Lady Of The Niger Area – @olladave

Lady Of The Niger Area

It will only take forever I bet

To cast her off my mind

The thought I will bind

Cos she’s such a beauty to find.

A used to be London slave

Yet not a freeborn in her own enclave,

The reason for her laughable laughter;

Her sons and daughters.

I sorrowfully sobbed when I knew that I am born

So impoverished to be her son.

Lady of the Niger area

I have not stolen of your gbaramutu gold

Neither have I hidden your treasures of old

The abundant leftover of the Londoner’s loot.

Lady of the Niger area

Millions of your dime,

Now once upon a time

Still rich in gold, milk and honey

But what of your dandy sons

Who orders a banquet each time they belch

How you look centenarian

In your so tender middle age

That Methuselah will call you old

Just like the anguish on the face of a labouring


Such is your radiance.

Naked of your rags; nothing in your bags.

Oh! I cry for you my root.

For with my flute,

I will always blow the tunes of your bruise.

By @olladave

Olladave is a singer and poet

Today, I Choose To Be Positive By Seun Solaja


Today, I choose to be Positive

If being positive means standing up against what is wrong

If standing up means speaking out against the ills of my country

If the ills of our time means corruption and social injustice

If corruption means bribery and aiding

If injustice means depriving fundamental rights

Then today, I will choose to be Positive


Today, I choose to be Negative

If being negative means not stealing from my country’s coffers

If stealing means diverting funds for community boreholes to my wife’s purse holes

If my wife’s purse hole is deep and endless

If deep means a thousand pieces of Milan designs and counting

If endless stretches farther than the embellished doors of Swiss jewellers

Then today, I will choose to be Negative

Today, I choose to be Loud

If loud means screaming to the world my country’s best

If being the best means the richest country we potentially are

If best means we are only misguided and riotous angels

If misguided means bombing on the plateaux of Jos

If riotous means burning on the streets of Aluu

Today, I still choose to be Loud

Today, I choose Silence

I silence the inner voice that speaks ill at will

I silence gainsayers and naysayers

I silence the vicious cries of depravity

I silence the rambunctious screams of nepotism

If silence means shutting up hues of ill-fitting propaganda

Then today, I choose Silence

Today, I choose to Grieve

I grieve for the naked corruption that pervade my country

I wail for the senseless killings that make widows and orphans per night

I cry for the brainwashed boy that blows himself up for lies retold

I weep for the defenceless child who may get married before her first period

If tomorrow looks bleak and hope remains shattered

Then today, I choose to Grieve

Today, I choose to be Merry

To dance, to eat, and drink wine very

To sleep and wake with late night movies

To make the most of the day ‘cos now I’m privy

To forget what the future cares to give even if I’m lonely

Maybe tomorrow I might have some grieving

But today, I choose to be Merry


Twitter: @seuntweeets

The Big Man By Vivian Beulah Igbokwe


He parks his car at the village square

And decides to take a stroll

But at each corner he looks

He hears their cries

He sees their pain

Their women bent over in pains

And within he melts

Or was he?

Because he calls for a village meeting

On the podium his big voice could be heard saying

“I will build the schools”

“I will bring the light”

Then in a moment, the people see a light

Behind him they form a line

And pledge their support, their life

The BIG MAN enters the glass office

He thinks

Oh! My Belinda, what can I do for you?

He buys her a car

He thinks again

Oh! My Sussana, what will make you happy?

Then he throws her a party

He buys a house at Manchester

He buys another at Cincinnati

Below the people cry

But his neck has become heavy

He can no more look down

He is receiving a call from Linda

So he can no more hear their cries

In despair, the people cry

Judgement will come upon you

He throws back his head and laughs

When did you become gods?

We are the gods of the land

He throws back his head and laughs loud

The people lift up their voice and cry loud

One day, just one day

The BIG MAN will sleep on the laps of Amanda

And will never wake up

SHE NEEDS A PEN NOT A PENIS By Bijimi Daniel Meindous

She needs a pen not a penis.
She needs a text book not a conjugal bed.
She needs the classroom not the labour room.
She is a child too young to have a child.

Her biological composition is not ripe for womanhood.
Her mentality not matured for parenthood.
Her physical strength not strong for a house wife.
She is a child not a bride.

You consider her consent irrelevant.
Her opinion does not count.
Her future dreams are being shattered.
Her economic contribution to the nation has been hampered.

All by a wicked system with no justification.
Oppressing the helpless and most vulnerable.
You should care for her education not your ejaculation.
She needs fatherly direction not a husband’s erection.

Blog site-
twitter handle- dmeindous.

GOD, GIVE US MEN! By Josiah Gilbert and @Tjpoet

God, give us men! A time like this demand

Give us men of strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands;

Men whom the lust of oil does not thrill;

Men who believes not in the politics of do-or-die

Men who possess opinions and a will;

Men who will neither torture their opposition nor kill;

Men who are Angels of truth and enemies of lies.

Lord, give us men!

Men that are pure in heart and sound in brain;

Men whose words shift mountain and even break the slavery chain;

Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy

Men who walk through the corridors of light and transparency

Men who can stand before a demagogue

And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking;

Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog

In public duty and in private thinking;

Give us men! Who will neither derail nor slumber in seeking justice and serving the country;

Men whose strength is dedicated in fighting for the comfort of the masses;

Such men we seek oh lord…

…to rescue this Ark (country) from sinking!

Listen to the whirlwind By Ogunjimi James Taiwo

Listen to the whirlwind

I will consume; Oh yes, I will
I will ravage; don’t doubt me I plead
I see blood even though the world can’t see.
I see death when life is what your preachers preach.
I feel it approaching, the consuming anger of the wind.

They want us in chains; will we allow them I ask?
They like us jobless; should we sit under their tables praying for crumbs to fall off their laps?
They thrive on our fear; should we not dare to take up the fight?
They like us fighting ourselves; should we not forge our path?

The world stands watching; waiting to see if we’ll get it right.
The helpless kneel praying; hoping we’ll neglect our fear.
The enslavers sit in dark corners watching; keen to see if we’ll bring our words to life.
The one question lies hanging: Who will bell the cat?

Listen to the whirlwind as it speaks in clear tones.
Listen to the whirlwind as it promises to sweep through and pull down their poles.
I will come when the eyes of the people are opened.
I will sweep through, visit the oppressors and break their stranglehold.

I will not come when timidity still reigns supreme.
I will not come when your voices are not united in tune.
I will come when your minds are made up.
I will come, I am coming, and they will fall.

Listen to the voice of the whirlwind as it promises to the oppressors death.
Listen, they say, or thy tongue will keep thee deaf.
The anger of the People will come as a whirlwind; it will cleanse, it will consume.
Listen; oh listen to the voice of the whirlwind as it calls out in revolutionary tunes.

Ogunjimi James Taiwo

Twitter: @hullerj


GLOOM | a sonnet for Nigeria’s democracy – Michael Adu @Adu_Michael


GLOOM.  29.5.2013.  11.59am


Weep for the coming dawn

Do not drink to this morn

The river, the newborn,

All swallowed by the post-dis-progressive Sun


The breadwinners are all down

I saw them torn with a fang

The oil field, the corn barn

All dancing in the burn


White marrow is gone, maroon is worn

Two complete circles yet to run

Assembled bloated Swine in ensemble trumpet blown

Drunk and cloned in sty gloated noon




Once more into the fray

On the May of another by the people day

Live and die on this stagnant bay

With our youthful hue all gone grey? –


Michael Adu (@Adu_Michael).


Some help with the Poem:


‘Post-Dis-Progressive’: PDP


‘Two complete circles’: 2 calendar years


‘…bloated Swines’: Fat pigs. Reference to ‘when pigs gather, no one complains of dirtiness'(?)


‘…gloated ‘noon’: noon is the exact half of a day: halfway through GEJ’s tenure.


‘On the MAY’: the ‘celebration’ of Democracy day, MAY 29.


‘…’by the people’ day’: Democracy; a government run ‘by the people’

Who is our God? – a poem by Femi Fani-Kayode

He is the God of the Holy Bible, the giver of life. He is the Holy One of Israel whose coming was prophesied for thousands of years by the Prophets before it came to pass. He is He that humbled Himself and shed His divinity, who came down as God incarnate in the flesh, who suffered on the cross, who shed His blood, who gave up His life as a living sacrifice for our sins, who went down into hell and overcame Satan and the principalities and powers, who rose again, who ascended into Heaven and who sits at the right hand of God the Father.

He is He whose Holy Spirit guides, leads, protects and fights for us on earth today. He is He that is high and lifted up, whose train fills the Temple. He is He that is more than able and whose Kingdom shall never end. He is He that makes all things beautiful in His own way and in His own time. He is the Spoiler of our Enemies, our Advocate, our Defender and our Judge.

He is the Man of War, the Avenger of our Blood, The Ancient of Days, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, the Lord of Hosts, the Comforter, the Consuming Fire, the Alpha and the Omega, the Creator of all that is, the Prince of Peace, the Lily of the Valley, the Rose of Sharon, the Balm of Gilead, the Blood of the Sprinkling, the Rejected Stone that became the Cornerstone, the Nazarene, the Conqueror of Satan and the Great Provider.

He is the Author and Finisher of our Faith, the Lifter of our Heads, our Shield and our Glory. He is our Father who is filled with love, who guards us jealously and who never fails. He is the Lord of the Universe, the Lord of the 24 Elders that sit before Him in His throne room, the Lord of the Angels and the Archangels, the Lord of the Cherubims and the Seraphims and He is the King of Glory. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle, He is the King of Glory.

His name is Jehova Sabaoth, Jehova Rapha, Yahweh God and the I Am That I Am. He is irresistible and unfathomable. He is the God of the Armies of Israel and the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Gideon, Jeptha, Samson, Moses, Samuel, David, Joseph, Elijah, Elisha and the Apostle Paul. He is the Compassionate and the Merciful, the Adonai, the Elohim, the Lamb of God, The Risen King, the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords- Yashua, Jesus Christ of Nazareth, Son of the Living God.

We are created for His pleasure, He delights to prosper us, He displays His glory in our lives and besides Him there is no God.

He wears the ring of the Baphomet – a poem by Femi Fani-Kayode

He wears the ring of the Baphomet and he is a lover of women. He rides them like a devil, with a deep and ferocious passion. They fall in love with him instantly yet he cannot be reigned in or controlled. He is a danger to women. He is wild and free. He walks out of the room coldly, moves on and leaves them behind. Yet thoughts of him continue to ravage their minds and threaten to drive them insane. They are victims of his Baphomet spell. They feel sad, humiliated and used. They say to themselves ”if I can’t have him, no-one will have him”. They plan to destroy him. He is the object of their love and hate all at once.

He should have controlled his sex drive and kept his giant weapon to himself. He should not have serviced and loved them with the vigour, depth and passion of a god from Mount Olympus. He should not have taken them to heaven and brought them back to earth with a bump. This servant of the Baphomet drives women insane with pleasure. He is a danger to women. His gentle touch lights up their fire and kindles an insatiable lust in their bodies, spirits and souls. Once he has pleasured them, no one else matters and they cannot let him go.

It is just the chemistry and the aura he radiates. Once he touches them they are obsessed with him for life. And it is instantaneous. Lustful thoughts of his giant weapon plague and torment them from morning till night and from night till morning. He drives them insane with his wild and unrestrained visualisations, his vivid fantasies, his filthy words and his fertile and sensual imagination. He demolishes their inhibitions and he removes their sense of decency and self-restraint. They go wild when he mounts them. Whether princess or pauper they forget who and what they are and they enter the palace of pleasure with this servant of the Baphomet.

He destroys their restrictive thought processes and their cool rationality with his burning sex appeal, his unrestrained and raw power and his primitive passion. Once he has ravaged them and had his wicked way they cannot let him go. They alone must enjoy the sheer pleasure that his tireless weapon and insatiable tongue brings. This man stirs passions that no mortal is meant to stir. He is a labial lover. He is a burning fire. He is a danger to women. And he wears the ring of the Baphomet.

POETRY: Will We Ever Smile Again? – Ogunjimi James Taiwo @hullerj

POETRY: Will We Ever Smile Again?

Wrinkles crease our brow,
Because we’re apprehensive about tomorrow.
Tears stain our cheek,
Because we don’t know what to expect in the coming weeks.

Our hearts are gripped with fear,
We run as fast as a deer.
Our heart aches for peace,
But dare we hope for it?

Our heart jumps each time we hear the sound of bullets,
Our heart aches for those whose bodies have been pumped full of lead.
When, we ask, will we smile again?
Or will we continue to live in fear day by day?

Who will wipe the tears from our eyes?
Who can we burden with our cares?
Is there anyone who will dare speak up in our defence?
Or will they all sit on the fence?

Will the morning of joy ever dawn in our land?
Will the children of all tribes and religion ever walk hand in hand?
Will an end ever come to these questions that we ask?
Will we, I ask, ever smile again?

Ogunjimi James Taiwo

Twitter: @hullerj

POETRY: There Was An Achebe… – by Adesina Tosin Nathaniel

POETRY: There Was An Achebe… – by Adesina Tosin Nathaniel


Like a comet

You came from no where

You grew like a jellyfish

Spreading your tentacles to the whole world

From the north to the south, east & west

Your glory was sang to high heavens


With your pen

You fought oppression

You fought injustice

You brought smile on us

From when things started falling apart

To the arrows of God that separated them


And a man of the people

That was no longer at ease

You remain courageous

Truthfulness was your watchword

You never compromise till the end

Just like a baby is dear to her mother



The Igbo nation was dear to you

You were loyal to Nigeria till the end

You fly her flag all over the world

You saw what others never saw

You roar through your pen like a lion

And the forests shook & tremble


You were great from cradle to grave

Those that saw you as an enemy

Bow to your greatness in death

Though you’re gone, you exist among us

Those that try to silence you

Never succeeded in silencing your works


You were never tired till the last day

The ink from your pen never drops

There was a country was your last message to us

You saw it coming, but we never envisaged it

Though you’re sleeping, we will always remember that

There was an Achebe



Adesina Tosin Nathaniel

Adekunle Ajasin University.

Follow on twitter @Adesina01

POETRY: Christ Is Risen! – by Ogunyemi Bukola

POETRY: Christ Is Risen! – by Ogunyemi Bukola

Christ is risen,
The rice is boiling,
The chickens are frying,
The families are dining,
The parents are slacking,
The children are lacking,
The standards are falling,
Christ is risen.

Christ is risen,
The music is blasting,
The beers are flowing,
The ladies are dancing,
The guys are weeding,
The party is rocking,
The lovers are sexing,
Christ is risen.

Christ is risen,
The shepherds are lounging,
The sheep are straying,
The church is drifting,
The faith is dying,
The demons are working,
The devil is roaring,
Christ is risen.

Christ is risen,
Our nation is ailing,
The people are starving,
Our leaders are feasting,
Fuel price increasing,
The masses are groaning,
Suffering and smiling,
Politicians are stealing,
I mean really looting,
The tribes are fighting,
Fanatics are bombing,
Innocents are dying,
The youths are converging,
Our purpose uniting,
Optimism is rising,
A new Nigeria emerging.

Christ is risen,
The nations are warring,
The earth is quaking,
Disasters are many,
And scores are dying,
The end is looming,
The saints are praying,
Eagerly expecting,
The trumpets are sounding,
The world ignoring,
Christ is risen.

Ogunyemi Bukola (April 2012)

Follow on twitter: @zebbook


An Elegy For Reuben Abati (2011 – 2015)

An Elegy For Reuben Abati (2011 – 2015)

Abati is dead and gone to his grave,

Ooh! Aah! Gone to his grave.

They planted a mango tree over his head,

Ooh! Aah! Over his head.

The mangoes grew ripe and ready to drop,

Ooh! Aah! Ready to drop.

But Old Papa Mango said, “Bloody hell, STOP.”

Ooh! Aah! Bloody hell, Stop.

“Is that not Abati we all used to know?”

Ooh! Aah! All used to know.

“Who fought for the masses on Patito’s show”

Ooh! Aah! Patito’s show.

“What on earth was he given to make him recant?”

Ooh! Aah! Make him recant.

“His famous anti-government rant”

Ooh! Aah! Government rant

“On my word as a mango, I solemnly swear.”

Ooh! Aah! Solemnly swear.

“Neither I nor my children will drop even near.”

Ooh! Aah! Drop even near.

“The corpse of a traitor so odious and vile.”

Ooh! Aah! Odious and vile.

“And I haven’t had reason to swear in a while.”

Ooh! Aah! Swear in a while.

So it was that Abati gave more after dying,

Ooh! Aah! More after dying.

Than he did in a whole life of faking and lying,

Ooh! Aah! Faking and lying.

For the mangoes hung fast and never did fall,

Ooh! Aah! Never did fall.

Growing bigger and fatter and sweeter for all,

Ooh! Aah! Sweeter for all.

This rhyme has a moral that’s clear as the sun,

Ooh! Aah! Clear as the sun.

The Children of Anger he so named for fun,

Ooh! Aah! So named for fun.

Are the mangoes that hang drawing life from a stem,

Ooh! Aah! Life from a stem.

Which in turn draws life from fools such as them,

Ooh! Aah! Fools such as them.

Written by Rev’ Olooshun


Death Where Are Thy Claws? – Tribute To Chinua Achebe By Niyi Osundare

Chinua Achebe is one of those epically unique individuals whose lives have been so full, so purposive and so impactful that we begin to pray that they will never die. But who doesn’t know that that is mere wishful thinking? To be sure, the Eagle on Iroko didn’t die young, but he left when we still need him urgently and acutely. He has gone, but he left so much of, by, himself behind…

Achebe shook up the literary world with Things Fall Apart when he was barely in his late twenties. He told Africa’s story and gave humanity a song. Since that day in 1958 when that epochal novel intruded upon the world to this very day, hardly any week has passed without the author’s name being mentioned somewhere in this world of books and ideas.

But if the sheer force and range of Achebe’s fiction gave Africa a voice, the fearless truth of his critical interventions challenged so many myths and deliberate falsehoods about the most misrepresented and recklessly abused continent in the world. Achebe knew, and he tried to get us to know, that  Africans will remain mere objects of the stories told by others, until they, Africans,  have started to tell their own story their own way – without shutting out the rest of the world. Achebe challenged the 20th century philosophy of fiction as a pretty object d’art, arriving with works which foregrounded the human condition and told the wondering world that the clotheless Emperor was, indeed, naked! He entered a plea for the urgent necessity of an entity called ‘applied art’ and emboldened us to look triumphalist Formalism in the face and demand to see its passport. Yes, Achebe told a world sold to the art-for-art’s-sake mystique that it is, indeed, possible to be an accomplished novelist who is also a teacher.

Controversy hardly ever parts company with a writer and thinker of his brand. He took almost as much criticism as he gave; for he was a man who never ran from a fight.

The world celebrates the LIFE of this distinguished story-teller and thinker. (Yes, celebrate, for to mourn is to concede supremacy to Death – and Oblivion, its Mephistophelean factotum).

Rest well, Chinualomogu. Rest well, Obierika, the man who thought about things. Posterity will never let you die. We regret your passing. We celebrate your Life.



Niyi Osundare

culled from Punch

POETRY: We’re Done Crying; We Want Justice! – by Ogunjimi James Taiwo @hullerj

Blood, tears, severed limbs and legs.
Murder has been done.
Not on the streets, not in the slums,
But in the place we call Sacred.

Charred remains, unrecognisable.
Tearful goodbyes, mass burials, corpse-less coffins.
Death has struck again.
Not on the road, not in the sea,
But right in the sky.

Gaping wounds, lifeless bodies,
Riddled with bullets and pumped full of lead.
Death has come visiting yet again.
Not in the ‘hallowed’ chambers, not in the government houses,
But in our ivory towers.

National mourning upon national mourning.
Our eyeballs are red and bloodshot; we won’t cry no more.
We want no gold or silver, or a piece of the national cake you’re eating,
All we want is justice and nothing more.

Justice; Is that too much to ask for?
Peace; Is that too much to hope for?
Our one cry now is for justice.
We’re done crying; we want justice!

Ogunjimi James Taiwo

Twitter: @hullerj

POETRY: Our Eagles Can Fly – by Tope Olufiranye @olufiranye

Our Eagles Can Fly – by Tope Olufiranye

With colourful wings the sky was painted
Our  team of eagles flew so high
They soar and glide and scored real goals
storm of opposition raged so hard
little hopes we had in them
critics cried so loud and strong
still they choose to see the goals

In early games we saw no win
They played a draw with opposing team
The trophy they saw with a victory’s mind
when hope is lost and trust had gone
what we see decides the win
Victory is sure inspite of all

Our eagles can fly now we know
Our nation our country can fly also
If we choose to see the best
and focus on nothing but to build our land
Unity of purpose will keep us strong
We’ll win again in all our sectors
The loot will stop and growth will rise
Lets sheath the sword and kill no more
Our Green White Green will fly so high

Our country Nigeria will fly again
This hope is real because we won!

Tope Olufiranye writes on

Follow on twitter: @olufiranye

#ThinkOutLoud POETRY: THE VOICE OF JACOB – Osowe Oluwagbenga @gbengaosowe

#ThinkOutLoud POETRY: THE VOICE OF JACOB – Osowe Oluwagbenga @gbengaosowe
To The One who-had-no-shoes

You were one of us
Or so were we made to think
With a sombre look and tales of a humble background
“Oh! Our Messiah has come” we cried
To save us from those who’d run us aground
But you lied, I say to you, you lied

We looked forward to the promised fresh air
The trial of crooks, looters and embezzlers
We longed for the day our judges would be fair
Applying the law, using it as a leveller
Showing partiality to no man, justice to one and justice to all
Oh! How painful that our hopes were set up for a fall

Your first steps were like a toddler’s
Wavering, wobbly, ours hope yet undeterred
He shouldn’t take hasty steps, lest we all suffer
All men have to learn was the excuse we offered
“For how long shall he learn?” was the question of the cynics
Be patient! Dear brothers, be patient!

“I don’t give a damn” you bellowed
The land is mine to rule, as I choose and prefer
Tingling sounds in our ears, minds reeling in disbelief
Our hearts cried, shedding tears not seen with eyes
Male and female, young and old
The future you place before us, not the same as we were promised of old

Your words of hope and transformation
Haunt me daily, in my sleep and even when awake
I remember your words, soothing and promising
But actions they say, speak louder than words
Your actions, biblical tales of deception, it makes me recall
Your words were sweet, like the smooth endearing voice of Jacob
Your hands and actions, rough and bruising just like Esau’s hairy hand

Like the Esau of old you sell our birthrights
For porridge at the hands of your friends and godfathers
Your love for food we all know
Even if your nephew Reuben claims it’s not so.
1 billion naira meals, in a 2 billion naira banquet room
Oh such fools that we were, to have been deceived by you

When the chronicles of your reign shall be written
And tales of your callous nature told
Stories of how you made corruption your watchword
And thieves your precious benefactors
Young ones shall learn how to avoid deception
And how to hear but not follow
An Esau coming like a Jacob.

I am @gbengaosowe

POETRY: A Winter of Withering Warriors – Elisha Otome Okoromoba @ElishaOtome

A Winter Of Withering Warriors

Where is your sword and shield?

Warrior and knight of the people

The tales of your blood-drawing dagger

In the fight against looting and cruelty

Is yet to be read in our waiting ears


Where are those fiery darts?

Your tongue aimed at thieves and spivs

Who fed from our sweats and burden and

Wiped their anus with our heads

Where’s your pecking voice oh renegade?


My hands are well washed and

With elders I am given a seat

Sit and hear oh warrior of yesteryears

The history you forgot in our room

When you pitched your tenth in Aso-tent



Esau Jacob’s ‘foodgasm’ could not resist

Like sodium metal in aqueous solution

Whose strength is consumed to nothingness

His hungry soul displaced his senses

The price was paid and it was his birthright.


My seat is still with the elders

My history lessons are of the ancients

Well taught wisdom you left abandoned

When you nod your head at every hypocrisy

And flash your teeth at the deception of Aso-Rock


The drooping breast and hanging nipples

Did not dissuade the lustful Reuben

When he pitched and thrusts his third leg

To uncover the thighs of Jacob’s wife

His birthright and voice was the price


I still have my seat with the elders

Yea! My hands are thoroughly washed

The greedy, stubborn and headstrong flea

Will be buried with the dead the elders say

This is wisdom, buy it and let it not


The palace and scepter of ruler-ship

The victuals, revelry and comfort of Aso-rock

Holding your tongue and sight captive

Like a vapor is but for a short while

This is wisdom, nothing lasts forever.


(For Reuben Abati and all those who close their eyes and have sold their conscience to the rituals of their present state of grandiose that Aso-rock offers amidst the sufferings of the poor majority).

Elisha Otome Okoromoba
Follow on twitter: @ElishaOtome


POETRY: The Day of the Ants – Elisha Otome Okoromoba @ElishaOtome

POETRY: The Day of the Ants – Elisha Otome Okoromoba @ElishaOtome

The Day of the Ants

It seems like a dream when the surge poured

The spirit rage within me and my fingers tweaked

Write! The voice roared angrily. Write!

There is rot in the land

Wickedness has crawled to the rooftop

It has spread its wings with utter disdain


The custodians of the law have drank

Their conscience to oblivion and cruelty

None, yes none has sewn truth

Their wretched tongue spits guile

Thievery is the content of their blood

And dishonesty! The fluid their soul lives off


Write! The spirits bids me ferociously

The vanguard of the people

The mouth piece of the innocents

The cloak and tongue of the clergy

The scepter and greyness of the elders

All polluted in the pool of lies and treachery


Hear! The spirit roars to me

Like a raging storm of thick clouds

My wrath is gone up with fury

The ants you have made to eat dust

Like a ravaging army from the West

Will eat your flesh to rottenness


Mercy will elude you in that day

Their bite is quick and your rot!

Is slow on your open eyes and numb body

They will recount your woes on chalk board

Your offspring to the fourth will not hide

Until the land is free of your filthy woes


–      Elisha Otome Okoromoba

Follow on twitter: @ElishaOtome

#ThinkOutLoud: WE THE “OTHERS”- Osowe Oluwagbenga @gbengaosowe

#ThinkOutLoud: WE THE “OTHERS”- Osowe Oluwagbenga @gbengaosowe

“In honour the many OTHERS who died in company of dignitaries”


Cries of joy heralded our arrivals

By our births, allegiance with barrenness got denounced,

Cows, fowls, goats and rams were led to the slaughter

Parents rejoiced at the coming of their sons and daughters

You can now call us mothers and fathers they proudly announced

We have brought forth children who would guarantee our family survival


Oh the joy of our parents to see us blossom

Like little children they giggled as we took our first steps

Tiny as we were they sent us to school

To learn of the ways that lead to fame

The teacher’s cane was a willing tool

Administered to keep from the ways of shame


Oh, I hear about the Prime Minister’s mother?

The tales of war, declared on her abductors

The loud-mouthed governor roared like a Jack Bauer

“Give us 24 hours” he said, we’d surely find her

How I wish same was said of the countless others

The numerous others found dead, maimed, dismembered.


Being in the governor’s employ was no mean feat

Pleas, lobbying and bribes played their part

A place in His Excellency’s palace and you’re made

Access to the good things of life surely guaranteed

Countless trips to serve the governor tea

Waiting while he met with endless committees


The General’s retinue is not for mere men

Tawdry jokes by the warlord must not be laughed at

Unwilling listeners to many a boring tales we were

To be seen and not heard was our unlucky portion

Many envy us, our lot they’d gladly have

But we are just the others, the insignificant others


The call of duty I can’t refuse

For this purpose was I trained and paid

The air is my habitat, the view from these heights, heavenly

The whims of these silly old men, I have to bear

An order from the Commander of the Forces, my opinions don’t count

I chose to be a Pilot, a lord on air


Ten pages for the General,  and six for the Governor

Encomiums, eulogies and accolades

Pour forth in their honours

Our names, many would never know

Oh, the indignity of dying in the midst of dignitaries

Now WE are the OTHERS, the insignificant others.


(Happy birthday to you my friend Olanrewaju Bucknor, aka @lordrooz. May you not die as one of the others)

ABU @50: A Poem by Aliyu Bala Aliyu

ABU @50: A Poem by Aliyu Bala Aliyu


Towering above them all like a giant almond tree

Watching over their young souls free

Imparting knowledge to all that seeketh

From far and near they cometh

From the north; from the south

From the south; from the east

Zaria was the confluence

We may not have set our eyes on the fireworks

But we sure felt the warmth of the fireplace

Even saw the splinters and glowing sparks

From the sages of yore that walked your face

And set alight lit the raging flames of scholarship

Those of activism not least either

And the nation bore did bear witness

The continent the echoes did hear

And the world the vibrations

We salute you oh ABU

But by the toll of time and clime

All dying from wear and tear

And no firebrands and brains to nourish their flames

Nearly all drained or cowered to base

In toil and sweat battling to survive

Stifled yet trudging on

As the testimonies bear to say it all

We salute you oh ABU

For standing so tall through these years

Through the ups and downs

Showering us with love and all you had to give

Your sons and daughters the world over are strewn

How gallant and high they strut the earth

With their badges of excellence and honour

“ABUSITES” as your children are called

Ahead and distinguished in all we do

So proud to be born of you

Certainly so to pass the baton

To the generations to carry on the tradition

We lit our torch at your feet

And gazed upon your visage

And beheld the promise of tomorrow

And theirs too they shall light there

How proud; how glad; we are honoured

Thy flag shall flutter and lights not dim

Beyond two scores and ten

We salute you oh ABU


Aliyu Bala Aliyu,

Dec 2012,



#ThinkOutLoud POETRY: BLAMES AND FAILURES- Osowe Oluwagbenga O @gbengaosowe

Let the river of blames flow,

Bringing in its tides pains and sorrow,

Let it harbour a bleak hope for the morrow

Bringing sadness and fear that touches even our marrows

Let it flow and deal with us deadly blows


Let evil spirits be blamed for darkness that thrives,

Oh blame the media that the world sees us in a bad light,

For the mass failure of students blame the “corpers”,

Let the children who have no food to eat blame their fathers,

Blame the masses for the fuel that has become scarce



Failure has come to reign in a kingdom made for brilliance

Security and development have taken flight at its appearance

Kidnapping, larceny and grand theft are no longer strange

Money grows wings and flies like birds newly come of age


Healthcare stands on wobbly feet,

Our leaders go to other lands when they feel pains in their teeth,

Probe reports are inconclusive and looters walk free,

The land is in pain, failure has her in its grip

Standards are falling, debts are rising,

And my people keep the blames coming

Hoping the blames bring up solution.

Let the blames flow and let failure be its companion.


Activists blame the pastors who ask for prayers

The clerics blame sin for the situation

Government blames the press,

“Old” media blames new media,

Yet we see no solutions,

Let the blames flow, maybe it would one day change things


Thank God my people now see why we should be praying

Casting and binding, loosing and tying

Oh ye forces of failure we bind thee,

We cast thee into abyss and pits that have no bottom,

You forces of failure be gone from our midst we pray,

Go reside in the homes of our leaders looters who rape us each day


Enough of the blames I say,

Let us get angry everyone in his own way,

And with venom seek the very change we dearly crave

From councillors to Senators, let us pour forth our wrath,

Enough of the blames, let it stop this day

To keep up the blames is a failure in itself I say.


POETRY You make me feel safe

Folded here neatly
I fit into your embrace
I can hear your heart
Beats of life – a part of me
Your body feels warm to touch
And I feel your breath
waking up emotions
I never knew were there

You make me feel safe
Away from the world
Away from the chaos
Away from myself
And how I feel safe
Here with you. In your arms

Eyes closed in sleep
I watch over you
Smiling, possessive
Wishing you’ll never leave
Tho’ I know someday
Those chains will come
to take you away from me
so I sail into dreams
Fleeting time, worth eternity

Away from the world
Away from the chaos
Away from myself
Oh how I feel safe
Here with you in my heart

And tho’ that time will come,
When memories of now will be all I have
I bear no regrets, no pain, no grudge
Because then as now, I will remember
this peace of my heart holding on to you
knowing you’ll always be here to take me

Away from the world
Away from the chaos
Away from myself
God, how I feel safe
Here with you in my head.

Osundolire Oladapo Ifelanwa

for Aphrodite

#ThinkOutLoud: COUNCIL OF POVERTY- POETRY by @gbengaosowe

THE COUNCIL OF POVERTY – OsoweOluwagbenga O. @gbengaosowe
Poverty is seated in council with his trusted minions,
To bring doom to the land of the blessed ones,
Mediocrity, corruption, bad governance in attendance,
They sat, talked and did the macabre dance,
In anticipation of the honour that awaits them,
Oblivious of the gloom on their leader’s face.

In high sounding voice, Poverty addressed them,
“Oh ye trusted minions of evil, hear ye me this day,
The land of Haugbouba* is blessed with many minerals,
Over them I fear I am rendered powerless,
My reach, wealth in abundance has moved them beyond
What shall we do? Ye spirits of doom, what shall we do?”

Silence prevailed over the council,
The words of their lord rend their hearts asunder,
All gathered in groups of twos and threes to ponder,
Muttering, whispering their thoughts one to another,
Sighs of hopelessness escaped many lips,
And then a voice was heard saying I SHALL GO, send me.

All eyes followed the trail of the voice,
Lo! It was of Corruption, that eternal destruction of good deeds,
Poverty called all to silence and addressed Corruption,
“Speak, I pray thee, faithful servant, how would thou achieve this?
The blessings of the Almighty on their land is so great,
How then would thou bring the land under my command?”

“My lord” said Corruption, I shall go to them in a more subtle form,
I go there not as Corruption for that might make them hate me,
By different names shall I be known unto them to carry out my deeds,
To some, I will called a tip, to others kola, riba or roger or egunje,
None shall hate me for in their eyes I shall be just an extra earning”
“That is good dearest servant” said Poverty “go with my blessings”

Down to Nigeria came Corruption, hovering around,
Like a spirit, he wandered around for people to hound,
In the offices, churches, mosques, schools, he lurked,
Seeking willing bodies that he might do his master’s will,
He saw a man there collecting money for goods not delivered,
And another one inflating the costs of goods to be ordered.

Loudly, corruption shouted for joy,
I am the spirit of Egunje,
Come to prepare the way for poverty my lord.
Your hearts shall be my place of abode
I am Egunje, the forerunner of poverty.


*Haugboba: Land of the HAUsa, iGBO and yoruBA


POETRY: Musings of a Common Man – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

POETRY: Musings of a Common Man – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

Musings of a Common Man

I am not against them, in the slightest.

I am just no fan of inflated praises,

She is an attractive lady: Our Nation,

They are ensconced in the top seat: Our Rulers,

In the wake of current happenings,

If you expect I rhyme out adulations,

None can beat you to hilarity, honestly.

It is no joke.

For every  kid running the busy roads,

With a tray on his head,

Every hungry family going to bed empty;

From the many tears, and wailing voices,

Does their conscience not get some flogging?

Corruption pervades every sphere of her,

The noxious effects transcend Public Offices,

Even “Pastors” reek of this absurdity,

On an average; a “Preacher” could gouge his unsuspecting congregation,

To near-death,

Under the guise of “give unto the Lord”,

What nonsense…what preposterous religion debasement…,

Inveterate looters hold Public Offices,

Wonder if they’ve felt the pangs of hunger, ever,

The inkling of insecurity, and facility dilapidation,

Or do they feign ignorance? Perhaps, they do.

The roads are a mess: slaughter slabs at best,

Millions of potentials, not a single harnessed, not one.

They have a mind of their own,

Misguided preferences,

Anti-people and Growth-retardant policies,

Yet they expect some moronic praise-singing?

I can’t.

We savour our subhuman conditions with obvious relish,

We have our rulers to thank,

For the most part of our sufferings. Stunning.

They have perpetually perpetrated evil, ruination and mass wrecking.

She is quite not the lady I knew,

Many times she has been abused,

Now she appears as one of easy virtue,

They ascend the throne, make a whore of her, and leave.

Sad…sickening. Shucks.

Next month (October) she turns a year older,

I see her lifestlye and shudder,

She’s not educated nor developed,

Her kids (the youths) are running wild,

Living abysmally,

It portends grave danger,

She is on the edge of a precipice.

Last week I saw her,

She’s clad in a Green top,

A skimpy White skirt, plus Green flip-flops,

Her face heavily adorned,

She’s bejewelled,

With dark glasses on (power outage),

She sashays on a beach –sunny day- oblivious of the world,

Since she is used to round-the-clock darkness,

She sees not the onlookers,

Struggling with the wind her skirt allows for some peep,

The world catches a glimpse of her undies.

She has lost it.

No shame nor feelings of guilt,

An African woman,

The African pride, is she?

She is a frustrating enigma.

Yet they expect accolades,

As though she were a nun.

It is not all despair,

Change might come, weeping may endure for the night…,

Relentless, I am, in my pursuit of betterment,

It would happen, when, I wouldn’t know,

Albeit something has to give.

– by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

POETRY: My Next Door Neighbor – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

POETRY: My Next Door Neighbor – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

My Next Door Neighbor


The brightness died slowly,

As the sky expelled the sun,

The night drew near; little stars sparkled.

He approached the house,

In an unsteady; uneven gait,

He was oiled: a dozen or so bottles,

An indulgence cum panacea; or so he thought,

He cruised this path almost everyday.

On the one hand he drank to the full,

Spent so much time at the pub,

Till he ran deep in debt,

Then started to trade off belongings,

On the other hand; he chain-smoked.

Other times; he got freebies,

If there was a party or he met his sort; at the joint,

He got freebies; but at the cost of his health.

He didn’t care enough to be worried,

He maintained an inseparable bond with the hard drink,

And he puffed; like a chimney. Atrocious.

To top it off; he assaulted her,

Viciously; unendingly and untiringly.

The feel of nicotine had woven into his brain cells,

A total beast when high; nothing compared to him.

Drinking relieved his stress; beyond measure,

Times were hard; what better solace?



Usually; he came to normal in the morn,

Roused by the cock crow; he would dust his butt,

Wash his face and cycle away; to the Motor park,

He had a space there; fixed tubes and tyres.

Rufus was popular; somewhat a renowned artisan,

President of the “Vulcanizer’s” Union,

Normal in all respects; he appears, until evening.

After work; he would retire to the pub,

And then to the house; down the road,

To the left of the market; same path leading to the swamp.

He gave Ada a paltry for housekeep,

But gave her an overdose of beatings; if she dared question,

He was short and stout; with a deep accent,

A bully and a perplexing drunk,

Times were hard; what better solace?

He ran this routine very many times,

But yesterday was the last straw,

And it didn’t break the camel’s back – it killed it!

He edged towards the house; a beret laying precariously on his head,

High as a kite; he pushed on,

Vague view; slight rain showers,

And just enough light to direct his movement,

His left foot struck a lump,

He was used to kicking this sort; with his half-laced, old brown canvass,

                       Whenever he forgot his bicycle at the pub; and walked home, like tonight.

Ada had the last child on her back,

The older ones played outside – moonlight games,

Though dark; the neighborhood wasn’t all quiet,

“4 Square” Junction – a stone’s throw away; was aglow with evening bustling,

Highlife music blared from speakers.

He sauntered into the house,

Mumbled a few indecipherable words; his breath reeking of rum,

And fell into the broken Cain chair.

She put the baby down; ignored its wailings and tied her scarf firm,

Below her bosom; in a gesture of readiness,

She wanted answers; to his late nights and irresponsible excesses,

She had had enough.

She cursed and nagged on; in voluble streams of Igbo,

She must have gone on for some fifteen minutes,

Until Rufus; thinking too that he had had enough,

Staggered up; to his full height,

Pulled back his arm and slapped her hard.

She crashed against the wall; falling bonelessly to the ground.

She tried to rise; then floundered and fell back,

Something dark and wet jelled her hair – blood!

He had thought to thrash her; to within an inch of her life,

He miscalculated,

She breathed her last before midnight.

Times were hard; he sought solace, he got solace,

But his wife was the price.

– by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

PS: Assaults and Battery are a common menace to society. These savage acts can be triggered by drunkenness, amongst other things.

*Alcohol and Smoking impair judgment and lower inhibition.

*Even one puff can satisfy up to 50 percent of certain nicotine receptors in the brain for three hours. The result is often a full relapse.

*You are not too far to quit, pessimism saps the will.

The asterisked parts are excerpts of “The Awake” Magazine, March, 2010.

Alcohol; Smoking and, consequently, assaults are grossly dangerous, please shun all forms of domestic violence and help spread the word. No form of abuse is rational, on any grounds.

Names are used fictitiously, and are a figment of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance with persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

POETRY: The Village Boy – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

POETRY: The Village Boy – by Henry Chybuzor Igwe @Chybuzor1

The Village Boy


My People and I have a rich, long history.

My People ar’ endowed, ours’ a bless’d land,

Long before I was born, foreigners ruled our village;

They were very light-skinned, I was told.

They were around for some time, then passed the baton and left;

After which my People ruled, and ruled for plenty years.

There ar’ a myriad of reports that my People mismanaged,

Misappropriated funds an’ left for the foreigners’,

Their wives and kids were there already,

Waiting patiently for them to round off in Office and relocate,

So they could feast and make merry at will.

They wore pricey jackets, their wives dripped with gold.

I am not bothered much. They ar’ from the other end,

The part o’ our village that deems power birthright,

I was somewhat younger when they ruled;

…not much knowledge o’ the running of our place,

Bu’ I am told they put the village in ruins, then left.

The daring ones stuck around…without shame nor remorse,

And ask’d for ‘nother chance,

A tenure to rule again; a time to “change” our village for good.

Maybe this time cars would drive on water,

And we would walk in the sky,

Maybe we would have Porsches run as taxis;

And power would be stable, and jobs will abound.

Empty promises, ar’ these?


I live with my old Parents, near a riv’r,

Our roof is bad so we share a room at night;

I attended Secondary School on scholarship,

It didn’t change much, I dropped out anyway.

The Anglican Church adjacent to my School came off,

The renegades in our community struck again;

Apostates who relished in recurrent decimations.

Well, the bomb struck on a Friday ev’ning, killed some three score and five,

Injured eight dozen adults an’ kids,

Detonated major areas o’ my School, razed three buildings nearby;

…a major Bank was caught in the mix.

We graduated abruptly and ill qualified too.

It’s a Government School, six months deep, we are;

No reconstructions, not one word from him,

…no SSCE, I had to hustle, pockets full o’ hope, no naira.

Papa served the Railway Corporation earnestly, nothin’ to show,

Thirty five years; gratuities, pensions – zero.

Should I vent? Should I lose it?

I am bothered much, particularly as my Uncle is in charge now.

I don’t get how he gets to govern our Village and ther’ isn’t much change.

He is no strang’r to poverty, he walked on bare foot, he says;

Now he feeds on a billion in twelve months,

Globe-trotting on private jets: palpable affluence,

As for clothes and shoes; Versace, D&G, Cesare Pacioti and co. are a phone call away.

Yet we languish.… we ask but he answers not.

First, he asks that we exercise patience,

Then he asks us to sacrifice (subsidy), I wonder how;

Since we have nothing, maybe he means with our blood, maybe.

I’m trying with effort not to offend him,

But we hav’ been acutely impinged upon, we have.

I don’t wan’ him upset though b’cause I fear he might take back the “palliatives”,

The “breath of fresh air” that he’s provided,

And the 1100 buses that convey us, since we haven’t found moving around too easy,

In the wake of his New Year Gift.

– by Henry Chybuzor Igwe (@Chybuzor1 on Twitter)

Ode To General Mamman Shuwa – by Aliyu Bala Aliyu @AliyuBalaAliyu

Ode To General Mamman Shuwa – by Aliyu Bala Aliyu @AliyuBalaAliyu

Ode To General Mamman Shuwa

The bullets of the secessionists couldn’t fell him

Nor the mortar fires and aerial bombardments

Grenades, petrol bombs and mushroomed soot

For a man of rare bravery and valour he was as told

Respected by superiors; admired by peers so warm

He was revered by subordinates unsought

Platoons and battalions and garrisons of yore

Unto him were bound in obeisance and camaraderie

Esprit de corps like a bouquet did beauty reveal

And indeed like true companies did attain victory in awe

Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Foxtrot, Echo; sir yes sir!

Unknown to many a latter generation as a hero of war

Hidden he was from the public and peering of the press

Attention he courted not and none he got indeed

A professional in uniform and gentleman in mufti

He was a soldier’s soldier with abundance of courage

Measured in words; he was in form at peace with all

His life rogue elements that hit did cut abrupt and short

The General and war time hero at home they killed

Blotting out a bright flame of distinguished service

Behold the rivers of tears and grief untold

“The green flags did bow as did the colour party”

“Draped in nostalgic surrender they fluttered”

His uniforms, boots and cap their boss would miss

Headgears, epaulets and bayonets differ not

His weapon and companion though could save him not

Felled from the trigger of rogues not brave to fight

Hit and run killers a great man did take for life

Yet on the road to death his bravery did sprout

But his songs shall ring for years to come

The bugles and gun salutes shall echo till the end

In tears and grief he was lowered to earth

True to the code and pledge of victory from God

A soldier’s creed as sworn to uphold and die for

Live on General Mamman Shuwa! Live on General!!

For though your body forever is gone from us

Certainly memories of you doth our company keep

And prayers to you we send now and always

In salutation and grief we bide you veteran farewell


Aliyu Bala Aliyu

Masters Student, Public and International Affairs,

University of Lagos



twitter: @AliyuBalaAliyu

POETRY: Let’s Act – by Julius Akinlabi @juliusakinlabi

What lies under the bundle,

Might not be for our sight;

Until we burst out with trouble,

We might not see the light.


They cover up all their odd deeds,

For our eyes not to behold;

Our minds they always toy with,

For them not to unfold.


How long do we grumble?

Not that but real action,

Can make their acts to tumble,

If we really want to sanction.


The broom when bound together,

Sweeps every single crumbles;

Let’s come as one as brothers,

And make their plans to rumble.



Julius Akinlabi

Follow @juliusakinlabi on twitter

POETRY: Mama Africa’s Cry – by Kolawole Ayinuola

POETRY: Mama Africa’s Cry – by Kolawole Ayinuola

In the thick darkness of the deserted savannah,
A thin cry pierces the deafening silence
As a bereaved mother weeps for her only son,
Behold Mama Africa’s cry for her beloved children

With her blessings we departed long ago,
Making heartfelt promises of a glorious return
But like prodigal sons, we have long forgotten,
Disregarding the womb that birthed the dreams we followed
We have left her desolate, her heart weary with expectations

She calls out to the corners of the earth, crying
‘When will I see the sons of my womb?’
Her wounded heart beckons to the whirlwind, Ajakubo
‘Will my daughters ever rest on these breasts that nurtured them?!’
But all she hears is silence – for no one knows
None can tell her, and her tears remain her song

Over clear blue seas and the highest of hills her cry has travelled
Sons and daughters of Africa, lend a ear to your mother’s plea
Mend her roof as well as her heart
Kolawole, bring home the wealth you promised that she may eat,
Let her revel in the knowledge you have traveled so far to acquire
And with open arms, cry out to her: ‘Mama, your children are back to mend your heart.’


Kolawole Ayinuola

#ThinkOutLoud: LESS TALK, MORE ACTION- @gbengaosowe

#ThinkOutLoud: LESS TALK, MORE ACTION- @gbengaosowe

“This piece is dedicated to Olayole Oluseyi (@sunkit1) Raquel Jacobs  (@ms_raquell) and every other Nigerian youth showing kindness by their actions”

Ajara is thirteen, and she has the speed of a horse.

To her, every errand is a joyous opportunity to run and exercise

She has mates in USA and Jamaica who have considerably less speed and skill

Yet, they would be the world champions in 2020 Olympics

While Ajara might never get on the tracks for Nigeria

Because our sports ministry is all talk, no action.


James, a  five years old boy with no shoes, lives in Bariga.

He hears his parents complain about the rising cost of food items but does not understand.

Why does his father always hiss whenever he listens to the news?

Muttering words like thieves, corrupt people and clueless government

The boy doesn’t understand the words but knows that life can be better

To him a pair of sandals and school books will make an early Christmas.


People say talk is cheap! I say DEFINITELY NOT in Nigeria

In my country, talk is not cheap, TALK IS  FREE

Everyone who has a mouth and a semblance of a brain can talk

They talk of fashion, sports, music and politics

Seminars, conferences, committee meetings and all manners of talks

In my country people talk, yes they do talk


Everybody talks in my country and they all want to be heard

They call it blogs, articles and stories but I say they are all talks.

They talk about how the nation can be better if we act together

Much talk, little action and the situation remains the same

To talk about the ills in the society is noble and should be encouraged

To try and remedy the situation by our actions is nobler.


I have many things to say but I’d rather stop here and get to work

Lest I be guilty of more talk and less action

The little boys, girls and infants whose homes have been ravaged by flood will not read my article

But my actions will definitely be appreciated by them and their parents

As you read this article prepare your mind to back your words with actions

Less talk, more action is the panacea to our common problems.

I am @gbengaosowe

I want to be remembered (Poetry) – by Ogunjimi James Taiwo

I want to be remembered for good. I want to be on the right side of history.

I want to be remembered as a man who never shied away from speaking the truth.
I want to be remembered as a man who never kept quiet in the face of injustice.
I want to be remembered as a man who never cringed in the face of tyranny.
I want to be remembered as a man who gave his all, and did his part for his generation.
I want to be remembered for good.

I want to be remembered as a man who wasn’t loved by all, but loved by the few that counted.
I want to be remembered as a man who never sought to please everyone, for that was an impossible task.
I want to be remembered as a man who lightened the burden of the weary and put smiles on the face of the discouraged.
I want to be remembered for good.

I want to be remembered as a man who didn’t follow public opinion, but had his own mind.
I want to be remembered as a man who never walked in anyone’s path, but cleared his own path, walked there and left footprints.
I want to be remembered as a man who never knelt at the feet of corruption or drank from the cup of illegality.
I want to be remembered for good.

I want to be remembered as a man who loved his country dearly, and helped free it from the grip of bad rulers.
I want to be remembered as a man who toiled and sweated to the end that a new nation will be born.
I want to be remembered as a man who rose and lifted others along with him.
I want to be remembered for good.

I will be remembered.
O yes, I will.
Whether I do good, or it’s evil I choose.
I’ll rather do good,
So that when posterity will judge,
And history will remember.
I will be remembered for good.

By Ogunjimi James Taiwo


Twitter: @hullerj


THINGS FALL APART (Poetry) – by Okegbemiro Oluwaseun @MCMrLucas

THINGS FALL APART (Poetry) – by Okegbemiro Oluwaseun


A simulation of a life drawn on the gates of Aso Rock

Classic case of perception versus reality

Wealthy individuals, starving nation

Corrupt leaders, vitiated people

Separated by the differing amount of zeros in our bank accounts

With men swinging their agbada saying, “one thousand, five hundred”

We need to account for the days when we would go to the bank, exchange one Naira for one Dollar

The days when new graduates would get a job days after graduation

New civil servants riding around in their Volkswagen Beetles

United by the greed we all share in our eyes

A nation where things fall apart

From the soldiers in the Biafra war to the coup d’état that eliminated Aguiyi Ironsi and Fajuyi in 1966

The letter bomb,boom shalakaboobkaboom boom pow pow,that spread the body of Dele Giwa in his living room on October 19 1986

As significant as the war shells that was left to fall apart in Ikeja cantonment

Not deciphered by the great mind of our past military leaders, leading to boom shalakaboobkaboom boom pow pow, this time louder, as more bodies fall apart

Yet the president responds with, “We are a nation of millions of people. We thank God it is just a couple thousands, it could have been more”

Gone are the days when the Eagles were super

When Okocha would dribble through a defense like a snake in a maze

When Oliseh would drive a shot that tore the net like a knife in the hand of a hunter

Oh, how do I forget “SAP”

The devaluation of the Naira that sapped us of our strength as a nation

Religious enmity, clowned under the disguise of zonal leadership

Hausa today, Yoruba tomorrow and Igbo never

Clever, but we are smarter than that

By ‘we’, I mean the youth that are now willing to stand up

The ones who scream #ENOUGHISENOUGH on the streets of Abuja

The ones who demonstrated peaceful protest during #OCCUPYNIGERIA

All we ask is to #LIGHTUPNIGERIA

Yahooze has become the order of the day

On this day, I ask to have it in another way

Cultural Hegemony edges money in the mouth of my culture

People shutting their lips in reward for a meal for their family

They have become an ally to the destruction of self,refusing to get emancipated from mental slavery

Shutting their eyes from the evil jungle justice they see

Triggered fingers fingering the guitar of the late Fela Anikulapo Kuti

Where are the men who would revive Kalakuta Republic?

Where are the men who would change the coil in the lantern when the oil runs out?

Yes, the oil will not last forever

Remember the strife of the Ogoni people

The public unquestioned hanging of Ken Saro Wiwa

I do not expect us to fall anymore to this kind abasha

Abacha might have drained our resources

Luckily, in many of us, the source is gained

The government has for long put us in a portmanteau of conundrum

They have played us hide and seek as all things fall apart

Deceiving us with words like “I had no shoes”

Today they fly in the sky

Making us sell our shoes to maintain our families

They express their ability to word play as they play with words

Just that in reality, they are playing with our oblivion


Okegbemiro Oluwaseun

@MCMrLucas on twitter



Reuben the cursed son of Jacob (Poetry) – by Elisha Otome Okoromoba

Reuben the cursed son of Jacob (Poetry) – by Elisha Otome Okoromoba

It was yesterday or was it not?

Your voice echoed through your pen

The ink glued to time and memories

Like the running night clouds when

The swift east wind wakes the sun


It is today, yes just today

Your pen echoes through your voice

Like the noisy okpolokpolo in Osho-drive’s chest

The lyric of which there’s no dance step

But bile mingled with disgust to our already flaccid legs


It was yesterday, yes just yesterday

Your pen like a dragon rained fire

To the defense of the commons and lowly

Whose future from ages long have been distilled

In the apparatus of fear, hopelessness and helplessness


I mean yesterday! Or was it not?

When we all rushed to Wilmer’s paper stand

To hear from the oracle of the Guardian

Whose mouth spewed terror on government’s treachery

As exemplified in Bukola’s lootitude anthem


Yea! It was you, yes you!

Who gave heads and presidents the lingering flu

At the threat of grenade and letter bomb

Your pen like Voltron’s magical blazing sword

Rubbished their excesses, dictatorship and cowardice


Oh today, yes just today

Like the gloomy weather that signal heavy rainfall

When we hide indoors to hope, chat and play

Our warrior sleeps and dines with Dolus and Apate

At the seeming high and unconquerable heavens of Aso Rock


The smell of Jacob’s fart

Rummaging your senses to sweetness

Is the axe and curse that writes your story in proverbs

For when tomorrow shall come

Today will be but yesterday and

We will call you Reuben the cursed son of Jacob


Elisha Otome Okoromoba

The ‘Owambe’ Prayer

Oh! Most mighty! Most gracious! Most braki-braki-shabalala!

We thank thee, O Most kind, Most loving, Most grabalakibaki!

We bring before you this condemned goat, destined for the pot.

Receive his stubborn soul. (Amen!)

Cut short his hours of sorrow. (Amen!)


We are here in the midst of all these witnesses.

We are here in the presence of these chilled bottles.

We are here to rejoice and sing tearful songs.

We are here to be empowered with Dutch courage,

And to be filled with spirits. (Amen!)


Grant that we shall indeed see strange things. (Amen!)

Grant that we shall feel the earth moving beneath our feet. (Amen!)

Grant that the river of lager will not stop flowing even after the band stops playing. (Amen!)

Grant that we shall fall and not be able to rise

Till we see the sun high in the sky! (Amen!)


We commit the empowered musicians into thine hands.

We have paid handsome fees to put empowerment into their hands.

Make them able to deliver on their contract. (Amen!)

So that we shall not have reason to not call them again next time,

Make them strong to deliver on their contract. (Amen!)


At the end of everything, we pray that we shall not run into debt! (Amen!)

We pray that we shall not have to postpone paying our children’s school fees! (Amen!)

We pray that the caterer shall not have to harrass us because her payment is incomplete. (Amen!)

Make our rice sweet! (Amen!) Make the meat tasty! (Amen!)

And by your grace, we shall do this again! (Amen!)


Kunle Oyedele

The Looters’ Anthem – by Ogunyemi Bukola

The Looters’ Anthem

Arise O Lootatriots

The looter’s call obey

To loot our fatherland

With greed and zest and verve

The booties of our looters past

Shall never be recovered

To steal with patience and vigour

One nation ruled by bandits

Crooks and bribe-takers


O God of subsidy

Protect our bribery scams

Guide our looters right

Help our greed the loots to steal

In debts and terrorism we grow

And looting day and night

Fat foreign reserves plundered

To build a nation where luck

And cabals shall reign



I pledge to the umblerra of my party

To be greedy, clueless and corrupt

To loot Nigeria with all my strength

To defend our lootitude

And uphold our mansions and billions

So let us loot


Ogunyemi Bukola

Follow me on twitter: @zebbook


Deus ex Machina (Poetry) – by Macaulay Oluseyi Akinbami

                                                                                                                                               Deus ex Machina (Poetry)

Promises of pardoned traitors    
Reek like ancient regrets.
Steeped in rapacity.
Inured to light, they
Dominate blindly
Evoking the same air of oppression
Noteworthy of the days of yore.
Traitors in transit, trampling as they go.

Over us, they bellow.
Lording it, they rule
Under the guise of foreign dogmas,
Silence all demanding.
Egocentric beasts with rotund bellies
Gloats with our reserves.
Unaffected by the groaning of a people
Nestled in penury.

Our Overseers,
Behemoths, disguised,
Assiduously make us the
Shame of the whole world while
At  perfect ease with themselves.
Neglecting the many sufferers about, they
Jostle for private vaults in Zurich as
Our poverty became their riches.

And the bespectacled gargoyle
Trenched in the prison called Rock.
Impervious to all wisdom,
Kept an unholy vigil as
Undertakers beckoned suddenly.

Archetypical simpletons, they
Bask in gaudy wealth
Untouched by the miseries surrounding them
Building high walls to keep prying eyes away.
Atop Hills, perched like Vultures,
Kleptocrats searching for new honour.
Aglow in oily garbs, they
Regale themselves, as the world looks on in amazement!

Macaulay Oluseyi Akinbami

Rueben is Dead (Poetry) – by Macaulay Oluseyi Akinbami

Rueben is Dead (Poetry)

Pen Brutish Rueben is dead, cold blooded, and dumb
We shall not mourn,
Our first born scribe now buried in their ruins, as many of his likes
Weep not comrades,
Will he speak for himself?
Not again,

The rejoinder master lies on the laps of Delilah’s whom he once denounced
He shook hands with the devil and died
Ruben was not killed with their barrels when he ought to have been dead
He gave himself up willingly
And threw reputation to the mire
The columns of contradicted life condemns conscience
Disparaged pages of Jewish fated hypocrisies
Public circulated ranting at the Rutam House for advantage
Only reprobates, dares to defend these, justifying them in rejoinders
The obvious, we lost him

A consenting silence, the booing of legislators, the shock of commoners
No rejoinders, none till the expiration of his mingle after four years,
If it comes,
It will be weak, supportive of the evil he once decries
We lost him.
A rare obituary for comrade’s compromise
In honour, dishonoured
Gather yourselves together to the head counts
One man is missing again, amongst scrawl’s giants
His price was paid, fully paid
His dignity mellowed for pomp

Trapped by ganger wigs to the tricks of the Poll
Silence demeaning an age long chevron,
Now bowed to the “Yes-man-ship” of intelligential
Is this the manner of a fall?
“Unelected” Ruben,
Scoop the motives when deeds are done
Now, in reiterates, a kiss of betrayal
For $, £, #
Bring us no more juice of their scandals, wrapped around your neck

“Oft got without merit, lost without deserving”
And like the morsel of Esau,
Or the heel of Achilles
He fell headlong to his secret desired lust,
The motivation of his wittiness, “gain”
“Use to be”, delectable most read columnar
The guardian of innocent brave Negro clone,
A tutor to unsoiled zealous journalist
Until his price was determined in the closet of crafters
And as Judas, sold his master and friends the masses

Besmirched Ruben,
From the table of our pride and denouncement,
From the honour of untainted degrees,
From the circle of few men loyal to conscience,
From the gathering of consistent morality,
We bid you farewell,
When the roll call is renewed after this ruin, “sell-outs” shall not be there
Farewell Ruben, enjoy the loots

Macaulay Oluseyi Akinbami

#ThinkingOutLoud with Osowe ‘Gbenga: WELCOME TO THE SCHOOL OF ABSURDITIES


Welcome to the school of absurdities

Where paid teachers sit down and the paying students teach

A school where promotion comes not by passing exams

Our principal knows the troublemakers but cannot do anything about it

They are the sons of his friends, his precious friends in whom he is well pleased


Coming late is a CAPITAL offence is our school

Punishable by demotion, suspension or even EXPULSION

But if you’re caught cheating, be smart, plea and bargain

The simple punishment will be to “go and cheat no more”

Don’t be amazed nor bamboozled, ours is the school of absurdities.


In our school, if the governing council want more pay,

They threaten the principal and we, the students, pay more fees

The meals from the school kitchen is paltry at best

Garri, Cassava bread and cassava juice are our daily portions

We have no choice but to relish it in this school of absurdities


Our principal’s wife is one of the school “prefects”

She has an office and she even takes a share of our school fees

And of course the rules binding other prefects do not apply in her case.

Don’t you dare tell me that I’m lying?

This is the school of absurdities and anything goes!


I wished I could say good things about the principal,

But, you know I must not lie.

As a young man, he had no shoes

And that’s why he seizes “shoes” from we the students

Well we have forgiven him, for he knows not what he does


Welcome to the school of absurdities’

Here, most of our best teachers have resigned voluntarily

Because the school’s governing council will not listen to wise counsel

Some have even been sacked for daring to criticise the principal

And now, rival schools; have been enriched by their knowledge


How can you ask if we have no school prospectus and student guidelines?

Is it possible for us to have a school without those documents?

Why we don’t follow what the rule books baffles me!

Maybe when I get older, things will become clearer

For now I will just enjoy this school and pray things get better.


How I wish I can leave this school and go to another

But I am stuck here because I want to see it get better

I want to see this school be like the dream of its founding fathers

Dreams that made them lay aside their differences

To build a school fit for the training of princes


I hope to see this school become great again

To see tales of its present state seem like fables

To my children yet unborn and their children’s children

I pray to see the school experience a change of name

To hear the school’s rulers no longer dance in shame


Replace the principal with a president

And call the prospectus a constitution

For cheating, put looting

And I bid you









I ‘m @gbengaosowe on twitter






What, i ask is the cost of a Nigerian life?

Give ear to my words, o rulers,
Turn not thy ears away thou that art in power.
Listen and I will ask thee, and let’s see if thou canst answer;
What does a Nigerian life cost?

On a daily basis do diseases send men to their grave,
3000 people we are told perish of hunger day to day.
Yet unconcerned are the rulers who loot the money,
Even when the families are thrown into mourning.
The money for the hospitals and the drugs have they squandered,
And I can’t but wonder,
What does a Nigerian life cost?

The roads have ceased to be pliable,
Death traps are what are now available.
100 people we are told die daily of road accidents,
Yet, the money for road construction has been spent.
Families wail and relatives gnash their teeth,
From the despair of their hearts they ask,
What does a Nigerian life cost?

Day by day, we see wastage of lives,
Death on the streets,
Death in the air,
And even death now reigns supreme in our sacred places of worship.
And yet, no one seems to care,
Wasted lives to God are crying,
What does a Nigerian Life cost?

What does a Nigerian life cost?
20 cenaris? 1 million naira?
Or has it no value at all?

What, i pray thee does a Nigerian life cost?

Ogunjimi James Taiwo

#VoicesInMyHead: RELEVANCE – by @oreoluwade

Ask the one who staunchly opposes anything/anyone with a differing school of thought from his.

Ask the kid who wails even louder when “spectators/sympathisers” increase in number.

Ask the serial killer who implements nouveau exciting ways to torture and kill.

Ask the witch who waves her wand for longer hours than the others.

Ask the man who works his socks off day and night.

Ask the fool, the clown, the comedian.

Ask the girl who flaunts her breasts wildly before an horny audience.

Ask the critic who always has something to say to belittle something or someone.

Ask them repeatedly what their endgame is. I’m sure you’ll receive similar answers from each and everyone boiling down to the fact that they want to be reckoned with.

The story is almost always told the same: ‘Small town boy forges ahead, battles against the odds and comes out as gold refined in fire, becomes a big shot all in all.’

The thirst for relevance is what defines our whole existence. Which is why when some people discover they have little or no impact on their immediate surroundings, they seek refuge elsewhere, some in new friends, some in new challenges, some in uncharted courses while some decide to take their lives as they believe this to be the easiest way out.

Don’t lay a monstrous blame on he who seeks for friendship like it’s his daily bread, don’t push away someone who tries something and goofs at the first try, don’t water down someone’s importance simply because he doesn’t share your ideas or ideals.

We can all live in this world and be relevant in some way, one star doesn’t stop the other from shinning.

The path of relevance we have chosen is what distinguishes us even long after we are dead.

The speed of revolution of the earth ensures that things seem to be at a standstill whereas they’re moving at a scarily fast rate. The man who fails to take time by the horn soon realizes the whole “potent period” of his life is gone by and as such he would have made no impact whatsoever on the world.

Even in the midst of chaos, the irregularities in living standards, the ‘wrongness’ in lifestyles especially in our part of the world, some still go ahead to make indelible marks in their chosen fields.

The onus thus lies on us to strive steadfastly in our own little ways to be forces of nature wherever we find ourselves.

Whether in large or small gatherings, the idea is to make a difference in the lives and environment of those we come in contact with. To make sure our circles of influence feel us a great deal.

Sometimes we do not need to directly touch the lives of the bulk of people we meet. Simply impacting one person can spark a chain reaction resulting in a “domino effect” that changes the world for good.

Making an impact, being relevant is a conscious decision, it hardly ever falls upon us except probaby the extremely lucky ones. Actually luck alone is not something I believe in. I believe in hard work as well as I believe in luck and I. Believe the harder I work, the luckier I get. That should be something you stand by also as the second half of this month kicks into full gear.

Forget the past, look onto greater things ahead. Don’t let past relationships and standards hold you back from embracing the future. Be mindful of those you give an ear too. Ensure they are the ones that can spark radical thinking in you towards effecting a change.

Opportunity shouldn’t be left knocking. Whoever is wise would open the door, drag opportunity in even while it’s screaming.

Giving excuses time and again do not change our failures to successes. Laying the blame at the feet of another does not wipe away our incompetencies, does not clear our troubles.

Taking charge is the only sure way to advocate for change. Every man should fight his own battles.

Relevance is in any and many ways. Find your impact point(s) and make sure you direct all your efforts to make your name stand the test of time, to leave your fingerprints on the sands of time.

I ask myself often whether I’d leave this world any better than the way I found it. Ask yourself this often too, work it out yourself. No one would do it for you.

I conclude with these few lines:

I was born and now a name I adorn

I have lived and perceived

I’ve walked and talked

I’ve played, I’ve prayed

I’ve worked, I’ve sulked

Made friends and foes likewise

When I walk through the floor in the door

When I close my eyes in death

What would be said of me?

Will my time here be worth only a dime?

What lives would I have touched?

What legacy left behind?

In all I do, my utmost desire is that I stay relevant, stand up and be counted for even when the mighty finally have fallen.

As you go into the remaining half of the year BE RELEVANT and STAY RELEVANT.


I’m @oreoluwade on twitter

NB: I only write those things those screaming voices in my head direct me to.

Carrot and stick for Dummies

“Off with their heads!”

That single lengthy proclamation

By the heartless Queen of Hearts

Spells doom for many a pawn.


“And they’re off!”

The mindless mob follows its ‘Church mind’ –

‘Bandwagon syndrome’ getting the best of it

As it hurtles headlong to the bottomless pit.


“So far, so good!”

The tale of a thousand years of pain.

Back-breaking work done under sun and rain,

Homeless ones building temples for Nefertiti’s people.


“Are we there yet?”

The children ask their childish fathers.

The promised land looks like it will be farther

Than ‘beyond the Red Sea’, as they’d been told.


“Que sera sera!”

The slogan of sluggards going to sea.

Woe betide he who even attempts to fathom

That he can scoop a drink from a well with his hands.


“Save, my lord king!”

The cry of the afflicted and dying.

“Why die when you can choose life?”

“Why merely survive when you can fluorish?”


“All will be well!”

The proclamation from the heavens –

“Let him have it if he desperately wants it!”

“Let her keep it since she chose it!”


Kunle Oyedele

No Martyrs (Poetry) by @TeniolaTJTonade

(Some have suggested that the victims of the Dana plane crash be called martyrs. My reasons for disagreeing.)


They are not martyrs, no, their death
Was void of will.
Nor did they foreknow
Their souls’ arraignment
In the courts of Fire.

Their blood was
Not taken
In sacrificial gourds;
But blackened to soot,
Splattered on scattered stones.

This was no phoenix
In fiery rites
Of self-renewal. No priestly palms
Held the impaling knife. Only
The burning

Of our vice in flight: ill-fitted wings
As Icarus
Reaching to the sun.

And it is a futile loss, I know; bereft
Of truth and justice, as we
Of hearts have been. This raging fire
Will burn out memories
Along with our kin

And passion shall be dead

Till again we count, in stentorian cries
The death of many more
In this self-same fire.

Follow @TeniolaTJTonade

Let’s Stage An Evolution (Poetry)

Here we are
Dwelling in the fields of anonymity
Living in abject poverty
Toiling in absolute mediocrity
We daily tolerate our leaders’ profanity,
Their evil wits and devilish dexterity
As they satisfy their twisted depravity.
We’re crumbling under intense adversity,
Daily we face an inevitable mortality
One man against another in fierce animosity
Life has no more quality
To extinction we are blown per diem in sheer brutality

Here we are
Caving in under problems immense
Many a man his mood is pense
Analyzing the situation so tense
The clouds of uncertainty over us are dense
We struggle to make just a bantam of sense
Out of absolute nonsense
Yet everyday chaos seems more intense.
Amidst this ambiguity salvation comes from whence?
Or do we simply hide behind a falling fence?

Here we are
Some people in all these things stoical
Some others have become hysterical
A handful result to movements so radical
Their passion feigned, surely only facial
That it soon becomes comical.
I must not forget the few that are quickly judgemental
Casting the blame on things only political
They easily are loud and vocal
When the status quo becomes abysmal

Here we are
The situation now dire
All sectors continue to misfire
Gradually we sink down the mire
These problems will not simply retire
The evil ones surely will never tire
Therefore as a squire
Ready to fight for what for himself he did acquire
Let’s take the battle down to the wire

Arise ye people!
Shed your cloaks of corruption
Refuse to take more than your deserved ration
Incrimination will always breed an inquisition
Ask the crook, it led to his name’s destruction
Disband from amongst yourselves unnecessary friction
Stand tall in apprehension and tension
Sometimes you don’t get a loud ovation
Sometimes it seems there’s no solution
Still respond to the call of your nation
Together let’s stage an evolution.

There are far better things ahead than we leave behind. It may not seem like it now but through our concerted efforts, every man playing his unique role, refusing to back down to oppression and affliction, refusing to give in to the joneses, believing he can beat the crowd, somehow, one day, the tables will turn for the better.

Aboluwarin Oreoluwa
Follow @oreoluwade on twitter

Pain (Poetry) – by @TeniolaTJTonade

Sadistic king
Of the interim,
The sceptre is wrested
From your heavy hand
Before your savage scourge
Has tormented me through.
I follow no more
Your blind impulses, o pain;
For your tyranny never lasts
To punish my dissent–
Presently you’re ousted
By the trumpeting
Armies of peace
Or death.

Tonade Teniola
@TeniolaTJTonade on twitter

The Last Flight (Poetry) – by @Chybuzor1

This poem is in dedication to the victims of the Dana air crash of Sunday, 3rdJune, 2012. Names are used fictitiously, any resemblance to actual persons is highly coincidental.

They hugged and pecked at the airport,

Love birds, they’d been one for many years,

No kid(s), yet they stuck as glue.

She bade him farewell, heart-warming it was,

She was missing him already but she had another him,

With her, laden and seven months far, she carried their son. Bliss!

He’d touch down in thirty, seal up a deal,

Hop in at his parents’ – The Okoyes,

Attend a meeting on Monday, sign some papers,

Get his cheque, sleep over at a five-star,

Fly back on Tuesday, this was the plan,

Sadly, it never was. Heart-rending.

She loved him profoundly, he was her bestie,

None else seemed near perfect, but him;

Thirteen years of her life, she’d known him,

They met in Uni, far away England,

First as friends, then as lovers, she was twenty,

He was a devout partner, they returned home,

Tribal issues cropped up, he gave her his word,

He kept to it, they tied the knots,

She swore to love him, forever, till death,

Conception issues sprang up, he stood by her, unwavering,

He was her first love, “it’d be fine”, he thought,

And it was, but he didn’t witness,

Between lift-off and now, was the biggest tragedy of her life,

It hit the news in a jiffy, she listened in utter disbelief, “this can’t be real!”

The one she just kissed goodbye, was that a final goodbye? It couldn’t be.

Her heart palpitating with terror, she rang a friend,

She needed company, to jolt her out of her outré dream,

The ill-fated Dana plane had crashed,

Into a building in Lagos, killing all 153 on board,

She was gravely wounded. Somber. Solemn. Downcast.

Her world was crashing, and swiftly too,

In a trice, she faded.

It all went dark.

Bimbo –her friend- got in on time,

Seventy five hours later, the Doc had managed,

With adeptness; to revive her twice,

But it was a double blow, she’d lost the pregnancy,

Her eyes opened finally, she lay on the Hospital bed;

Too weak to move, or think,

Pseudo-silent ambience, little whispers.

“Where is Jim?”, she cuts in, as expected,

Our eyes clash, all four of us – The Doc, Nurse, Bimbo and I.

I get the drift. “He’d be here in a bit”, I answered,

Then we made for the door, leaving the Doc behind.

At this point, I’m struggling to fight back my tears.

He was a gem of a neighbour.

Intelligent. Jovial. Respectful. He didn’t have to go, not this soon.

But for the Dana mishap,

This harrowing tale wouldn’t have been,

It wouldn’t have.

Henry Chybuzor Chuck

Follow @Chybuzor1 on Twitter

Healing Song (Poetry) – by @TeniolaTJTonade

Healing Song
(for lost causes, and dissipated dreams)

I hear a song
from within hearts
that struggle to be strong
They weave a song
from threads of pain
betrayal, angst
from shreds of yearnings torn

horsemen fated
to be drowned
with kings
Can you reach my song?

This song for myself, and for me in you
The thing that thinks, and feels, and yearns to be free…
Yearnings, yes, may die, but to yearn remains…
And free forever is the freedom force

Tonade Teniola
@TeniolaTJTonade on twitter

Dark Sunny Day (Poetry) – by @ayoolofint

Dark Sun-day
Sad Mourn-day,
Fat Tools-day,
Shall I then go
on national teevee
let the tears flow
go on
and blow
my nose
for dearly departed
of dearly departed
of empty
pews, aisles, roads
burning trucks
what in-sow-lence!
shall I then
cry you a river
shall it cleanse
wash all my sins away
shall I then be
as white as
the ghost
tell me Ay-bay-lay
dearie dearest
patiently patience
patented teary one
doctor of the lucky few
sows, goats, fowls
Shall I
squeeze kai-kai
out of dry bones
shall I then
go on bended knees
head bowed
have witchcraft
slapped off
my wet face
(the billion naira slap)
shall I then
after so much tears
return to business


Ayodele Olofintuade

Follow @ayoolofint on twitter


Dirge: Where DO We Run Through – by @TeniolaTJTonade

Where do we run through, o traveler?

Hooded silhouettes have taken our paths
Strewn our dark ways
And the grey above
With receptacles of blood and limb.

The crawling arthropods get us nowhere
But a land of missed contracts, rheumatism
And a-punctuality.

Breathless too, the waters will be
Till Olokun begins to dance
With the trident and the wreathed horn.

Where then, traveler, do we pass?

They thrust their craft into the clouds
To ride behind the gods’ backyard
And feigned surprise to see their vice
Tossed back to earth by wrath divine.

Since earth and air with fire connive
And water will not betray kin
Where, brother, shall our souls be safe?

Tonade Teniola

Ngozi Nwozor-Agbo (Poetry) – by @kolokennethk

I got life on campus
Fairytales to my name
The spitting pen of valour
When you commissioned me
For war of flying words

What pact be this?
When life begets death
And vis?
Double for none
Was the creed

The schyte has come upon us
Who shall console a nation?

(In memory of Mrs. Ngozi Nwozor-Agbo whom we lost at childbirth. Adios, Aunty NG)

Kolo Kenneth Kadiri

@kolokennethkon twitter

Weep Not For Me; Weep For Your Children

Weep Not For Me; Weep For Your Children

Weep not for me o African,
For thy tears in nought will flow.
Weep rather for the future of your children,
Whose tears may never cease to flow.

Weep not for me O African,
The travails thou doth witness are of thy making.
For when thou ought to have spoken,
The courage to resist the evil ones thou was lacking.

Weep not for me O African,
For thy situation doth defy tears.
Sit not still while your continent is burning,
Leave not thy land for them to tear.

Weep not for me O African,
Thy goods on daily basis is looted,
Thy milk and honey everyday is disappearing,
How long shalt thou to the wicked by subjected?

Weep not for me O African,
The ties that bind thee are not yet loosed.
Thy leaders for all thy goods doth yearn,
Yet thou remain mute.

Weep not for me O African,
The best of thy children you have lost.
The best of thy talents have been taken,
When will they come home to roost?

Weep not for me O African,
The time of self-pity has elapsed.
The era of wallowing has ended,
The walk to freedom has begun.

Weep not for me O African,
Let the fathers tell their sons.
Let the mothers tell their daughters,
Africa will rise again.

Weep not for me O African,
Weep rather for your children.
For if this time pass and thou dost not act,
Thy children forever will be lost.

Weep not for me O African,
Tell it on the hills, scream it to the mountains.
Tell it to those who our goods are stealin,

Ogunjimi James Taiwo

The New Nigeria Anthem

The New Nigeria Anthem


Have you heard of the new Nigeria?

A land flowing with milk and honey,

The envy of other lands, from Asia to America,

Where the land is green and sky forever sunny,

The undisputable giant of Africa.


I am a citizen of the new Nigeria,

A land of enduring peace and tranquility,

Where religion or tribe are no criteria,

And brothers live together in love and unity,

As we serve our fatherland in blissful euphoria.


Listen to my tale of the new Nigeria,

And let these words change your perception.

Here justice cannot be bought with Naira,

And neither room for depravity nor corruption,

Honesty and integrity do we adorn in royal regalia.


Come with me to the new Nigeria,

And experience our pleasant hospitality,

As happiness flows from the court of Thalia,

It doesn’t matter to us your nationality,

Come enjoy with us our idyllic arcadia.


Come be a part of the new Nigeria,

Together we shall thrive and make progress,

Visitors are welcome from Europe to Australia,

Tongue or tribe are no barrier to success,

Hardwork and diligence our sole insignia.



Ogunyemi Bukola

Follow @zebbook on twitter



(Olaitan Oyerinde, the Personal Secretary to Governor Adams Oshiomole of  Edo State, was murdered by unknown gunmen in Benin on May 4 and he was laid to rest on Thursday, May 10, in Ede, Osun State,  amid tears and eulogies)










He’s gone without saying goodbye,

The fire snuffed out, the ashes blown away,

The barrage of lead his mortal flesh could not defy,

To their malicious customs has he fallen prey,

Thus by shine or shower we ceaselessly mourn,

Despondent, miserable, bereaved and forlorn.



But for how long shall we fold our arms,

And continue to seethe under oppression,

For how long shall the guns rotten in the shade,

While the oafish birds shit on our heads,

Much good would have suffered ruin,

Before the earth destroys the wicked.



Heirloom of potentates and despotic dynasties,

Niche comfiest for the nocturnal marauders,

The company of thieves ensconced to revel in revelries,

Yet thus demented with every devious art,

To charm the fancy and endear the unwary heart,

The home and the brook humbugged by the prima facie vista.



The twigs snap not except a cause there be

From whence, and why these eerie cannonade?

Mother-hen and the hawks in unwholesome alliance,

Lo, night and day at the marriage altar,

Corollary to the dogmatic rhetoric of cornucopic dawn,

The owls have indeed awakened the crowing cock.



The drum is now beating wildly pit-a-pat,

Too incongruous for the royal masquerade to do his dance,

Trousers are pulled up, but the flood soaks you still,

What matters then, wither you go now, or where you turn?

He that does not want strange footsteps in his backyard,

Must fence it up, and further raise the fort.



Because of the deaf the cloud blackens before it rains,

Thunder rumbles for the sake of the blind,

The earth is no realm for cowardice,

Sooner or later war is imminent,

A war foretold does not kill a wise lame,

So let the hare perfect its race,

Let the porcupine carefully craft its calabash.



Light not your candles to mourn his death,

Rather sharpen your swords and prepare for war,

Take off your sack-cloths and dust off the ashes,

Lest we be easy quarries in the hands of the slayer,

Blow the dust off your guns and tie your amulets,

The rules have changed, the hunter now the prey.



Whoever kills a vulture lives not to see another year,

Whoever hunts a phoenix does not live to see another moon,

If death strikes on the right,

Obaluaye let me hear a cry from the house of Olaitan’s killers,

If pestilence strikes on the left,

Orisa-nla spare not the shed of the evil doers.



Let nothing hurt us; the gods say let nothing hurt us,

The earthworm tried to hurt us and now it has no legs,

The snake tried to hurt us; now it crawls and eats dust,

The back of tripod-stones is no habitation of snails,

The vulture maintains he is no bird for rituals,

The cat says its back is not for the ground.



We are like the small round pot; that which is far upstream,

It is Ogun that said it must not be broken,

Fire never dies in the billow’s presence,

The least of snakes is never trapped in a thicket,

It is to and fro that the hand scrubs the mouth,

Safety is ours, disaster the lot of our enemies.

Protection is ours, calamity the lot of Nigeria’s enemies.



Ogunyemi Bukola


#FuelSubsidyScam They drain our trillions and expect us to be calm – by @4Qhen

Oh I will get rich, these times will I survive
It’s my less privileged neighbours I’m scared might not thrive
For old wounds are being tilled up, old enemies are revived
A war is brewing, deep within the cabal’s hive
So why remove the subsidy before probing the scam
I get it, we are test subjects, some kinda sacrificial lamb

They drain our trillions and expect us to keep calm?
They murder our futures and ignore our farms
I’m a grown man living with my parents
For I have no income, not one to pay rents
Even the banks are merging, and the staffs shoved outta the vents
Our greatness is dying and our reputation is hell bent
I try not to talk politics, I try not to watch from the sidelines
This situation is killing my dreams, yet I choose to be fine
they killed it all, where are the refineries, dams and mines?
A stitch in time they call it, let’s see it save nine
Let’s see the outcome of the probe, let us see
Let’s see the culprits and the cabal, let us see
Let’s put a face on the cankerworms, let us see
They promised us justice, can they just let us see?
They wanna decide our fates,they want to set us free
We demand an audience, to sieve their shopping spree
They wanna shut us up with some new decree
They wanna hynotise us…please let us be
We have a timid and confused torch bearer
Shoeless and clueless, learned and intimidated leader
With little or no cajones, to stand firm on his descisions
Stand up today,lend a voice and claim your freedom

From tha Rev [ ]



The Iroko has fallen, but not without a trace,

Let other trees in salute their branches raise,

As the forest birds loudly sing his praise,

Telling the tale of his rise from grass to grace,

And of how well he ran the race,

Till God welcomed him with a warm embrace.








Devoted his life to the round-leather game,

For sheer fun he put goalkeepers to shame,

To get to the very top was his ultimate aim,

With grit and determination he made his name,

Leaving behind the slum from which he came,

Onto the world stage to spread his fame.







The whistle has sounded,

His life unbounded,

The game has ended,

His recorded untainted,

The scores are counted,

His fans astounded.









He was born before his time,

His nation in gratitued he owed not a dime,

Not celebrated because he committed no crime,

Forgotten by the land he so served in his prime,

Till his body was given up to earths slime,

To your fiery shots do I dedicate this rhyme.









Close his eyes and lay him to rest,

Bid him farewell, he’s gone from earth’s nest,

Herald the angels to receive heaven’s guest,

For his nation and people he did his best,

Let the land mourn, form East to West,

The legendary lion has ended his quest.


Ogunyemi Olaitan Bukola



EVIL ISLAND by @fishergbenga


Mayday! Mayday!  It shouted, screaming out it guts, trembling like ??an eruption scenario,
Swerving for balance despite the looming crash, waiting like ??a disaster about to happen,
All these streaming thoughts at the devil’s frequency is really ??a crazy driving, losing control is welcoming negativity.
This land is ??a fertile soil, and only the issues of life grows here, trespass not ye corrupt seeds,
Only bountiful harvest abounds here.
Don’t pull  me towards your centre you evil gravity,
See no evil, read no evil, it only breeds corruption and births the same.
Anathema to the godly, pessimistic, and cynical, it all comes easy because the way to destruction is broad, harboring it all. But being good takes ??a mammoth effort,rugged and narrow is the way.
We are our thoughts,
Our thought is our limitation and our freedom,
I choose to be free,
I take on my guards onward,
I guard my mind.


‘gbenga Fisher



Never again in the shadows of my dream,
Never again with the wishing wand,
Never again with lamps and jinnis
I pack them all to the garage
I treat them as ??a clunker.
Stepping out into the light of day,
Fought through the night, breaking forth the raging and stormy waters,
I sail my own boat with help from above,
I sail it to the calmness of the day.
Let the shores taste your salt once more,
Let babies come forth,
Let the dreams grow flesh,
Let the flesh inhale and exhale,
I Want to walk on the waters but I see no paths, I look up to the sun and there my path lies.
I see no steps but I take them anyway,
I see no ladder but I climb anyway,
I see no reason but I believe anyway,
Meleé is now being aborted,
the falconer will now hear the falconess,
the bride will walk down the isle,
Its time to reach beyond my reach,
I looked, I shut the fear door,
I embraced faith,
I take a leap

Gbenga Fisher


MY PRECIOUS GATES – THE IBORIGATE SAGA #SuperBloggers by @gbengaosowe

My Precious Gates- The Iborigate Saga








It does not matter if our citizens have no food

Nor does it matter that there is no healthcare

About lack of quality education, I do not care

I have my most treasured possession-golden gates


Should the people get angry and dangerous?

Or violent, destructive and riotous?

They can never come near me, I dare say

My gates of gold will keep them at bay.


As for those who criticize and malign me,

In newspapers and electronic media they say things about me

But come begging to share of the goodies

Their days of entrance at my gates shall soon cease.


But sir, what if they decide to probe you?

Or send their agents to investigate you?

Nothing will come out of that my dear friend.

I have my iron gates to secure me

My golden gate sure does a lot of things for me

It keeps out thieves and blood sucking human leeches,

Behind the gates my loots are secure in my castle

Oh my golden gates, precious and treasured golden gates.


And what about these horrible stories I hear,

This false news going about everywhere

Go and let them know I am going no where

Behind my golden gates I know no fear


On my side are men of timber and calibre

Men who can testify to my good character,

People who will let the world know I meant no harm

The money I “took” I used in building gates


Gates are in the stadia, gates on highways

In my houses in DUBAI, ABUJA and even LONDON there are gates

My dear friend JOHN will gladly say this in my defense

So that no evil might come across my gates


Alas! It has just happened

Damning evidence, did I just hear you say?

But with the right pay, can’t we have our way?

Gladly will I give them whatever they ask, all in order not to leave these gates!


Dear Chief Jimmy, this honourable court finds you guilty

Of wanton looting, large scale theft and money laundering

Nothing you say can save your face

A place is prepared for you behind OUR own GATES, our precious IRON BARS.


A poem based on imaginary reminiscence of one-upon-a-time Governor (The Sheikh)


Lagos, Nigeria

@gbengaosowe on twitter.









Never have I seen such beauty.

Until your sparkling face passed my eyes.

The man in white took his time on you.

Progressively processing procedures.


Sun suddenly shows sadness.

He terms you as a rival.

Your beauty can shine the whole world.

Devil drops down deliriously.


In his darkness your beauty blooms.

Even Helen of Troy will bow to you.

At first I thought some angels have come on earth.

Until saw you in flesh and blood.


Comparing my desire with the sun’s heat means reducing it.

Honey and sugar mixed do not have your taste.

My blood’s last drop I can use for you.

Against all overwhelming odds.


Bijimi Daniel Meindous.
Kaduna Nigeria
Blog site-
twitter handle- @dmeindous


…..from the musings of a desperate NaijaBoi……







On the first day of creation
there was a great declaration
the sun rays gave the confirmation.
A breathe into the clay was the human formation.
And all races are traceable to the diverse generations.

After the amalgamation
in the era of colonization
on the gulf of guinea, with a coast along the Atlantic Ocean,
without much elaboration
the name Nigeria was given to my nation.

Sometimes I’m soaked in the pool of depression
musing over the current situation,
especially on the issues affecting my nation,
even when the certificate I got at my graduation
could not even compensate the fee for my education.

Politicians with their ambitions
using all means to get our attention
and at every election
when they win and get the position
they are always found guilty of corruption.

If we have the best vegetation,
why should our children die of starvation?
Many of them living without an accommodation,
yet politicians could afford ten mansions
at different locations.

How I wish the amendment of our constitution
be the priority of the people in charge of the legislation,
so that our government institutions
across the federation
are administered in the right direction.

See a lady caught in fornication
shouting “I have an explanation”
it’s my country’s poverty condition,
that led me into prostitution

We live in a world of civilization,
and inside your bedroom, you get all the information.
And at the close of work, when I go for relaxation,
I tune in to Channels Television
“Breaking news; fuel price increased again by the GEJ-led administration.

Shattered is our hope with expectation
when it experiences prolongation
but the only way to get the realization
of our restoration
is to be part of the revolution.

Many leaders are crazy in their demonstration.
Lies and deceits are their major occupation.
Always living only for their own satisfaction.
And when it’s time to present their documentation,
they have no answers to many questions.

In the book of revelation
I read about the great tribulation,
and I got an assertion
that all deeds shall be subjected to justification,
and all evil doers will never escape the retribution.

To God, we must give all appreciations,
for giving us the best habitation,
never heard of any volcanic eruption.
Even when natural disaster flooded some countries to destruction,
just go visit Haiti for verification.

Oh my people perish for lack of vision.
But in my trance I saw a great destination.
The picture of the new Nigeria gave me the inspiration,
and here I am to give everybody the motivation
that it’s time to possess our possession!




Minna, Nigeria
Twitter @fEMIoWOLABI










Who shall narrate our chronicles?

Of the times we lived in huts and caves

Wrapped in leaves as the elements battered our delicate skins

Fashioned tools and weapons with stones and sticks

Conquered beasts and terrains with our bare hands

Created communities and appointed leaders from amongst us

Buried our children as they died of unknown diseases

Vainly battled against malevolent forces

Our futile sacrifices to dead gods recursively unacknowledged

Our voodoo and jinxes ineffective




Who shall narrate our chronicles?

Of our capture and imprisonment on our own soil

By the fair-pigmented demon

Our exile to an unknown land

Forced to work amidst canes of sugar and apples of pine

Our ingestive apertures sealed with impenetrable latches

As we built modern “Babel towers,”

Died within the rows and ridges

Buried enmass in colossal doors in the floor

Correctively raped by our depraved taskmasters

Ironically modeled into gladiators for their pleasure

As we toiled amidst blood and sand in the arena much to their sick delight




Who shall narrate our chronicles?

Of our return from ostracism

The demise of our valiant heroes

Whose candor and nerve contributed to their expiration,

Our reclamation of our isolated domains,

The rebuildings and recoveries of seized territories,

Our struggles and tussles for total freedom from our bleached captors

Our plots and coups against the hands of tyranny,

Our amalgamation and unification after relentless toil,

As the white-green striped emblem danced in the skies.

The replacement of our conquerors with our liberators,

Those we put all our hopes in.

Their betrayal and perfidy

As our costs of living soared calamitously.

Our security degenerated to a new low.




Who shall narrate our chronicles?

Of the upheaval by the camoflagued warlords,

The penetration of government echelons by smart illiterates,

The silence in the streets of all and sundry,

The hushed whispers in chambers and closets,

The cries, torture and deaths in prison cells,

The satirical lyrics by the brave panted crusader,

his euphony and message striking a chord.

The spicy words of the brilliant white-haired intellectual,

As he voiced his disapproval time and again

The hangings and slaughters of the martyrs

As the powers that be rotated the control amongst themselves.




Who shall narrate our chronicles?

Of the return of the flowing garment to supremacy

After the demise of the apple-munching fiend

and the completion of a solar revolution by the meek legionnaire.

Of the wastes and mismanagements

Draining away our hopes and expectations

The exponential augmentation of living costs,

The scarcity of the once abundant energy fuel,

The hikes in prices of the previously abundant grains

The corruption and infiltration by sensational high-ranking petty thieves,

The passing of “The Umbrella” from idiot to fool to buffoon,

The kidnaps and tussles in the South

The cries for liberation in the East

The voiceless dependence on prayers in the West

The bombings and beheadings in the North

The pointless agendas and policies

The incessant Massacre of the lingua franca by the Queen Bee

The continued martial hold on the nation by a fearsome trio

The mishaps and strifes and rituals.




Who shall narrate our chronicles?

When finally we cease to be

When all that’s left is dust and smoke

Our lands finally blown apart

Our culture completely disintegrated

And aliens our lands gradually rebuild

Who shall be left to tell these stories?

And who indeed shall be left to listen?




Oreoluwa Aboluwarin

Abeokuta Nigeria

I blog at

Join me on twitter: @oreoluwade

SOMEHOW, ONE DAY #SuperBloggers by @zebbook


How long will the stone in the air defy gravity?
How long will the sky hold on to a long due rain?
We shall be there to mock the bathroom
That dreamt of keeping fishes in custody
Crude joke of the trifling storm
That promised to collect water from the coconut
Or the trial of the bantam termite
That wanted to drill a tunnel through iron-ore
Preposterous as ridiculous
Is the passion of a rat that doles a hungry cat

How long will an impotent man keep a promiscuous wife?
How long will the clouds stop the sun from shining?
Despite the acrobatic stunt of fly
It landed on the ugly road’s stomach
Who will ride a tiger to his in-law’s birthday?
Either side, it shall definitely end somehow
The castle of ice when the sun is up
Or the arrogant flame of candle in the rain
All, All shall blunder in shame
And so shall we see the end
Of ill-gathered wealth as it crumbles one day

For how long will it survive?
A house of sand in the path of a tornado
A banana tree in the middle of the desert
Comprehensively will it be beaten
The frog that challenges a hare to race
Laughable as precarious
Is the visit of a deer to the lion’s den
The ant that blocks the path of an elephant
Is ready to see its intestines in the mud
Either side, it shall definitely end somehow
An inept cup of water trying to extinguish an inferno
Rio Ferdinand’s futile tackle against Lionel Messi
All, All shall bungle in defeat
And so shall we see the end
Of corrupt, sleazy, impervious despots

Ogunyemi Olaitan Bukola is a young Nigerian, driven to see the emergence of a new Nigeria where dreams come true and potentials are maximally utilized.

Read some of my other works:
Add me on Facebook:
Follow me on Twitter: @zebbook

HOME OF PEACE #SuperBloggers by @ecentricshemale


Home of Peace is where I reside
peace & calm’s been shoved aside
Deformed bodies littered the roadside
Fear gripped,panic curled my siblings at my bedside
Home of peace is what I know
Now I feel trapped with no where to go
Where did tranquility pack?
Who gave law & order the sack?
Home of peace oh home of peace
Who has laid upon you both curse and gift?
What is the offence,who’s being brought to book?
When the blood thirst become by hook or by crook?
Peace peace oh home of peace
What price must humanity pay
What happened to the legal system where all have a say
In the home of peace we’ve marked this day
Next time before the sun rises make your hay
War begins now without the sounds of the drums
Its so silent it starts with the click of the thumb
There were explosions from locally made bomb
Home of peace now hushed like an ancient tomb
Home of peace was it not?
Who thought?who bought?
Who fought? whose Fault?
Home of peace-yes hours ago
Now with wailing amariya’s and dead Ango’s
Home of peace peace peace
Torn piece by piece gradually to pieces
The death toll increases
We hope all the chaos seizes
Bullets flying into the night skies
Looking like harmless fireflies
All with a target, an intent to kill
How the same hand can make an ill & heal.
By Toyin Inniss-Agaja

GRAND SLAM By Gbenga Fisher

Golden droplets of rain,
golden rays of sun,
Plate me all over, let me shine as d sun.
Dusk came,and it seem I’d just faded out,but then I came out, ??the star ,the darker the brighter.
The jockey I  am,the stallion I ride, the victory I take.
Like the liberty that escaped the chains of tyranny,I held her touch and I brought freedom.
I am the champion d wise men of Old talked about,
When I appear,mothers hasten their children to come see,
Stories of me travel before me,
envy of every lad, desire of every virgin,
the earth acknowledge my every step,
Nature pay homage in their accord,
the wind whistle to my song,
My victory song on every tongue,
Won, not by swiftness, neither by arrow nor spears.
Battle already won,victory only bestowed,
This is my trophy, but never my fight.

GEORGIA RIVER By ‘Gbenga Fisher


At Georgia river, ??a plain state Of lonesome serenity,
Epitome of ??a tranquil soul,
Green lawn trimmed and mowed,
Were else would the waters pour from above,
At Georgia river, couples long for its sensitive feel,
Blokes knelt with their ring and maidens blush wit joy,
Fate sealed and stamped on the sands of time,
At Georgia river, clannish whites fraternize with colored men,
Charmed by its awesome serenity, they all threw caution to the wind.
Ancestors uphold its warmness, and descendants, ??a chip off the old block.

‘Gbenga Fisher



In the Book of Revolution,
Chapter Truth verse Revelation:

‘Politics is far from luck
The game is hard as rock’

‘The ruling are but without clues
Their reign like games without rules
They feign to grant their own dues
Alas! Their people have no shoes.

They lie, they loot our coffers
And smash the hope that buffers.
The trust we had to offer
Has swindled us to suffer

But now we know the rule
Cos’ we’ve clung to school
We ‘occupy’ the news
To repeal the abuse!

In the book of revolution
We draw our strength,
Our will and stimulation
Enough of this dent!

Courtesy: Valentine O. Ogunaka
(Writer, Musician, Blogger)



All around it began to spread,
Have you read? Have you heard?
The velocity was intense,
Much more than burning incense.

All thought it was a rumour,
Even joked ’bout it with humour;
Never knew it’ll in the coming days,
Stare as a reality in my face.

Now that it came strong
Gathering from every nook &corn,momentum
The decision not to leave my ivory tower,
Was already beyond my grasp and power.

So straight-away I arrived
In a place I could refer to as mine;
Always wanted to be here
But this time,the reasons were not clear.

Had fun and moments in which I reveled,
Thinking to make the best before the hols ended;
Little did I know the strike was here to stay,
That it’ll not end in d soonest days.

My heart reeks of the words my pen speaks,
seems though there’s no way outta this disarray;
All efforts have not with yield come forth
So I ask,when would we in happiness bask?

Why on earth would a set of minds & hearts,
Ignore with tact the tomorrow’s leaders’ cries & pants?
Why would the future of THE FUTURE,
lie on d altar of strikes waiting to be ruptured?

Did our leaders not get a hint or lead?
No intel/inkling from those in power’s seat
Of the repercussion of these insensitive actions
that will suction the glory of the future of our nation?

Who will give an ordinance for our long anticipated deliverance?
Who will break the impasse and give us appropriate significance?
My heart’s heavy in no petty way,
I want to see with glee,my beloved Nigeria great again!

Written by Yemi Akinteye,19,300level
Bio-Chemistry student of Olabisi Onabanjo University


Steve Jobs said some pretty amazing things in public forums, whether it was during an interview or during a speech.

Wired and the Wall Street Journal shared some great roundups of their favorite Steve Jobs quotes earlier this year when he stepped down from the CEO job, and we selected a few that were especially awesome.

Incredible words from an incredible businessman, designer, and fellow human

Having pride in your product

“It takes these very simple-minded instructions—‘Go fetch a number, add it to this number, put the result there, perceive if it’s greater than this other number’––but executes them at a rate of, let’s say, 1,000,000 per second. At 1,000,000 per second, the results appear to be magic.”

[Playboy, Feb. 1, 1985]

On design
“It’s really hard to design products by focus groups. A lot of times, people don’t know what they want until you show it to them.”

[BusinessWeek, May 25, 1998]

The best sales line ever?

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life selling sugared water or do you want a chance to change the world?”

[The line he used to lure John Sculley into becoming Apple’s CEO, according to Odyssey: Pepsi to Apple]

On character
“I’m the only person I know that’s lost a quarter of a billion dollars in one year…. It’s very character-building.”

[Apple Confidential 2.0]

On good design

“That’s been one of my mantras — focus and simplicity. Simple can be harder than complex: You have to work hard to get your thinking clean to make it simple. But it’s worth it in the end because once you get there, you can move mountains.”

[BusinessWeek, May 25, 1998]

On his outlook
“Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn’t matter to me … Going to bed at night saying we’ve done something wonderful… that’s what matters to me.”

[The Wall Street Journal, May 25, 1993

On his role at Apple

“This is not a one-man show. What’s reinvigorating this company is two things: One, there’s a lot of really talented people in this company who listened to the world tell them they were losers for a couple of years, and some of them were on the verge of starting to believe it themselves. But they’re not losers. What they didn’t have was a good set of coaches, a good plan. A good senior management team. But they have that now.”

[BusinessWeek, May 25, 1998

Having pride in your product

Playboy: “Are you saying that the people who made PCjr don’t have that kind of pride in the product?”

Jobs: “If they did, they wouldn’t have made the PCjr.”

[Playboy, Feb. 1, 1985]

He’ll always come back
“I’ll always stay connected with Apple. I hope that throughout my life I’ll sort of have the thread of my life and the thread of Apple weave in and out of each other, like a tapestry. There may be a few years when I’m not there, but I’ll always come back.”

[Playboy, Feb. 1, 1985]

Have faith in the future
“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

[Stanford commencement speech, June 2005]

On your working life

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.”

[Stanford commencement speech, June 2005]

On the importance of death
“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.”

[Stanford commencement speech, June 2005]

Don’t sit still
“I think if you do something and it turns out pretty good, then you should go do something else wonderful, not dwell on it for too long. Just figure out what’s next.”

[NBC Nightly News, May 2006]

The National Call

On ruptured walls in a crying society
Lay water-washed, fading images
Of local famous crooks, decried of larceny
Who for the sake of cast votes, ran off our rustic vicinity

On policed streets, are polymer notes of twenty naira
Travelling from hand to hand, and into deep black pockets
Potholed roads with hollows mighty enough to swallow careless goats
Sit in the asphalted earth, with the looks of bald cheated gentlemen

In the neighbourhood, are boreholes that are bored of waterworks
The animated taps that once hissed, belched and rumbled
Have all grown quiet and suffer the insomnia of aqua current
With a faint grumble if touched, and a sober whisper if forced

Under green trees and leaking roofs, children listen and teachers teach
So, inside exam halls, pupils whisper and students sing answers
And why utter wasted words, asking empty questions on why they still fail?
When they know nothing, cram something and still fail anything?

The shared efforts are borne by a few, while many want the money
Few are stung by the bees but one million in 150 places want the honey
Fire! Fire! Fire! Call the fire brigade to come quench this fire!
You and I are the fire fighters, and we must quench this fire.

THE UNSPOKEN TRUTH by James Lisandro

Unspoken Truth

Call him meagre
But I have seen a man eat soaked garri with bitter leaves
Call her promiscuous
But I have seen a beautiful girl flirt with occult strangers
Call them yahoo merchants
But I have seen young boys get rich quick
Call them old bastards
But I have seen elderly men plan a political rig
The innocent is pulled into a pool of sin
The righteous is polluted by the evil man’s felony

Nothing is impossible
Whether good or bad
Both has a best of its kind

And fools are everywhere
But wise men are scarce and quiet
You never know them until they speak
Robbers have become righteous men
They pay tithes of all their loots
Witches have become popular saints
They gather to wail for the nation
Nincompoops have become intelligent men
They advise leaders in their private quarters

I have heard of it
But I am yet to see a man die for justice
We all want to see grey hairs fall off our coward heads

It may have happened in my absence
But I am yet to see a beauty wed a pauper
They all want an affiliation with a moneyed family

History has it that
A man once ruled a nation from inside an ambulance
He supposedly sent orders while in the state of comma
And his woman did well, keeping the constitution away from everyone’s reach
Until her husband gave up the ghost
Letting go of his hold unto the presidential crown

Yet, we claim to have done all we can
We boast of how things used to be and tell wonderful tales that bore our children
Our memory cannot relate the present pictures with the past glories

We complain from the comfort of our beds
We make noise like inexperienced pregnancy bearers
Being scolded by novice melancholic midwives

But for how long shall we sit, playing a broken fiddle?
What else will they do, if our ordinary rights seem wrong to claim?
Who else will tame the youths if we do not tame ourselves?

We cannot call them foolish because we ourselves have been fooled
We cannot call them stupid because we ourselves must be pitied
Lines and light have fallen unto us in crooked places

THE ENSLAVED VIRGIN GIRL by Modestus I Diko (Jnr.) – A Review

Modestus Diko’s new book The Enslaved Virgin Girl is not your everyday read. It is a book that is though much needed in these times of social ineptitude and juvenile delinquencies. The most curious thing about Modestus’ book is not what is written in the book but what was going through his mind when he decided to write the book.

We are at a point in human history where nothing is wrong. In fact, you are only wrong when convicted by a court of law –whether or not you are guilty. People choose virtues and vices and make of them what suits their present condition and situation. They say it is okay to steal if it is to cure your hunger. They agree honesty depends on whether it will hurt the other person. Virginity, the major theme of the book has lost its meaning and essence. This is why Modestus’ attempt at bringing such an issue to the fore strikes my curiousity. Frankly speaking, this one will not go down well with teenagers and young adults whose virginity have long been lost to strangers and vultures but it is a special gift for those whose virginity in its purest sense can still be vouched for.

Ironically starting with an introductory that seemed to be the foreplay of sex, it delves into the mind of a virgin girl. It portrays the battle of the mind against opposing forces even when that is one on the slate of purity. Written in simple language, Modestus ensured the content of the book would be read and understood by all and sundry. I particularly enjoyed the yo-yo thoughts of the Virgin. She goes from celebrating her piety to almost cursing herself for not being like the others. She then even experiments and discovered the futility of chasing shadows.

Almost a monologue, the book is entertaining yet didactic, it teaches yet allows one to think and decide answers by oneself. I read

“I say to her, my dear
There is nothing on earth
More than a pure spirit
In order for one to have
The whole earth
His thoughts, his words
His dreams
The secrets of his innermost
Heart all must be pure
And candid”

That reads like a part of the bible but it sure connects with our pursuit of joy and happiness. Lines like the above run through the length of the poem which in length does not compete with the Iliad but has to be one of the longest you have seen in a long time. Each word lead on to the next like a flow of river, moving over itself yet looking like it is stagnant. It is a beauty to a mind that loves the flow of words – especially in its everyday simplicity.

Amongst the sub-themes is the ever loving concept of Mother. Motherhood was celebrated in his ability to instill love and discipline from cradle even the point of crucial decisions like the – should I or should I not that comes with having sex for the first time. If I was a virgin, these would not have stopped me from experimenting but it would have prepared me for the consequences of heartbreaks and the many evils that go with pre-marital sex and all. See this from mother’s advice ;

“Listen to this, my daughter
Do you know why ritual killers
Use virgins for sacrifices?
It’s because they believe
Virgins are pure and
Without stain”

I don’t know of many writers who would have come out all ballistic on a tasty and controversial issue as virginity and pre-marital sex, hence I respect the bravely and intelligence of the writer of this book. I enjoyed reading it and had to read it over and again.

If there ever was a book that should get into your library whether or not you have your virginity, it is this. It is a guide for the upcoming generation. Besides HIV/AIDS, we can stop the menace of unwanted pregnancies and heart breaks. If you must break the cord, you ought to at least know the consequences that come with the action. This is what makes THE ENSLAVED VIRGIN GIRL BY M.I.D a must read for all and sundry.

REVOLUTIONARY MACHINE written by Femi Hephef Falodun

Wondering if anyone else has noticed

This quiet storm sweeping a hot land.

From the Atlantic coast to the edge of the hot sand

Revolutionary machine wielding words as swords

Engines running on brilliant young bloods:

The new breed. Though born of the failed generation,

Yet determined not to fail. To fuel a lagging nation

Powered by generators, above whose noise

They generate and elevate a vibrant louder voice.

Collectively Conscious, Creatively Compact.

Faceless behind Mark’s book, they attack

On a quest to re-write a blotted history

Twittering, blogging and poking their way to victory.

Dedicated to all 44.6 million Nigerian internet users

— Femi Hephef Falodun


TEACH US WHAT TO PRAY Written by Joshua J Omojuwa

I ask for pain and punishment for my enemies
When my own sin needs forgiving and many Mercies
When next I pray, I’ll ask God’s mercy for all men
We need your mercy Lord, ten in every ten
Forgive and have mercy. Heal our land Lord

I search for a woman, a tall beautiful diva
When I should seek for a wife, virtuous and clever
When next I search, I’ll look for one better than I am
A help mate, like my hand to my palm
My ways deserve none but for Your Grace

I spend time and resources building a house
With no home, trouble in my house Lord help douse
When next I build, I’ll build for me only a home
A home finds a house, no house finds a home
Lord build me a home, help me find a house

In grief, I look to the world for my happiness
When my heart holds its joy as its weakness
I need not weep, nor give up when I can move on
Like my life, I’ll make my joy at every turn
Dear Lord, help express the joy in every heart

Lord, teach us what to ask
Help us the prayer to say for every task
Your mercy not our will, Your grace not our strength
Your wealth not fading riches, not drugs but sound health
Never to doubt You, teach us everyday
Teach us to say ‘‘THANK YOU’’

IN PRAISE OF YOU A Psalm of Joshua

I do not own a mansion in Dubai’s Palm Island
Nor do I boast a land in Nigeria’s Banana Island
Yet I feel no less prosperous than those who do
That my life is beautiful is because of You
I’ll sing in praise of Your Majestic Splendour

When sin and failure would not let me be
Your Mercy was all I felt and could see
In my weakness I lived on Your strength
Without a shelter I dwelt in your tent
I’ll shout in honour of Your Mighty works

When I could afford nothing, even a meal
You laid before me a feast like a hill
Men thought me wretched, I knew me rich
You bless the birds, flowers You adorned each
I’ll praise You, my whole life I will

Make me Yours all my days and ways
Let your love lead me through this life race
Help me see your face, let me hear your word
Age to age, earth to Heaven you are my God
I’ll live in Praise of You. Alleluia Forever

MAKE ME YOURS ALONE Written by Joshua

I see waters over seas, I see men over nations
I see life beautiful despite its dirt and penury
I breathe the same air as wicked men who’ll ruin the world
I wonder what difference I offer for a better place
I walk their land, I swim their seas
I talk like them, so think as one of them
Now I know I am just like every sinner
Nothing of my making makes me better

Across the world, my words travel through the net
For each sane one, I offer another in sin
I sleep around with women I ought to teach
I teach men in words, but they learn from my actions
I am as dirty as the dumpsites of the old Lagos
I want to live right yet again I turn left
Now I know it’s beyond me
Only Your touch will make me better

Lord welcome to my heart, heal my soul, use my mind
Christ have your way, my mortal strength fails me
Cleanse me and make my heart and mind pure
I see no devil, only my selfishness and frailty
Make my darkness as bright as the noon day
My light as the Glory of your presence
Lift me and make me yours alone.

MEN AND THEIR WAYS Written by Japheth J Omojuwa

Our ways are different from Heaven’s path
Our Justice and Peace are divided in parts
To keep peace, we kill men, maim women, destroy children
Justice is one for the rich, one for the poor and another for our brethren
Our ways are different and different from right

For the Love of ourselves, we kill another
An eye for an eye until darkness becomes the order
To heal one, we hurt another. A child or the mother
A nation is only rich because it can milk another
Our ways are different and different from right

A mother dies in want and penury
The child calls for a celebration and a party
He says to celebrate her life, when she could have lived celebrated
We live like with no heart, like a mind sated
Our ways are different and different from right

Through the ages we are yet to conquer
One last enemy and still we look and wonder
Who man’s last enemy could be. The one who will stop man
Man’s only enemy is man.
He seeks many ways, yet goes the one different from right

Japheth J Omojuwa: SONG OF PAIN, PAIN WITHOUT END: My Lamentation written by Japheth J Omojuwa

My heart knows so much pain
So much pain my mind cannot fathom
Time tastes bitter and life like ewuro
Like ewuro I am told to expect some joy some day
The anguish my eyes see
The sights my sense feels
People moving and ending nowhere
Men working and earning nothing.
Ending nowhere and earning nothing
Living life through struggles
They know what to do
They know to do
They do
All their efforts end in nought
Children are living to die
Parents are dying to live
Fat thieves live on their common wealth
To share a common wealth they live in poverty
In poverty through an endless wealth
They are blessed or so it seems
Endless wealth it seems but cursed by their rulers
It seems by their rulers but I see the people
They know not, they care not
They want to live today without care for tomorrow
They care not for tomorrow, tomorrow comes
For tomorrow comes with pain and anguish
The day they see another flicker
They sing like they have a messiah
Their messiah turns another monster
Whether in khaki or in agbada
The people sing the same song
They start with hope
Their songs end in pain
They sing a song of pain
Doctors will not be resident
Teachers will not be scabs
Still the motor of a nation moves on
The nation moves on the path of agony
Mothers are dying fathers don’t want to live
Children are born to die
Adults die like they never were born
Death gets the blame when they die
Tell me what death kills a man without health and care
What death kills a child hunger kills
Death comes to them they care no more
They know already too many deaths
Roads have their traps
Work places are slave harbours
Homes are club houses
Darkness reigns supreme but light does blink
The plateau flows with blood
Yet people’s children are sent to their death
In service to the nation death serves them
I want to live
I want to think
To work my mind in production
To live for me, knowing survival means serving men
To live to think cannot be, without freedom
Without freedom men die as slaves
Five multiples of ten says the calendar
Yet our lives say we yet know no independence
Our lives are controlled from the center
The center of sleaze and moochers
The home of thieves who catch little thieves
Our future is traded in their chambers
They say our experiment is nascent
We ask how nascent is a decade?
A poor old farmer becomes President
In eight nascent years becomes a dollar sign billionaire
Nascent sounds like another home grown term
Another home grown term is our democracy
A democracy that has nothing for the people
Nothing for the people means not by the people
Not by the people means not of the people
If this is Lincoln’s democracy, is ‘Do or die’ its tenet?
Another cycle turns
Here they come in their numbers
You know it’s that time when people get killed
People get killed by armed robbers
By armed robbers who are armed not to rob
Who are armed not to rob but to kill? You know them
They are the foxes of the cannibals
The harbinger of battles for the soul of power
The soul of power that feeds on death
We shout our size -the biggest this and that
We forget to say we are big but for nothing
Africa calls for our lead yet we offer the motherland a giant
A giant too big to move, too big to lead
Hear their song of praise
In praise of thieves and murderers
When finally we see their coronation
Their song of praise becomes that of pain
Pain for hunger, the hunger they fed with gifts for votes
Gifts of votes becomes that of pain
Another four years to wait for another chance
Another chance comes without a chance for democracy
Old mind-tired men refuse to let youth lead
They cry about today like they knew not what they did yesterday
For democracy yesterday they truncated
Like God, they decided against the wish of the people
They look different
It’s their look, they are same in their heart
A heart that feels no joy
Men who feel no pain
Mind-tired men yet virile for more destruction
This is my song of pain
Pain for my people
For my people refuse to see
This is my song of pain
Pain for their rulers
For their rulers don’t know to lead
But only men to their death
Children to their early graves
Young people to destruction
A nation to shame and penury
A people without direction
Who will change my song?
Who will change the sound?
The time comes again
My people look to see
Only they see nothing but today
Tomorrow comes soon enough
Nothing but today they see
Soon enough to hear again
My song of pain
Their pain that knows no gain
No gain but cries, cries and sorrow, sorrow and tears
More blood in homes, men working without pay
Without pay they demand for something to vote
They forget that he gives a little to loot their future
Our Niger area has come so far
I wonder how far we have to go
Like that ewuro with its bitterness
I hope this bitterness ends like that of the bitter-leaf
Like the bitter-leaf, I hope my song ends in Joy.

PS: ewuro is the Yoruba term for bitter-leaf.


I Pray
That I will see the beauty in every shadow
That I bask in the warmth of every light’s glow
That the passing of day will birth my fame
And as I sleep,I cease to be same

I Pray
For a heart that will love even in pain
A soul that will give without an intent to gain
For a tongue that speaks not to break
But words only for men to make

I Pray
For fulfillment in the midst of wealth
For significance in every success birth
That I will have joy even when not happy
That I’ll celebrate God and His Glory

I Pray
That I find The Way,The Truth and The Life
To give me hope and victory through every strife
And for all that happens positive or odd
I’ll get on my knees and Thank God
I Pray


Hey Sweets,

You open and close my heart like a seal.
On this very day my hope is frail yet hard to kill.
I will try, now not outta ambition nor pride but outta love driven by a passion that cannot die.
You may fly or even soar at the rhythm of my hearty beats, but i know one day, one day soon, day, night and noon, our love in union will light a fire.

while i wait, you fill and empty my heart like an unpaid bill. In love,fear and sorrow my incompleteness is real. I feel, I see your love yet it looks surreal, like an illusion, a mirage without dimensional vision it looks unreal.
Now I wish the skies could chase my fears,just with a whisper of your love to my ears. I thought I had blocked my heart but you found the key and now I’m unlocked. Now I know my story is more than a history lost in heartbreaks. I’m yours, wholly and completely to make or break but be holy enough when you choose your take. Atleast for our sake love me, like divinity love me without bounds till infinity. My love for you is immortal so I can wait till the date we dance to fate and with faith do our love forever…I love you,even when you don’t believe in the world and words, believe this eight letter sentence of three words, I love you…Miss ???


LIVING ON MERCY’S KISS written by Japheth .J. Omojuwa

I have since stopped to wonder ever since I knew it’d take forever
In My quest to get off this rat race, I did a few things of disgrace
But with your Love so tender, I always get back in order
Each passing day after every walk along the depths of evil
I offer My prayers but the devil tells me it’s drivel
A fool he is ‘cause I know I live on Mercy’s kiss.

Living on Mercy’s kiss in bliss, keeps me clean from disease
Breathing on your Grace , makes every pain a passing phase
The Grace of your Mercy is the reason they envy
Each passing moment ,in and after every torment
I am draped in your garment but the devil says it’s for a moment
A fool he is ‘cause I know forever I’ll live in Mercy’s bliss.

Living in Mercy’s bliss and kiss ,out of sin and in peace
Looking at your face makes victory even in an unfinished race
The Mercy of your everlasting Grace is all it takes
Each time the tune plays through My phone
I bask in the message of Mercy like a bird freed from a cage
Mercy says no to every fear I know.

Mercy says no as You won’t let me go
Even when I am not in tow, still Your love you show
It shows, it glows and the world knows
Each sin, each fall and through it all I hear you call
I look to your coming as evil prepares for its burning
Your Mercy I’ll know as Your love You’ll show

Inspired by ‘Mercy said no’ a song by Cece Winans. It’s one song I’ve heard everyday as a new message drops In My phone for almost 2 years. My life is a project sustained by God’s everlasting Mercy. I think yours too but only you can tell


I should not have left you bereft of my presence
Why would I leave you without the aura of my essence
I longed to be wrapped in the warmth of your heart
I walked , ran , jumped ,hopped and even soared
I could not get to you as tears from my eyes poured
I’m sorry in truth as I did hurt you in fact.

Like that sweet song we both love to sing
Put the blame on me as long as I keep your ring
To see your face, I tried to come through many ways
I punched the pads, dialled the numbers knelt and prayed
My feet hurt ,my fingers and heart bled even as time delayed
I am sorry my love and I will be all of my days

I am sorry my sweet candy and this I know
I will do all within and all I can to never leave you alone
If I break these words, let my heart fail me
I will swim the seas, walk the earth and fly through the heavens
Just so we can be together as I sing to you blissful tunes
Touch my parts and taste my heart as yours forever I’ll be.

TOUCH ME…TAKE MY HEART Written by Japheth Omojuwa

I should not have left you bereft of my presence

Why would I leave you without the aura of my essence

I longed to be wrapped in the warmth of your heart

I walked , ran , jumped ,hopped and even soared

I could not get to you as tears from my eyes poured

I’m sorry in truth as I did hurt you in fact.



Like that sweet song we both love to sing

Put the blame on me as long as I keep your ring

To see your face, I tried to come through many ways

I punched the pads, dialled the numbers knelt and prayed

My feet hurt ,my fingers and heart bled even as time delayed

I am sorry my love and I will be all of my days


I am sorry my sweet candy and this I know

I will do all within and all I can to never leave you alone

If I break this words ,let my heart fail me

I will swim the seas, walk the earth and fly through the heavens

Just so we can be together as I sing to you blissful tunes

Touch my parts and taste my heart as yours forever I’ll be.