Malik Ademola

I remember September 17, 2007 where our adventures began in that school. I can still remember how we became friends. We were newbies, so were others, and we seemed like being lost in a strange world. I can't remember what I wore on that first day, yet I can remember yours so vividly. You were on a blue jean top and a to-match blue jean trouser, a seeming Islamic cap on your head which accentuated you would be so religious. We found our seats on the second row, it was random, we couldn't have planned it. I was an introvert, so were you, or maybe you pretended to be then, I couldn't ask for your name and you didn't ask mine either, and our day went on in mute until we got to the hostel and we got to share the same bunk. I knew you wanted the top bunk, but you weren't tall enough to put your bed on it, I wasn't tall enough either, but someone had helped me. We fought that day also, and I won, but not by my might, but rather you succumbed for the sake of friendsh

She was conceived  and born  With golden spoon Pampered  with  the word  of possibilities See the prodigal  daughter  born in a blind moonlight. Her proudness  runs through  her like a single strand through  a fabric I can be her rival as day passes by Yet, she  has nothing  to show the world A blind Àkéjù with no walking stick. Pitiful  voice of the world fills her deaf listening ears Yet, she  believes  in imagination far beyond reality Àgídìgbo drums fill her deafening ears Nevertheless her maturity  is behind  wisdom. She looks at herself with a softening and loving smile The world  looks with pitiable voice She  use the èwà(beans) to call the ìwà(character). Let's leave the  walking Blind  Àkéjù with no stick to her destructive part. `` ​​​Egbelade onifade​​​ ``` ​@Dancing pen​ Egbelade Onifade is an African Traditionalist Practitioner and a Yoruba student of Obafemi Awolowo University, ile ife.

A BIRTH INTO DARKNESS In the heart of winter some decades ago, there was a woman in the obstetrical room. She's a newlywed, and that was sixteen months ago. She groaned and grunted in the room, the nurses paced back and forth, their marches beating heavily, and threatening the peace and instilling fear in the hearts of her relatives at the reception. After few hours of unrelenting efforts of the doctor and nurses, the heartily cry of a young baby emerged from the room. There were smiles on their faces, and everyone congratulated them. Moreover, it was good to reckon with people who make successes, and she just succeeded.   Despite the cry of the young baby in the obstetrical room, the paces of the nurses had not stopped. They dashed, and rather than the heel of their stiletto beating soft drums of joy, it made the raging cacophonous sounds of survival, of a surgery going wrong, of the scalpel cutting deep in her womb, of the wrong (the baby) being riped out of her belly. The

The tower of life; higher than our reach,  And the battle for survival is fierce,  That many lost, smouldered in the air,  Even before the inception of the duel for life. Ignorantly, they had got along,  To birth generations of offspring,  But unconcerned of the peril that comes As the foetus trudges to life.  Now my world, no, our worlds are our antagonists Without ammunitions, they fight us,  Depriving us of a little prosperous life,  That may be gone even before we arrive.  Our archenemy, they make,  The "illness" we brought not unto ourselves,  Cum their advocacy of a world free of us,  We live as a ghost that only make up a population.  What are imminent to them and us - love, family  Are what they get with buoyancy,  But lecture us on the peril of tasting it,  To be something as grave as our "death."  Unless you raise placards above the chimney tops,  And your voices echo miles beyond the seas,  And your marches of awareness beat drums of survival,  A world fr

You wake up from the comfort of your home On your four-poster bed With a cup of cappuccino by your bedside And missing someone to kiss your lips.         BUT We wake up to the gruesome inimical street On the stacks of rags that lie beneath our feet With the heavenly pap bequeath on us by mother nature And missing someone to console our confidence. We walk under the scorching sun And work in the oven of the blazing fires Where it's radiations pierce through our skins Tearing our hearts apart Melting our brains like lemon drops And the inferno beneath our feet Evaporates the humanity out of us. Subtly, our hell begin right here While your heaven begin right there From the top of those storey buildings Where you watch us die with comfort. And without guns and ammunition Among yourselves, elite You fight endless wars The battle to be the first among your equals And the intelligence in your cerebra That is supposed to save us all Is rather used to battle for sheer lustful preeminenc