Phoenix From the Ashes


I exist in a place where there was no one like me
The trees had their roots in the sky
And Heavens crawl on the surface of waters

I was born into a world
Where no one regards desires-

Dreams were lame
And hopes were the kings of Actions

I dwell in moments most of you would call Horror
For the water we drink is the blood of our fallen compatriots

In our world,
The Ocean retains its algal bloom
The sun romances our feet at will
And hardly do we have gleeful showers-

For if it rains, then the storm that follows
Would wipe away our happiness

I am the enigma that trends
The passion that slumbers
The courtesy that is lost
The future that is bleak
And the curse that endures

I live in the midst of Wealth
Seasoned with the curry of poverty
Boiled with the waters of Ethnicity
Served on the plates Jingoism
And garnished with battalions of bad leaders

I am the cry that would never be heard
The Song of Awful melody
But with Lyrics so sound to be engraved in the corridors of power

I am what and who I am
I am the Nigeria of today
The one our heroes past dreaded to come to fruition
I am the baby that cries for a mother
The phoenix that refuses to rise
And I am Nigeria!
The land of our dreams

My beloved

My beloved!
We met on the highway of loneliness
So rugged a path that Roughened our pact
Sweats, Frets and sometimes frowns-
Imbued our Smiles, enchant our climes
Her white spread sheets, with the sharp edged sleeve
Bore the pangs of my fist
The grip of my palm
And the agony of my ink..
My book! Oh! My book
Don’t blame me
It was mother’s request to face thee.



Ifoti olooyi (coma inducing slap), Ikoo gbekunmi (knocks that make you swallow mucus), ilu bara (Beating like a thief), Abaraa gbona (hot bang), Eekana e.t.c are all peculiarities of Yoruba mothers. You might be so unlucky to have your mum a specialist in none (as you would have marks in different places), but fortunately, mine was a specialist in all (my marks are in inconspicuous locations); the reason why I have this tale to tell. In fact there was a time she slapped me and I couldn’t see anything for a moment. All I could see was black and white! (The who off light type of slap)

We were told that no love can be compared to one found between mother and child. As a child, I do not totally believe that saying. Sometimes I do wonder; “how can someone that loves me treat me this way?” She gives me food, clothes me and even sings for me, yet she doles on me the severest of punishments. I was confused. The discipline was so much that at a moment I can’t really say who I fear most; Allah or my Mother! (Never mind me for I was still a kid then). It is true the prophet chose the mother three times over the father but to me I would have chosen my pa ten times over.

Here is one of my numerous stories:

She called me one day, “Ashraf!” I said “Yes ma”. “You know I would be travelling to Iseyin today”, a question to which I nodded in affirmation. She continued “So, you must not go and play outside”, “Why”, my mind queried but I dare not show it in my face, for she understands every gesture I make (I don’t know how she got to know that). “Don’t go out”, she reiterated! “I would know if you do”, she completed her instruction.
Such command was easy for me to obey on a normal day, but this very day, I was in an imbroglio. I have to choose between the devil and the red sea. As a football addict, and a good one for that matter, we were to have an interclass match competition of which I was a star key player for my team. Here I am, being handed explicit instructions. What am I to do? Ibadan to Iseyin is nothing less than a four hour drive which makes it easy for me to sneak out and be back without my mother knowing. As sweet as the thought was, sneaking out and my mum coming back home for whatever reason it might be and not meeting me at home scared my lungs out, for it had happened on several occasions but I was saved then because I was obedient. I waited for few hours to be sure she might have boarded her bus and would have been far off the outskirts of Ibadan. Yet I couldn’t go beyond our house’s verandah. I was startled. In the long run, I choose obedience. My reason was simple! If my team lost, we would all share the pains of loosing, but if I sneak out and my mum eventually does her investigation by whatever means she has (that is if she didn’t come back home for any reason) and finds out I erred, I would be the only one to suffer the wrought. Eventually, my team lost to a far lesser team.

Here is my point:
Right now I see myself a man that outrightly disobey Allah without remorse. Although, I now know the wheat from the chaff and the day from the night, but yet with impunity I engage in sin. I felt no restraint like I felt in JSS1 from disobeying my mother. What if my mother sees me was my thought, but now I forget that there is no doubt in Allah being the all seeing. My mother would punish me I reckoned in my heart, yet I remain oblivious of the fact that Allah’s punishment can’t be endured. The same applies to you too as we trample on Allah’s will and command at will while our hearts deceive us by saying Allah would forgive us! Yes he will! But what made you so sure you would live to see the next seconds. My brother! I knew I might not be the only lucky one to have a mother like mine, so as you remember the slaps, knocks and bangs on your backs your mum must have used in pressing your reset button because you make mistakes, so also should the punishment of the grave and hell ring a bell in you whenever you want to err. I hope you hear!

Jollof that Needs Stew

Jollof that needs stew

I really need a bank to lend me a loan and leave me alone
For someone said to me sometimes ago
That real men with real eyes realize real lies

I mean Look!
Look again!This is not a mere pun or word play

Look I Say!
It is as clear as a bright sunny day!

You must Sow a dead soul (seed)
For to your soul a covering to sew

In order to nurture the soul
We go through the doe, not sow (female pig)
For to us it remains a foe

As I look for a way
To survive, thrive and not washed away-
For with success they say would stay-
Determination, Discipline and faith
We propel our outer self
At the expense of who we really are
To it we become deaf

You struggle to do more,
Become more,
But all to no avail,
It’s just for you to keep the Game on!
Hmmmm….You remain Just an ore
Raping all the dirt around…What a whore

Never become a Jollof
Waiting to be served with some stew
Never regard others thought about what you are
Reckon with your soul
Is it well? Not how far…
For soon you would realize
That you were even never worth the while
A Jollof still calling for Stew……

The Girl I Saw!


I saw her!
Those eyes, I mean- popping from the window

That imbued her face

The resplendent aura of her gushing beauty

Don’t ask how I knew

For her charm, so blinding-

Radiates from a lowered gaze

“unfried’ voice

Straight gentle steps

Depicting royalty-

I inferred from afar

All in a flowing Regalia

I wished I could-
Touch and simmer

A thought very lethal

For her veil demands
Respect, Honour and Regard

In my trance

I was caught between scrub and rivulet

Garden and oasis

Water and Shade

Drizzle and dew

For she is meant for a few!

To her husband, a Diva

Her father, a princess

And her kids a queen

A soothing Succour to the-

Pious, pure and willing

And yes! I Saw her!

Her endowments, so revealing

Covered, not wrapped from head to the toe

Oh! I saw her!

As a priceless jewel Allah kept so secure.

Pip Squeak….

Pip Squeak

From nothing my dear, Remember we came
Do not forget, our end still remains the same

Not all with phallus you see are handsome
‘’She is Pretty’’- that’s a thought that can hold you at ransom

Your substance, your value and integrity should be germane
Nurture it- the bigger the kingdom, the fuller the mane

Don’t sacrifice your Hayaa for a ‘’few likes’’
Because on the Day of Judgment, no one would look twice

Or to you, it’s a problem lowering your gaze,
Go wear a footy, with a beautiful shoe lace

To our cravings we constantly remain subservient
When in reality, our creator’s warning perpetually ambient

Nullity is who we are
Yet futility we do revere