Early Harvest

Published May 9, 2016 by thewackpoet

Many stars have stories

a few suns stay through stormy days.

The endless tales of flowers cut at their prime

some to funerals went

others adorn long aisles.

The plenty bouquets that adorn a bride’s day

are the same that adorn a corpse’s last call.

 

I lost one, but I was not there for the goodbyes.

Let’s strike a pose at the edge of this window

see many frail spirits hiding under healthy skins

every man with his own plague as in the days of good old Moses.

The Pharaohs of our days are not so adamant but yet,

the plagues afflict us.

Now, even growth has become a death-bearer,

as cells now multiply excessively.

 

Name the new plagues through which families divide.

That father thought he would see the next day

That mother kept jewellries for her daughters

That son wished he had more days to love his mother

That daughter wished she would stay to find a man like her father

But then here we are

With a bucket to each man

to hold the tears we shed for our beloved;

those ones who have fallen to the plague

The plague of our new days

Memories of the milk we shared and those we spilled

The endless fallout and make ups

 

There lies my friend,

She fell by the plague too

Her last words came as lightning and thunder

My world could not contain the tsunami my eyes brought

Her body did no more shine

Her dimples did no more breathe

And my other friend, the one that calls me by my father’s name

Cold and dry, his body bore holes and threads

One by one, we depart on sorrowful journeys

 

When they ask me to name the cause

Do I say man or God?

As loved ones bow out

Leaving our heavy hearts shattered

We seek answers

But all we get is “the Lord giveth, and He alone taketh”

 

Then we watch their bodies from a distance

As strangers lift and toss them about on hefty shoulders

That body you saw a day before, happy though not contented

Now is the lowered 6 feet below surface level on a rainy day

To reign with worms, cockroaches, and insects

 

Maybe one day we will meet again

Maybe we won’t

The memories never fade

With every picture and every mark they left behind

Our hearts break as we remember the days and times we shared

Death cheated us; we were not ready to lose them

But they were ready to lose us.

 

To every heart that aches

To every eye that won’t stop shedding tears

To every spirit that has become broken,

I can only wish they stayed a little longer.

They are all early harvests of a Farmer who is far away

In a world of GOld and GLOry.

 

(c)Oluwatodimu2016

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The Taxi Driver From Ilorin

Published March 11, 2016 by thewackpoet

(Camera rolling, I walk up to the set, sit down in the best posture I can think of, I think I am ready but they have to do the usual “3.2.1-action!” cue they give)

Lol, if you read that just pretend as if you did not, it has nothing to do with the experience I about to share, it is not even a true sometin, it is only for effect. But here goes the real story:

I have been seeing this not too rickety not too  cool vehicle around the area for quite sometime now, I was really interested in hitching a ride in it but as it was I kept missing the opportunity to. I was driving a Professor to his house one afternoon last week or thereabouts when  I drove past that same taxi again, my inquisition  hormones raced and I just wanted to stop the car but I dared not. So I kept on wondering what circumstance(s) could have led to the situation, I mean this driver was different from all other taxi drivers I ever seen although in some other parts of the country it may not be that surprising. I just kept wondering and pondering (Up Nepa! Let me plug my phones – yes I have two phones because one cannot depend on one network provider-before electricity is shut down again. It has been 7 days, 12 hours, 55 minutes and 16 seconds since we last say the bulb lit up in our area)

So, it all happened this morning, I never even experrerit, it just so happened that I was running late after having told my friend I will arrive very early to the office today, I was in a hurry to get a cab and just get to the office before I start receiving all those “Hey! Where are you?!” calls. The taxis parked were not my taste so I strolled a little further to thumb down any tush cab that won’t waste my precious time. Well, I waited for quite a long time but the taxi I was waiting for did not show up so I gave up and decided to join any cab going my way.

Just after I made that decision came The Taxi I had been eyeing to ride for a number of weeks, the driver called out my destination and kiakia I thumbed it down. I had to share the sit with some set of iron rods but still I did not mind. I fixed my gaze on the driver and the person sitting in the front seat. What a marvel it was for me but then I had to compose and just observe. As we journeyed on, there was never a time the driver stopped talking with the other person, we were three in the taxi but I did not utter a single word out loud; I was talking to myself. At first I thought of just asking how the whole thing started but then I thought again to hold my tongue, I did just that anyway.

A zillion thoughts were racing through my mind, and at the same time I was moved to celebrate this driver. I was moved to pity, I was moved to compassion, I was not moved to tears though. I saw a driver who defied all the odds and broke every single rule they have made to make the job worthless.

As she spoke with the driver, I wanted to clap my hands and say “Oh dear driver, you are the real MVP” but I just had to wait till the end. Every time the driver greeted another road user, I would look into the face of that person just to catch every detail of the expressions of shock, then fascination then appreciation. But this driver was just being in a natural mode, and I could not cause any embarrassment. But here is what really humbled me most in the conversation of the driver and the other person and I will quote it:

Driver: Please do not seat like that!

Semilore: But it is not bad!

Driver: Semilore, I have been telling you not to seat like that but you won’t listen.You see as I am working to making ends meet so I can feed you and your sisters but you still want to incur more expenses on my neck. I am warning you o. I don’t know why I always bring you to work sef, you do nothing but stress me the more.

Well, yes the driver of that taxi was the mother of the young girl between the age 5-10 sitting in the front seat. The driver of that taxi was a woman who looked so far from being a woman, her body was emaciated and her skin was looking worse that mine as poor as I am. She’s obviously not only the bread-winner of her home but also the tea-provider.

Then I thought again to interview her and take many pictures of her, spread it over the social media, probably make another Olajumoke out of her (who am I kidding, mesef dey wait make person discover me) but then I thought again on why I should attempt that. Was it because the society has placed so much lowliness of the woman-fold? was it because I have been programmed to consider her job as a man’s job? Would I have been so convinced to interview a female professor or Engineer like that? Was I not been gender-biased? Who even made these rules that govern our society? Is a woman not allowed to be independent?

As these thoughts and many more rushed through my mind, I looked up at the driver (we already had more passengers in the taxi now) she was arguing with one “upcoming Alfa” on the state of the nation. As I looked at her, I saw a fighter, I saw a real African mother, I saw a caring mother, I saw a selfless parent, I saw a body frame that has gone through the low depths of life, I saw a light-skinned-turned-black hero, I saw hope.

I saw my mother, I saw my parents. I saw all parents who struggle to make ends meet for many of us who never even truly appreciate it.

(Camera stops rolling, I grab a bottle of Coca-Cola and walk towards the window. I see the roof of many houses stained and dirty. “When will the rain wash them clean again?” I asked myself as I drew the window blinds)

(c)theWackPoet2016

WordsUp With Oluwatodimu 2016

Published February 29, 2016 by thewackpoet

 

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#‎WordsUp‬ with Oluwatodimu 2016!
The platform to speak against nudity, vulgarity, addiction to hard drugs and harmful substances, abused westernisation and neo-colonialism, crime, war and corruption, hooliganism, lust, and obscenity.
Poetry is our voice! We are going to ‪#‎SayItNow‬
For sponsorship, contact: 08160563030
For registration to perform, contact: oluwatodimuo@gmail.com or call 08160563030 or 08160700284 (Acceptance for performance of poems will be based on the validity of submissions to the themes listed above)

Video submission is also allowed.
‪#‎WordsUp2016‬ ‪#‎TheWackPoet‬ #SayItNow

 

 

For Those Who Ask If I’m Tired.

Published October 13, 2015 by thewackpoet

Yes, I rarely sleep at night and i wake up with heavy eye every sunrise,
I grab whatever i have to eat and when i have not I eat naught.
I jump out of my apartment hustling under stained sun and end up most times beaten to a pulp by the whips of murderous rain.
The money is not coming, but the ideas keep haunting
It is not my fault I was not born with a sliver spoon but then I say I am not tired.
I am a fighter with gentle looks, and a lanky body, don’t ever think I do not combat my tormentors.
To those who mock my ugly looks and laugh at my weak moments
Though I fall, yet I am not tired.
And, when my palms start to shake and drop the sword, I shall not be too tired to remind you of how long we have come.
Mon ami, don’t ask me if I’m tired if you have no room for me to rest my feet and wash my mind.
(theWackPoet- 2015)

Yanibo – Oluwatodimu (TheWackPoet)

Published June 7, 2015 by thewackpoet
Women dancing in the village square, there my Yanibo came out from.

Women dancing in the village square, there my Yanibo came out from.

It was in the town of maidens
and I being naïve and heavy laden,
starved of knowledge and berth,
looking sick as the clouds tore apart the earth,
and my lips moved like the falling hips of a dancing maiden in the Square,
my buba dripped like the waterfalls of Erin Ijesha; I didn’t care,
there under the bamboo tree did I meet YANIBO the fair lady of the town,
a jewel in the eyes of the crown.
She rode on a horse like the madams of our white lords,
she was pretty even as the rain had flooded out my repertoire of words,
she extended her hand and pulled me up on the beast,
I could not decline as I grabbed onto her waist as the beast moved his feet,
and I, like a baby, clutched her breasts as the horse sped up.


my wit was damp and my senses needed warmth,
Yanibo offered me food for my stomach and eyes,
as she changed her silk dress, my manhood moved like ocean tides,
she offered me her bed and thighs to rest my head.
Yanibo toyed with my brain and bead;
my stomach well fed,
my eyes were heavy as I saw her nipples in vague light,
I could not feel my bones though I wrestled with all might
to stand and set my thoughts right.
Yanibo pinned her breasts against my tiny chest!
My heart leapt, I remembered my wife and little son
I heard the silent call of my father’s voice saying:
“Get up my child, this pit you are falling into will end your life”.
Then my eyes opened and saw the horns on Yanibo’s head!
I reached for my sword and called her by her father’s name;
the one who tempts us all to sin and curse.
I whisked her cold body out of my way.
I plunged back onto the journey to the mountain of Light,
not to fall, but to rise and triumph in this end times.

Let It Be – Oluwatodimu O.

Published February 14, 2015 by thewackpoet

Now if we could only smile
As we journey through distant miles
And relish the moments we share,
The good people who stay through our tears
Let it be said we found joy.

And angels will guide us home
Methinks none was made to be alone;
Even the man who raped that pretty lady
And that woman who poisoned her husband’s family
Let it be said there’s always a second chance, if I’m right.

Let it be when you think so deep,
And still cannot lift your heart through the heap
Someone, albeit far in the land of Oz, cares
And there is a deity, or be it a god, that knows your fears
Put your faith in your heart, you’ll find your way, let it be.

The cool breeze fondled the cheeks of Mr Brown
It brought his first smile after a lifelong frown
And as the sea waved and played with the fishes
His body twitched, the deity granted his wishes
The world let him be, he forgot the pain.

If only we could all let it be and enjoy the days of our lives
If only …