HOLIDAYS!

Remember that long holiday that you were so happy about and it suddenly became too long and boring, you had to start praying for resumption?

Well my friend, Jessy Grantay and I felt like that last year after our comprehensive exams. We had stayed  about 3 months at home and the Holiday had lost it’s appeal.  We wrote this poem which is a merge of couplets (a poem  of two lines). I wrote the first two lines for each stanza; Jessy wrote the next two.

I hope you enjoy it.

School was tiring

Now home is all boring

I was weary with toiling

Now fed up with sleeping.

 
Those Lectures and their silly talks

Now I’m all home with my swimming trunks

Sleep was stolen by ticking clocks

Now i’m thinking of having dreadlocks.

 
Food was getting on the decline

Now my stomach is so full, I’m popping tetracycline

All i wanted was a perfect outline

Now i see my notes, and wonder if they’re mine.

 
Books made my head spin round

All I do now is walking around

Alarms were my favorite sound

Now i block my ears and sing aloud.

 
It used to be from one LR to another

Now I watch series from GOT to others

Nights of worries, days of bothers

Now i think of nothing except my little brother.

 
School was fun ’cause of friends

Now I can’t wait for this holiday to end

But before the class rep schedules my weekends

I’ll live my life as i intend.

ENDLESS.

Last fortnight, He left

He promised to return

When He found greener pastures

He painted pictures of a better life

And how we’ll live another life.

 

 

 

It’s two years, He’s been gone

No news of him, dead or alive

The picture frame of him is gone

Stained with tears of several lone nights

Only memories of that night remain

He painted pictures of a better life

And how we’ll live another life.

 

 

 

I got a letter yesterday

From Papa again, reminding me of the many suitors

Who’ve come and gone

Asking me to accept the fact that he is gone

No one understands, the memories still haunt

Memories of that night

He painted pictures of a better life

And how we’ll live another life.

 

 

She stares back at me

A woman with wrinkles

Heavy eyes and pale flaking skin

After many lone nights filled with many tears

The memories of that night

Still fresh as last night’s

He painted pictures of a better life

And how we’ll live another life.

​COME BACK HOME, FATHER

Dear Father,

 
You left with a promise

Said you’ll be back before I say Jack twice

You say you’re in paradise

All I see is your demise.

 

 

I remember with relish

How you eat mama’s sweet dish

Your shoes always black, laden with polish

Come home father is all I wish.

 

 

You fell in a strange woman’s hands

Her heavy backside put you in bands

Now you’ve forgotten home and our farmlands

Gone lost in foreign lands.

 

 

Come back home Father

‘Cause on your shoulders, I see further

In your face, I find laughter

Your absence cannot be replaced by another.

 

*SAY NO TO PLAGIARISM. DO NOT USE, COPY, EDIT OR TRANSFER WITHOUT WRITER’S PERMISSION.*

DEMOCRACY AT 100: CENTENARY INDEPENDENCE 2060

We’ve come so far

At last, the Hausas trust the Yorubas
The Yorubas salute the Igbos
We call ourselves Nigerians and our country,One Nigeria
And we live the Nigerian dream
We stand tall, our heads raised high
And with love in our hearts.

Tribalism has ran off
Nepotism has followed its brother
Corruption has eloped carrying with him, His wife Bribery
The cankerworms have died
Our Nigeria has survived.

Our President : a leader now, not a ruler
Our youths: employers of labour, no more job seekers.
Our democracy: all free and fair
Our Government: Transparency prevails
Our lawmakers: legislating in truth
Our police: our friends at last!

I stand at 64
Beaming with all smiles
My dreams have been achieved
My goals reached
I’ve paid my dues
And to the society, I’m giving now.

My nation at 100
I at 64
A Nigeria with true Nigerians
Living the Nigerian dream.

​The Power Of Words.


Words can create

Mountains out of mole hills

Words can enrich

Adding little chunks of wisdom

Words can glorify

Singing songs of adoration and worship

Words can make whole

Soothing pains and turmoils of the heart

Words can beautify 

The tiny wide room of the heart

Words can make happy

Bringing a smile to one’s lips

Words can destroy

Causing men to take to arms and war

Words can sadden

Changing that smile to tears

Words can deceive 

Sugar-coated lies used by many

Words can brew anger

From a grin to a frown

Words can kill

Thousands slaughtered because of a silly argument

Words can slay

Maiming minds, hands and pages

Words are tools

It’s ways and manners mastered by a few

Words are like fire

Burning the ash coals in the furnace of the mind

Words can justify

Turning a free man to a prisoner

These and many more words can do.

THE HOPE

With sack for clothes

And the hard floor as beds

We, the slaves have come to see life

Never as a bed of roses

We hear our names been called

We play the deaf ear

All to spite our master

We discuss them behind their backs

And wish for ways the table could turn

 

 

 

These masters of ours

They spite and chide us

Accuse us when things go all wrong

Our statement are taken as alibi

“They are all liars” The mistress adds

 

 

 

The new dawn came when a new slave was bought

A man who was once free

His shoulders were squared as he looked our masters in the face

He brought with him hope

A hope of freedom

A life we thought could only happen in God’s kingdom

A day we would be free

When our defenses would not be counted as Alibi

 

 

 

We gathered to hear him speak

When we were sure our masters were deep in their sleeps

Excitement seeped through our bones

As his many words delighted our hearts

And a liberation plan was hatched

 

 

 

One Morning, He was summoned

A traitor-slave told the masters of the several meetings

He was taken to the dungeons

By men and their heavy guns.

 

 

 

Food starved, beaten and battered

Finally given an open trial before all

To serve as a warning for other slaves

He said many words to deny the accusation

Most which was just alibi.

 

 

 

His case was decided

Beheading was the price to pay

As I stared him hard in the face

His emotions weren’t even stirred

And his shoulders still squared

The axe was raised quickly

And I looked down at his lifeless body lying at my feet.

 

 

*This peom won 2nd place in the Prof Jimoh/ILUMSA Talent Hunt 2016. 

Buzzing Words

Words are like bees

Honey produced heals spirit and soul

They could also sting

Causing pain, damaging from the head to the sole.

 

 

These bees are fast

Zooming round and about

They’re like toothpaste

Cannot be put back in once out.

 

 

Words can deceive

A fool out of you they’ll make

Even as you believe

The terrible lies they construct.

 

 

These bees buzz in and out

Some trapped in the comb of my heart

Others I purge out

To maintain Sanity of my mind’s eye.

 

 

Words are fast

Could make a scare

Giving a reaction that last

Even of the strongest of men.

 

 

These bees are mighty

Slaying thousands of men

They’ve caused wars

Hands and pages they’ve maimed.

 

 

Words are like bees

Buzzing in the head of a writer

They go fast, round and about

Even as I put my pen to paper.

 

Mojisola Ogunlakin
 

 

Meet The Writer!

Mojisola Ogunlakin is a young talented (and if I may add Beautiful) lady who is passionate about peotry and sees it as a form of self-expression, entertainment and relaxation from the stress of medical school. 

She loves art and nature and has an eye for aesthetics. She loves beautiful things and doesn’t fail to appreciate them.

She recently made 1st Runner up in Peotry/Prose Category of Prof Jimoh/ILUMSA Talent hunt 2016. 

She enjoys singing, dancing and meeting new friends. You can catch Her on Facebook : Mojisola Ogunlakin or Instagram : mojeehsola.

Also, Today is her 20th Birthday!!! 

Weightier Matters.

More things to life than the frivolous

More things to amaze and astound us

The beauty and grace that abound us

The works of His hands, how marvelous

 

 

 
The smile of my miss, that lights my day

Her charms, her kiss, drives pain away

Her figure, her hips, not in vain they sway

The curve of her lips turns life to play

 

 
Mom and dad, and brothers, no sister

Bonded by the blood that’s thicker than water

The love we share that refuses to flutter

Grateful for food and clothes and comfy shelter

 

 

 

Me and my friends, the teases and laughter

The times we win, the celebrations after

When times are bad, and we strive to be better

The good things of life, the things that matter

 

 

 

Those moments in life that dumbfound us

When all things good surround us

When life’s beautiful and full of cheer

Lets take a break, pause and stare

Exit the gloom that confound us

And bask in the good all around us

 
Meet The Writer!

Igbor Clement, aka Clemency Green, is a Medical Student at the College Of Medicine, University of Lagos, LUTH.

He is a Poet whose poetry has won several awards, applause and accolades. He’s winner of a poetry competition organised by the Law Society, University of Lagos in 2013, 2nd runner up War of Words 4 National Poetry Slam Competition in 2014, finalist at Eko Poetry Slam 2015.

Acclaimed Medilag’s resident Poet,  He’s 2nd runner up Mr Medilag 2015 beauty pageant and a breast and cervical cancer awareness ambassador.

He has featured on several radio and tv shows and has graced several of the biggest stages in Nigeria. He uses his Poetry to Change the world, one stage/page at a time.
His works can be reached via

http://www.youtube.com/c/clemencygreen

@ThatPoetClem on Instagram and Twitter

Igbor Clemency Green onFaceboo

Oil And Water.

I had to watch you go

A subtle warmth to ease the cold

You sank beneath a deep hole

guarded by your demon trolls

Draped from view, never to be seen whole

 

 
I craved your absence

and liberty was my defence

You said love was our essence

another shade to your pretence

And if you hadn’t noticed, we’d run out of repents

 

 
It wasn’t our norm to loosen ends

but you drained our purse your latest trends

condemning our fate to trifling hands

You gleamed in that midnight dress

with your incense seeping out my prowess

making sure that your strength was my weakness

 

 

How could you drag me so far?

Only to let go?

Why would you let me view the stars?

Without a moon’s glow?

Unhinge me this moment and let me flow

 

 
But how can I find common ground?

When our friction is an explosion all round

Things were heating up and about

but you cast me out to the hounds

so they would drain my flesh of its oil and water.

 

 

Biola

 

Meet The Writer!

Abiola Olanrewaju was born in Lagos and raised in Lagos. He is interested in poetry/fiction. His writings contains themes which cut across imagination to life experiences. He calls himself “a writer by day, med student by night”.He is the winner of Prof jimoh/ILUMSA talent hunt for poetry 2016. You can catch him on Twitter @byolarbreezy or Instagram @byolarbreezy.

LOSS

Numb. That was how he felt when his uncle finally broke the sad news. He heard it, but it sounded muffled, like a bad recording. His brain could process it, but every fibre in his body refused to accept it. He was in denial. “Surely there was a mistake”, he thought, a mix-up of some sort, because things like this never happened to him, they happened to other people. But even as these thoughts took form in his mind, he realized he was only grasping at straws, for these things do happen to him. This, after all, was not a first.

Bashir had woken up in the morning and been told by his uncle to go prepare, he’d said they were going to see his aunt who also lived in the area with her family. Bashir had wondered at that, suspicion in his mind, but he had kept his thoughts to himself. Now, a few hours later, he was standing in his aunt’s compound with his back propped against the wall, staring at his uncle as he announced the shocking news. He thought he heard someone scream in shock, probably his aunt, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

His mind was racing, his heart beating faster with every second. So many questions were running through his mind, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word. His bones felt heavy, his muscles unyielding; his entire body was rooted to the spot.

Bashir had just lost his father, and at fifteen years of age, he’d suddenly become an orphan.

He’d only been a couple of months old when his mum kicked the proverbial bucket and she had left behind two kids – Bashir and his elder sister Sherifat. Both of them were raised by their father, who did his best to support them in every way he could as a single parent. He eventually remarried a few years back and Bashir got two more siblings. His relationship with his dad had been a great one. To Bashir, his dad had simply been the best.

As he stood there, almost oblivious to what was happening around him, he thought back to the last time he’d seen his father. It had been just a couple of days back; his father had been on admission at the Ilorin General Hospital. He was being treated for intracranial neoplasms, commonly called as brain tumors, and had undergone a surgical resection through craniotomy – a surgical operation which involves temporary removal of a bone flap from the skull to access the brain. The objective of the surgical resection was to remove as many tumor cells as possible.

The operation had been said to be successful and they’d said he would be discharged as soon as possible. But they’d been wrong, thought Bashir, his father would never come home again. He would never come see him in school again bearing gifts. He would never call his name again.

His thoughts were interrupted when his uncle called his name, “Bashir, we have to get to your step mom”, he said. Obediently, he dragged himself into the car, joining his aunt and one of his older cousins and just stared silently through the car window as they drove off. Everyone but his uncle was quiet, he was busy making calls, informing family and friends of the unfortunate incidence. As he looked out the window, he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, nobody seemed to notice their car as it sped up the road. Nobody seemed to see that his life had just been changed forever, that things would never be the same again.

After what couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes, the car pulled up outside the familiar building where he’d lived before moving in with his uncle when he started his secondary education. The building where he’d spent most of his secondary school holidays so far. With some apprehension, he pushed open the gate, and as he did, he could already hear the outcries coming from within the house. Cries that brought to mind a picture of prisoners being beaten with blade-studded whips, prisoners being branded with sizzling hot iron rods. But this was no physical pain, it was pain that registered on a deeper level, emotional pain, and Bashir was sure he felt even worse.

The entrance door was open, and the floor was full of foot wears of all sorts. Bashir realised the outcries he’d heard were those of his step mom, she was still crying out loud, saying all sorts, but his mind wasn’t following. He couldn’t go in first, so he hung back until his uncle, aunt and cousin had all entered. Only then did he summon enough courage to enter.

At first, he just stood there, looking around, noting the people around. He could see his step-mom’s mother, sitting beside her devastated daughter, trying but failing to calm her down.  He could see two or three of his step-mom’s friends also trying to calm her down. He could see some of their neighbours, family members, his little brother and sister who were still too young to fully understand what was happening , and his elder sister sherifat.

He headed towards her as soon as he spotted her. The initial shock had left him and he’d found his voice once again, so he acknowledged some people as he went, people who greeted him back carefully, wanting to reflect just the right amount of sadness and regret in their voice, people who offered him words of consolation which he barely heard, people who had no idea how he really felt.

His sister was sobbing quietly with her hands around her legs as she held them close. Her eyes were red and swollen that Bashir wondered how long she’d been crying. She looked like she could break down at any moment, and yet, she looked strong enough to survive whatever life throws at her. He sat beside her, and put his arm around her. He comforted her and she comforted him, for both their hearts ached in synchrony. She, like him, had just been cruelly thrust into orphanhood. Today, she’d become his parent, and he hers.

The rest of the day was a blur of people – family, friends, and strangers alike. Bashir’s uncle had called him aside and talked to him, assuring him that everything would be alright. He’d said although Bashir and his siblings had lost their dad, every brother of his father would be a father to them. He’d said the family would always be there for them every step of the way. Although Bashir didn’t pay much attention to these words, he would come to see, in the years to come, just how true they were.

THE END?

How do we deal with loss? If we lose a loved one, how do we deal with the feelings that come with it? Do we just bury them deep within and hope to forget them? Is it even possible to forget them?  Do we hold on to them and forget everything else? It’s never easy to move on after a loss, but it is easier for some more than others. Where some would never recover from the shock and cruelty of it, some would draw determination and a sense of purpose from it and propel themselves into greatness.

Once again, how do we deal with loss?
Haiby.

 
Meet The Writer.

Abdulsalam Ibrahim aka Ibrahim Adey aka Haiby is a 4th year medical student of the University of Ilorin and a passionate lover of words.

In His Words:
“I love writing. Being able to string together a bunch of random words and make something beautiful out it is simply amazing. It feels great! And so, I write.
I also watch a great deal of movies. They offer a very nice, albeit temporary escape from what I like to call #medskewlcraze (medical school definitely no be beans).
I sing, I draw and I run (i’ve got a gold medal to show for it lol).
Well, that’s me, in a nutshell. Cheers!”

You can catch his lastest writings at his blog http://slothwritar.WordPress.com