The day is young,
Full of life, taking me down
Towards the river
that my father warned me about
Not once,
But every time the banks vomited
One more lifeless body
and threw our town into mourning
that lasted till the river became less hungry
Today, my friend will lead us
to the forbidden place
where the fishes recede at our presence
and our pants play with water
Till our skin becomes white
Then, we will we wait to get dry
As the drums and flute whistle
rhythm into our ears
till our bodies move, stop and tire




I fell in love with an accountant

She used me to balance her past

Now, my life is like bad debt

I fell in love with a lawyer

She left me in the tears

And I became a mere acquaintance

not a witness in her life

I fell in love with a programmer

She put all her bugs on me

Till I was unable to run

I fell in love with an actress

At first, it was a movie

Then, it ended in tragedy

Now, I think I am in love

This time with a chemist

Though, I am afraid

of ending up as a mere reaction

or fan out like combustion

This is my dilemma

That, I end up in another form

If it turns out well

Maybe, I turn to ashes

If it doesn’t work out



The night we fell in love

I walked across the street

Thinking I had struck gold

While the wind clenched its fist

with the ground at its mercy

I watched the sand sublime

in no time

As thoughts of you filled my mind

through the night

The night we fell in love

I had a dream that you came to my side

and ripped my clothes off me

Till you moved a knife down my spine

leaving my soul without fire

The night we fell in love

The petals refused to sprout

after weeks of sunshine

And months of waiting

The night we fell in love

I realised that love is a war

between rejection and acceptance.

Photocredit: Connor wells on Unsplash


In the beginning when life was about future aspirations, I had lots and lots of them coming through my brain and weaving through my heart. Every night before I could sleep, these thoughts crystallised into full fledged dreams. So, here’s a list of things i thought i would grow up to become.

The first and in no way the least was My plan on becoming a Pastor. I laugh every time i remember this knowing how far i am far from realising that dream. The thought of the numinous held me spellbound all through my childhood. Back then,A certain pastor aired his program every Sunday. It was titled: Atmosphere for Miracles. With his curly hair and charming persona, I looked forward to the chance of breathing on people while I touched their forehead and see them fall under the power of anointing. I wanted to put on that three piece suit and use a wireless microphone and have people listen to me preach the word.

Dreams evolve over time and mine didn’t change , it only took another form when I attended The African Church close to my grandparent’s house. The aura around the Clergy over there was something beyond the ordinary. This Pastor wasn’t a mere Pastor; he was either a venerable or a Reverend; with white flowing gowns that I will later know to be robes he presided over proceedings . The most interesting aspect about this kind of Pastor was that he never entered with the congregants; there was a procession that ushered him in ; with hymns so glorious and an atmosphere that seemed like heaven, he was truly the raison d’être of the service. The only problem I had with this version of my dream was that I had to learn Yoruba more than I knew at that point in time.

  • *******

The skies were never with us, they were above. We wanted to touch them like we did to the ground that was with us and beneath us at other times. We longed to mould them into cars and houses like we did to the soil and stain our bodies with them. The thing with what we can’t touch is that we tend to deify it. So, I wanted to be a pilot badly so I could look down on the ground from the sky and wave at it. Airplanes flew behind our house most times and the sound it made signaled a majestic entrance unlike the buses that sounded so humble and fell at the instance of a little traffic gridlock. To be a pilot was to be above all of the limitations the land could offer and triumph over it. The problem with this dream was that there wasn’t really anyone around who looked like what I wanted to be. Not even the Television could give a description of this wonderful profession I thought of. And like plants that do not get watered, this one died a painful death.

  • *******
Here comes another

It’s the early part of the twenty first century, football has become vox populi. At every corner you passed, there was endless chatter about a game that played yesterday night. Not to be beaten in the game of reviews, previews had a life of their own; capable of stirring passionate arguments. There were not so much club football games, and so we had to be content with what the Super eagles brought for us; it could be joy; anytime we won a match, sorrows; whenever Cameroon beat our sorry asses and Tears; when we couldn’t get past the semi finals of the Nations Cup for a short moment in eternity. Years later, club football would give national team football a run for its money. Like eggs cracking little by little, love swapped places and club football became the one and only. And this was where my chance at another choice of profession would come up, THE CHANCE TO BECOME A FOOTBALL PUNDIT/ANALYST.

Yes, this is what I want

This was a different one entirely, a chance to be on TV and influence the thoughts and opinions of football fans all across the world. Unlike my dream of flying planes, there were enough people to look up to. Across different TV stations, they were people discussing and analysis football. Some in suits, others in polo T shirts or round neck tops talking about a game that had become a religion for me. So, I knew what I wanted, how it looked like and how I was going to get it for the first time.

Dream, Think, Imagine

This was when dreams were still dreams ; possessing this preponderance over reality. This was when life was still young, formless and innocent and capable of submitting to my whims and caprices.

This is an endless loop

PS: It is still possible the third profession becomes reality.


There is a little place

Staring at a sprawling coast

Where yellow vehicles hold sway

And chaos is the order of the day

You visit and stay

For a little while

And then much longer

Like the speed of light, your sanity takes a hit

With every passing day, it shows no sign of retreating

So you take a break and opt for tricycles

Still, it looks no different

From your stint with buses

Now, you know

That everything painted in yellow

Is ready to make your brain hollow


PS: Residents of Lagos will relate to this post easily


You were so little, so small

Now you look so tall

My child

Your face was round like a ball

Always beaming with Joy

Now you are quiet and docile

My little boy

You smiled all day and cried all night

You used to crawl and play

Now, you keep numb, refusing to utter a word

My child

You would eat everything we gave you

You would make sounds and make us all laugh

These days, when you talk

Everyone is afraid

You used to mould things from clay

But nothing remains the same


My Grandfather’s Phonograph and why First Impressions don’t last long .

When you are under five and a piece of equipment keeps getting on your nerves, you have no choice but to undermine its performance by switching it off whenever its owner leaves that vicinity.

I fought an endless battle with my grandfather’s phonograph till the sound coming out from it prevailed. The battle was intense for a young lad like me who wasn’t getting any fun from Sunny Ade, Barrister, Ebenezer Obey and Ayinla Omowura’s brand of music. Yoruba as a language wasn’t my forte and any medium of propagating it was an affront to my personal space.

Till entropy in the form of Alaawiye textbook drew me closer. This piece of instrument became my companion whenever I went visiting him. Today, I can sing many of those musician’s songs and enjoy them. So, an insatiable appetite for these form of music developed. Today, I can only look back and appreciate that instrument.

As humans, our instincts from the time of the cave man have not evolved. We are used to processing and concluding about someone based on our first experience with such person. It was the way our forefathers preserved the tribes and survived.That in itself isn’t a bad idea considering the fact that our instincts save us a great deal at times from impending danger.

The key lies in maintaining a balance and coming to understand that you might have been put off by someone’s attitude but still come to understand the person’s personality with the passage of time.