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Drunk poet Oct 2016
Pour us more Palm-wine!
Said the groom as he stood
Mama sodiq, you sell the best Palm-wine in this village
Palm-wine! Palm-wine!!
Poured into the cup of my consciousness,
As I move through today, I call on you to give me
Thy guide as I dive into the storm of weaving waters
Ever since that day, blessed by the gods
When I met my Ajoke, at the òdún ìgęsún night
Adorn greatly with sweaty shaking breeded waist
Of the Omidans of our village
Bimpe! Kunle's resting stool,
The little mouse àlonpé from the village of Alarape,
With the help of mope, yours is not the matter of kowope.
Your intellect surpasses that of wole the head of the palace gaurds
Moving from one palm tree to another
Just to get my message to ajoke
Bode ògbójú ode
A rare friend whose great guns of words
Fired down enemies standing as storms
I pray you find true love with Dupe
Iya olu, thy words are divine
The milk of experience through which my suckle lips
Drill out knowledge from thy breast helping me
To solve the puzzles of life
I pray you  live long to see thy grand child......
Drunk poet Oct 2016
Ajoke, the gods has cursed me to
Praise thy beauty
Like a sugar-cane planted at a river-bank
Your beauty is magically comely
Thy phat smile is an epiphany
I wonder the mystery of the water that
Dwell in the Coconut of thy beauty
Let me adore your well-made eyeballs
They are like traps laid in the forest for
Antelopes
Something the mirror won't tell you about
Your dimples is that they give death to death
The village priests said your
smile can be use to appese the gods
Not to invoke their wrath
Something about your dexterous waist
They are like prison guards when dancing
Guilding my hearts.
Ajoke your beauty is an epiphany.
Drunk poet Oct 2016
I might be able to connect to you
In you yoga,
But I must confess my love for you
Is mega.

I might not be able to sine the world,
But can the sun even shine your world?
Believe me my love will,
It can make your dreams real.

I might not be able to give life,
But even knows you're mine,
Devil fathom you're my wife.

I might not be able to protect you
Like superman,
But your love has made me the batman,
It gives me wings to protect you.

Poverty is vulnerable around us,
I will make you ride on the best horse,
Life is auspicious with us.

I might not be able to take you around the
World,
But you will always have my word.

I promise never to make you cry,
No tears except that of joy,
Will come from your frangipani face,
I know we are many in this race.

I promise to keep my promises,
No blemish on you, from head
To toes,
Dying for you is greatest luxury,
Please accept my manifestos.
Drunk poet Oct 2016
Like a flight of thousands,
Innocents in their innocence,
Through seas and lands,
By our our hands we made them
Pilot.
Conscious and sane,
Whey flew us with hidden plot,
The sky speak to us.

The whom we trust,
Called to serve us,
They made us carry their cross.

Like fortress with self-destruct,
And when it goes, they never go down
With it,
They, they are corrupt!
Channel golds and pearls beneath.

They sabotage our economy,
Made us peasant,
They sabotage you and me!
They want every pleasant.

Unfaithful masters,
I charge of faithful servants,
With their bad characters.

Looting things for their unborn generations,
The have no heart,
Booting our generations,
But will they say after earth?

Father!
My daughter called,
When shall be free?
When will we eat on the
Dining table
Drunk poet Oct 2016
Somewhere between lost and totally lost,
There we became unconscious,
Indeed! Really lost,
Daunt like an evening shadow,
Then my breathe seemed shallow,

But, we poor men in our poverty,
Carried away with ample manifestos,
I objected to that saying,
Very naive like a girl in her puberty,
Who know only how to wash her toes,
On the contrary, she is dying,
So I strife,
Striving in our emaciated life.

Then just like a cow
Led to the abbatotior,
They ruin every sector,
But we were fools in mere ecstacy,
They made us believe colonization was necessary,
But it was a foul,
Now we beg leniency,
Unlike spendthrift of our currency.

Now we cry for antidote,(change)
Disregarding That oat,
But through what doors?
The west?
Perhaps East?
Probably the south?
Or from the graced North?
What doors?

That which no writing could criticized,
No satirical work could correct,
Indeed! The best materialized,
But speaking of the change, what earth?

But pray a calmed storm,
Even after our hypocrisy,
And false democracy,
When will the truth come,
All is well, the mother had told,
But I guess sometimes the truth is best left untold.
Drunk poet Oct 2016
The gods has blessed me with thee
Ajoke,the only daughter of moremi
Meet me at twilight,
Let the stars gaze at us all night
The sweetness of your lips is
More intoxicating than an in-tact
Palm-wine.
The deities has made you mine
Your beauty is picturesque
My beauteous Ajoke
With a mythic foxy appearance
Even the birds fall into trance
Your beauty is statuesque
Your aesthetic qualities is grand
Blessed with fancible dimples
Your skin is allergic to wrinkles
The space in-between my fingers is
Where yours fit perfectly
Ajoke my faultless muse.
Drunk poet Sep 2016
I lost myself in time
My eyes became red when
lost to tears
My ink became blood
Living my life in the margin
With many metaphor to prove it
I got my head in the clouds
May the sun shine tomorrow be
The solid proof
May the fresh air from oceans
Establish it
I could see my reflection in the sky
Not to let my doubts go,
May these scars bless me
After all these might be to test me
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