Not so long ago we were made orphans                                                          ­                                                        Plucked form the family tree that grew us into a nation                                                           ­                                        Phobia struck us like cholera                                                          ­                                                                 ­          Religion armed us against our brothers                                                         ­                                                                Leaders occupied with zero point agenda.
.
Blood, our special kind of rain                                                             ­                                                                 ­           poverty, the only completed government project                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                                Corruption, our newly designed flag                                                             ­                                                                 ­  And breath, our only hope.
.
Empty caskets call silently for our body                                                             ­                                                             As we shoved old bones to make room for new ones                                                             ­                                         Our pain covered with GREEN and WHITE paints                                                           ­                                                          Pain, pain all over and over again.
.
We've found a new home                                                             ­                                                                 ­                           Back in the ruins, where we came from                                                             ­                                                                 ­ Let's mske our tents,and forget fishing traps                                                            ­                                              Because we might be here for an hundred while.

Drunkpoet

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.

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.

The cheerleader,
Hearts goes to the highest bidder,
An encapsulation of beauty,
She has the license of beauty,
She elucidated my vague and indistinct dreams,
Her voice is mellifluous in my dreams.

Cheerleader is unaccustomed to mundane.
Her admiration full of gains,
Bloomleader is unprofane damsel,
She is immaculate even in tunnels.

Cheerleader is like an epiphany,
Enternity with her? Not still many,
The charm in her face us very potent,
My reasons are arrantly cogent,
Her presence chastise dolor,
Laughter with charismatic colour,
And as the emotion creeps on me,
Making me a sycophants to her knee,

The Cheerleader,
Her love is not a treacherous swine,
Her lips is exquisite than any wine,
Though is infatuation sound very lame,
My heart adores her with fame,
A pragmatic way to study her frangipani face,
I want to be the first in this race,

The cheerleader,
She with crystal teeth
And blue eye *****,
I see her climbing on walls,
Auspicious love without any wit,
I realize I was only in a dream.

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......

She died a year ago,
But so pathetic I wasn’t around during,
Her funeral,
Air would have protested against my loud dirge,
There would have been series of enjambment
In the stanzas of my her elegy.

General Abas said she died in a ****** coup,
But she was too wise to be wiped out in a coup,
She was like untamed lion.

Mr George gave another account,
He said she died during an internal war,
The war against the truth,
She has been from truth,
Too blind to see reality,
Fast asleep to be woken up.

The family doctor said she was poisoned,
Poisoned with the truth,
The truth that kills rather to set free.

Inspector James said she was sniped
From a fair perimeter.
The mortuary attendant said they
Heared movement,
Guess she was just try to raise up.

Today I arrive with nothing to feed my eye,
A little bit nostalgic,
I had the feeling that I belong here but not to death,
So I left for the yard, at the backyard,
I couldn’t belive what I saw on her gravestone,
“Nigeria a country, not a nation”

Ajoke, daughter of moremi,
Beauty is a predicament in your lineage,
Your beauty bring out star at night,
Stars even told the Wisemen about it.

The beauty that runs in your blood,
Mama kola makes a lot of profit at dawn,
When men gathered to drink and speak of
Your beauty.
Each making a bet to have you.


Ajoke, your ęwa(beauty)  is angelic,
Your tiny voice is mellific,
Your dimples is intoxicatic,
Your ostrich legs so charismatic.

But your beauty is delusive,
Think not that a derisive,
I must be Ilucinating!
Stop appearing in my dreams,
Come to my reality!

Your beauty is a mystery,
The ęwa that the sun can not
Withstand,
Your smiles that scholars
Can not fathom.

Ajoke, the aręwa of our village,
I had known you since you came Of Age.
Adesina the only heir to the Oba,
The Queen said he hasn't be sleeping since
He saw at the yam festival.

Balogun, the warrior of our village,
Promised the King 300 victories to have you,
Ayankola the prominent drummer,
That performs at the village square,
His 'konga'  gives vulnerability to hips,
He wonders what have become of yours,

Odewale, the best village Hunter,
He has sent his wives packing to have you.
Alamu, the village woodcarver,
That carved even Oduduwa,
He has no clue how to carve your beauty.
Bashiru, the son of omowumi,
The palmwine tapper,
His is ready so supply 300 kegs to have you.
Olaniyi, the biggest village farmer,
With plenty of barns, is ready to
Give all this for your beauty.
Ajoke Ashake you are the goddess
Of beauty!

The beauty bird sing for,
That attraction men speak of,
The smiles poets write of,
Your beauty is a mystery!


To her who never noticed me
But her name protest to leave my lips.

I don't know, I... I can't describe it
I just wish your feet didn't move you to my door
I wish the ***** didn't burn so hot in me after
that little big fight
Now my lips keep ******* my tears
on words with "had I know"
.
I wish the liquor store had closed before that hour
Or better still, the bottle disposed
But it happened so fast that I lost my myself to another self
My anger met jealousy, like fire unionised with gasoline
I don't know, I... I... I can't des... Or maybe do I understand now
.
You were the page in my diary I tore
And the coin that slip of my pocket in the rain
Well, I'll wipe my tears away
For after just one gunshot I will be there to give you my apologies
          (BANG!)
.
{the poet that stinks with lines⚟}

Under the trees we danced
Around blue made fires
With love and unity
Entertained with flutes and moonlight stories
Dropping from the toothless mouth of our elders
Accompanied with Wise words and warnings
That we may not be blown by the wind
Or drenched by the rain
.
Soon,we became orphans
Left with no breast to ****
Fathers and mothers lost in battle
Against unceasing slumber
We are alone like an island surrounded
By waters of civilization
.
Now we are lost ,lost in ignorance
Our hands,not strong enough
To hold firm the calabash
Given to us by our dead
Filled up with warnings and wise words
So we lost it!
.
Our hen is pregnant
But claims the goat is responsible
We lack fountain
But beg for water
Our barns are full with yams
But we gnash our teeth in hunger
We have golds
But cry for stones
Our eyes are open
Yet,blind to behold
As the beauty of our rainbow unfolds.

Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David
(Drunk poet)
ANA AAUA chapter
2017

life is an irony,
A place where non-living things tends
To live longer than the living
Life's too short
The dust beneath  your feet today
Might be your roof tomorrow!

Life is a battle field
The survival of the fitest
Then palm wine for the victors
Seven virgins should be waiting,
My soul groans to give in
Am a wounded worrior,  
And my cartridge is empty of bullets!

My country Nigeria,
Am a citizen by birth,
That’s the Criteria,
A blessed nation on the earth,
Driven by atrocities as bacteria,
A place I was proud to call home,
Am a negros and Nigeria is my home,
But she’s going down the pan,
Causing mortality in my clan.
Due to manifestos,
We commercialize with hoes.

It started with our independence,
We thought love would take
Prominence,
But rather war, corruption and coups,
And Tribalism feed on us


My plea goes to the world power,
Our corruption is taller than any tower,
Our leader convince us that colonization
Was necessary,
Seems we we have cross that boundary.

Please colonize us again,
Because decolonization has no gain,
Remove all these leaders,
The made us cry aloud to mothers.

I admit we weren’t ripe,
We just wanted to be free,
Like the smoke from papa’s pipe,
Please colonize us! At least
Of these situations we shall be free!

A poem is like a naked person,
That needs redemption and mercy,
And every expression to impress,
And comitted like a press.

Every expressions are specious,
And rhythms  ostentatious,
Poets with their dulcet lips,
Giving vulnerability to your hips

Poets use one's Achilles' heels as
Leverage,
With many diction and language,
Their words can't be insipid,
So they play the cupid.

Poets seems complaisant,
Tantalizing those counts,
She said poet are killers,
But they claim to be healers.

Poets take their hyperborical expression
To the peak,
Making all your bones weak,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers.

Poets will make your soul tremulous,
With those words, sounding mellifluous,
Poets take you to the imaginary world,
Perhaps with just a word.

But Poets change their environment,
Releasing the truth from its confinement,
Chastising the revolts and destroyers
With mere pen and paper.

But she wouldn't agree,
Not to any degree,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers!

.
Let me invite the drums,
The Gangan and omele
Let me further surmoun the sticks
All to be arranged in the respect
Of their ages and sizes
Then let Ayankola's hands beat out the rhythms
.
I plead to mama sodiq's Palm-wine
To render us her sweetness.
The gracious Omidans of this village I must behold!
The grace of steps, dexterous twists,
The exhilarating chants and colourful apparel,
Tinted with beaded waists
.
As the ascenstors come out to watch this
Colourful moment of ours
Let the gods drink to this hour
This moment is true
The storm has recided!
Here comes the calm as
The future foretolds

Hoping to get to the volcano over there,
The volcano of truth!
The Mariners at work
And merry unceased,
I also fell in love in the middle of Titanic.


The crew seem not to worry,
But our creel fell!
We still aim at the verdant volcano,
A strange movement of sharks,
The vultures be the losers?
Then a sudden movement of wind,
The Mariners and master unrest,
Tabled emptied of hands,
Only left with cup of beers,
Time for valedictory speech!

The tempest against our nation,
Fighting our culture,
The volcano in our fantasy,
The truth that is afraid to show forth,
So we died In failure!

Probably on the sofa,
Through pictures and achievement so far,
Taking a memory lane,
When your eyes caught my stares very profane,

Just the two of us dear,
Our bonds nothing could dare,
You and I through hardships,
Ever air was to thwart these relationships,

Just the two of us honey,
When ain’t got money,
From the very beginning,
I prayed to the ending,

Just the two of us my lady,
My lady and baby,
From the outset,
That, you got my back,
Our spirit seals and set
The love keeps breathing,
Hence we keep loving.

I've always wanted to design dreams
Not to chase them like kids after butterflies in the fields
But to decorate and further furnish them.
.
I've always wanted to mend dreams
Not to be the one with the broken pieces of dreams
But to repair them with the kisses of hope.
.
But just like a  chameleon nature changed her wardrobe
And like the space in-between an anvil and an hammer,
I lost my needle and tools to time.
.
Now, when we the sun comes up
I host troubles
Even when the sun goes down
I host double of the prior troubles
Only I hope, it won't be forever!
.
Balogun David Tolulope
©️drunkpoet

He sat with despair
In the round table of loneliness
Trying to appraise the face of sadness
His love for this world is lost!.
The solace in this Pacific space
With the company of the gracious maidens
Onus entwine his soul, of help be
Only the bartender not the DJ
The aural of this lies in the wine
Sorrow has visited through the back door.
Shots succeeded shots like an hungry glutton
Intoxicated with great lines of poetry
As every drop of the liquor reach his soul
I am the drunk poet
Drunk with poetry!

When you wake up from your slumber,
Dream you then discover,
Your achievements and titles,
Made to sleep without tool

Then you discover you have been dreaming,
Perhaps things that are coming,
The you wake into the hands of someone
Shaking you,
Perhaps hey! It’s time to go to school.

When you discover this life is just a dream,
With bad things making it a nightmare,
Water come for cream,
Just a dream! Just mere,

Then you will cry,
Perhaps to mom that you want to
Skip school,
But tears soon dry,
You must think of what to do,.

Then you would say
Mom send me back to sleep,
But you surely need some lullaby.

Wake up friend,
See this world as a fantasy,
Don’t sleep to the end,
Wake up to reality!

Life is a struggle
A place where no one goes without a cut
This I wonder looking up to the hill before me
The hill of age!
.
Could this be a disease ?
As each strand of my dark hair refashioning into grey
.
Could this be an aliment?
My dimples renovating to wrinkles
My skin losing his smoothness
.
Could this be amnesia?
My brain on strike?
My memories are fading like sunshine at twilight
.
Climbing the hill age
Full of struggles like a
Tapper climbing a palm tree
Climbing the hill
To join the ancestors
Climbing the hill to
Begin the journey to the another phase!

Find me my only chap!
I saw him play with the kaleidoscopes
Right here
He left for the telescope
Over there
I noticed his cap on the sofa!

He must have gone to the playground
He love Rollercoasters!
Where I my only lad?
Did he go to play in the woods?
I stereotype he's lost!

Who will call me mother?
Who will  listen to my folktales
When the moon is out to dance?

Sun please shine!
When my nation cries out!  please wind
******* back to her!

Under that palm tree,
We once laughed at lazy farmers,
Across that path we were made novice lovers,
Then you smiled,
You knew, I knew what you meant,
Right there we once danced in the rain,
Smile days after days,
Beneath that Carriage we first made love,
But its over, and forgotten,
Like a stone at the bottom of the ocean,
We left dager in our biased heart,
Sort of two stones thrown I different directions,
Everyday owing each moment, that I have vividly imagine,
Pictured place perfectly in my heart,
My old diary of great mystery,
Mysteries we fathomed,
Seemed to be fantasy and shield phantom,
You reveled to me,
My old brown dairy you gave me,
All pages up here In my memory,
With a golden ribbon

Music without instrument,
Just a band of choirs with
Mellifluous voices,
Up in the stage very
Tantalizing,
Taking millions attention,
As I myself couldn’t get enough.

Her beauty is like ACAPELLA,
Beauty without any cosmetic,
I hope this pale blue eyes would
Not blind me,
Cause this beauty is really a rare gem.

Tell the sun to go on vacation,
Cause I found her replica,
The beauty no wealth can buy,
That, that no king can place embargo on,
This beauty no poet can describe, hence
Making the poet lose his rhythm,
No artist can paint,
Photographer’s camera in protest.

The beauty no tears can dare,
Pure beauty that will make lose your appetite,
Your beauty without make up,
This indeed is a rare gem,

To her who never notice me,
And I never asked her name..

I lost myself in the tale of adventure,
In the voyage of time that was passed from our forefathers,
Driven and tossed by the wind of civilization.
.
I felt the rain dripping from the eyes of our ancestors,
Drenching our farms, roofs and even children playhouses,
To open our myopic eyes to the luxury of time we seem to lack.
.
I heard it! Loud but unclear,
Great words like whispers, whispers like murmurs,
Coming right from the assembly of trees,
The warning of our ancestors,
Echoing from the forest of the unseen,
Setting back our feet from the animalization we call civilization.

Balogun David   (Drunk poet)
© 2017

She is like young damsel,
Heart broken by her first love,
She is in hell,
She has no heart to love.

My country,
Believed to be the giant among
Others,
Our state is backed by necromancy,

In the first year,
Their love was limitless,
She was always  there,
Now her tears is countless

Living under the nihilist,
They ululate,
No optimist,
They are unable to communicate.

Then their umplist blows us aways,
And we both become unasinous,
The revolution has no way,
The plight is continuous.

My country where people pray,
In their emaciated voice,
Caused by our rulers day after day.

Nigeria is my country,
And am a nigerian,
Our nationalism has real entry,
The wind enhance by their fan.

We are broken beyond repair,
And they don’t really care,
We are in pain,
And they have no say!

If today be my last
Day on this earth,
The day to give up my soul!
Should I spend it in tears?
Or spend it in joy?

Should I spend my last hours Indoor?
Or spend it among folks?
Should I be in despair?
Or my heart be filled with joy?
Should I  dance and celebrate
The Day I would join the ascenstors?
Tell me friend! How should I spend it?

The rhythm of the burnt pages,
Of the diary of life with no wages,
Pages of old memories,
That you may consider as stories,
Which sometimes ooz tears out of me
That which I wish u knew.

The rhythm of the smokes of the diary,
That which makes me weary,
Putting in you in a dilemma,
A sophisticated dilemma.

Pages that makes me smile suddenly,
But in the aftermath, resulting in a cry,
Then I sit solely,
My tears has not dry,

I might have cried ruining my make up,
Pages in that needs to be burnt,
That which I write every morning when I wake up,
Memories I can't erase, pages that will remain burnt.

We believe life is a journey,
A journey with or without a destination,
So many questions about the meaning,
But no answers,
Not while you’re still breathing

Life is too short,
You either be gone today or tomorrow,
Finding ways,
So shake away your sorrow,

But life can’t explore,
It’s because you only explore the possibilities,
And life is the impossibility,
You must be ready to explore it,

Live a life you will remember,
You will either be a mother or a father,
That life that will make you smile,
Wherever you would find yourself,
A life you would remember with a smile
Over achievements,
Start now!

The white in black


The lightness In the dark,
White in black!
The truth in the untruth,
I see it in your eyes!

The white and black,
In your pale moisture eyes,
A gathering for thick rain,
But I see the love in your heart.

I see the darkness in your eyes,
I see lightness cling to it,
Success in failure,
I see your angel in beast.

I see the hope in your heart,
Think this not as a lie,
Fight it! Yes you can!
Survive it!

Books I have come across,
Pages of old scribbles and thoughts
Old ones, both Legends and myths
I have seen heroes on the cross
Even events that are far gross!
But they seems to have lost their wits
.
Books of treasure I have found,
Where heroes and great ones won
Stories of time I have kept
Deeply rooted in my inquisitive chest
.
Books of fantasies I have explored,
The magical exuberance my bewildered
Mind unable to fathom
The fairy puzzles that old ones would not speak of!
.
Books, as they unfolds
From the stream of unseen
The scribbler and originator of mindset
Painter of destiny!
The author that lives by the Coast.

Balogun David (drunk poet)
© 2017

My soul aches,
Like a brain suffering from tumor.
My soul breaks,
Like that of a new day,
Telegraphing my tears  along with dolor,
Sormoning the beams of the sun each day.
.
So I sought this healer amongst waters,
Where birds sings and monkeys dance
Along the boulevards of blindness,
In a great hall of fame and great matters.
And herds converged, minds convened
Only with the Polaroids of sightlessness.
.
Like a drunkard she prays,
Welcome! Welcome! she says,
To an abode of hypocrisy, jealousy, blasphemy and misery.
The therapeutic healer, healing in agony,
Dealing in the paradise of nightmares.
With me  your fears shall fall like that of a lost boy's tears
And your pain meet the sweetening balm of my embrace.
She would make a good gift in heaven,
But even a better bribe in hell.

Balogun David {drunk poet}
Drunk Poets Society
© 2017

Time triangle
.
Time
The pyramidial form bewilders me
It's main focus set in my blury eyes
The triton of fate on which
The  destiny of my feeble soul lies
Of what answers to my poor
Soul seems to seek
.
When will my soul disappear?
Like the smoke from an old man's pipe
Vanishing into the clouds like it never existed
When will I pass from this physical life?
To embark on the  journey to the pillars of the  the world
My soul trembles because he know not bout his departure!
.
How will my soul evanescence?
Like stars fading away to avoid the day
Leaving no traces on the skylines
My soul troubles because he know not about his departure!
.
Where will I die?
Bidding farewell to this world!
Like young bride saying goodbye to
His fathers house
My soul grief for he know not about
His exit!

Balogun David
Drunk

Alluring in nature,
Appalling in culture,
Vast in knowledge,
What a rare privilege!

Rapid in growth,
Seem to have kept to that oath,
An island for cultures,
And food for vultures.

The leg that walk us home
Forgot our treasures in Rome,
The second chance that
Begins at the third,
Rose again from mud.

A place away not beyond,
Proud to be called home,
Now there seems to be a lot to go,
My country,
So we cross the boundary.

Sister Bisi,
A serial fashion killer
From what I remember, her beauty was men's dealer.
Her ostrich legs would move her,
Like a car without adequate fuel
See, I doubt it if sister Bisi could really "****"
.
Sister Bisi,
Her smiles could make you render
Her your head,
Of course, before placing her head-drink,
You would be dead!
Calling her "Beautiful" was an understament
.
Sister Bisi,
I once believed she was a witch
Her eye lashes elongated like  palm fronds
She could barely swallow "amala"
But she could linger on "noodles" and
"suya"
Her lips would dance like flowers in the air
When she says "like seriously"
.
Sister Bisi,
I admire you, till yesterday,
When a circle of unending presence beheld you
Besides the "gutter" you could barely cross
Your twins on the chest shaved away!
Like demolition of  our public library.
"she's been used" I heard from murmurs, I was keen
Only to know that you were a "slay queen"
.  
Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David(drunk poet)
©️2017
ANA Aaua chapter

I should find my way out!
Like a freed bird from a cage!
I need to leave my village,
I should swing my wings up and down,
I should be leaving now!

But I lost my to the city,
My journey into civilization,
Lost in the forest,
Where the songs of birds mock me,
Lost in the desert where my footprint
Laugh at my animalistion!

I know of a mysterious being,
Dressed in suits, but bestowed with ancient voices.
I know of a magician,
A supernatural astounder, who performs in hearts of men.
.
I know of a trickster,
Whose tricks surpass that of tortoise in folklores
And whose dark long hat is made with anguish.
I know of a sorcerer, who performs in hearts of men.
.
He, who gives without notifying hesitation,
Comes to take with without invitation .
I know of a wizard, giver of caps but taker of heads
And he lives in hearts of men .
.
Of a riddler I know,
Whose riddles creates chaos in minds of scholars.
I know of a man, who visited me not long ago,
A merchant of Venice looking for a land to sow.
On his hand lies arrow and bow
Ready to shoot into the dearest of hearts
Saying "am coming to you, to create my mark "
And he lives only in the shadows
.
Balogun David Tolulope
(Drunk poet)
©️2017

Pour me some glass of whiskey,
Oh! Pleases I need it iced,
Yes ma'am he said.

Miss Lucy a lady in her
Early twenties,
My heart is clean!
Never thought of you without your *******!
But miss you're quite mean!

I am common gentleman,
Why such ego?
Is it because am a Blackman?
Let go of this ego,
Isn't it yet  time for our first kiss?
Spare me this ego please!

I heard Mr George jilted you,
I might be the right one,
Prof Harbert called you a *****,
That's not the right one!
Miss you are a lady,
Let me treat you as one!

STUBBORN MEMORIES
.
I keep fading into the memories of yesterday
I keep feeling the movements of your shadow in my heart
As I sit here on the bench of hope that they will fade away
But am broken, just at the thought of you
.
I keep trumping through the forest of memories
I keep staring at the empty chair in my heart
As I sit here watching your images play on my mind
Like kids on rollercoasters
But am falling far beyond time
.
Stubborn memories that conquer the arms of time
Grow in me like tumor.
You were the poetic lines I could not complete
You were dream I woke up from too soon
And the priceless pearl I could not keep
.
Drunk poet

Time and space against us,
We lost friction that hold us,
Like salt that lost its taste,
Our emotions decline in haste,
Lucifer was casted down,
Just like my emotion drown,
I groan in my heart,
I cried and my tear filled the earth,
My tears wet ***** and Gomorrah
So they bring out fresh flowers,
Good bye love in farewell,
Move on and be well.

The messenger since ages,
He hunted the path of our forefathers,
His call echoes through ages,
Never mind the tears of mothers!
He lies between light and darkness,
Especially when we strive to see the brightness.

If he visits me, how should I entertain him?
Will you morn me?
After I give up my soul to please him,
Will smoke fill the air as dirge from
Your lips?
Will you bury me?
Or only if the vultures spare me?

To my beloved maiden,
Thy sight I wish not so see tears,
To your soul not see Fears,
But to thy garment be black,
Your thumbs hold tight to the candle?
To thy bed you should cuddle.

You know what they say
"one good turn deserves another"
I think they meant to say
"one good love deserves another"
I hope you see this someday

Like cautious mellipede
I walk,
Not daunted to touch the best,
But this land is slippery.

Like fastidious Hunter
I walk,
Not Falling into the ambush I laid
For antelopes,
Because the land is slippery.

Like a cautious blind old man
I walk,
Not letting go of my rod like Moses,
Because the land is slippery.

I walk in the night like night,
On watch like a king's Knight,
Because the land is slippery.

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

Screams, Sighings, groanings
I heard in whispers as it echoes in my soul
Fallen! We are, on the battlefield
Like an egg, smashed on a rocky surface
Our fate now decided by our foes
.
Cries I heard,
As the ****** of spears move through our hearts
Clattering of swords echoes, and vibrated off our arms
Waters I drank,
That flows from my eyes alongside with blood from my veins
Defeated we are! Captives we became.
.
Our women married off like harlots without bride prices
Our sons led off to be slaughtered like cows in the abattoir
Our gods disregarded like a king, naked in the market
.
We are defeated, but not defeated
For mothers will name their sons after us!
Men will bow and worship us like gods in temples!
Girls will scream our names when their lovers excite them
Wives  will sing our names when they gaze at their *** of Bush meats
For we are only defeated, not defeated.

.
Balogun David Tolulope
(drunk poet)
©️

My past hunts me
Like an Hunter looking for his first catch
So I sailed to the road that leads to yesterday
To find the pieces that makes who I am
.
The present hunts me
Like the bite from a fretful scorpion
So I sought healing from
The therapeutic herbalist
Whose shrine stands at the end of the
world
.
The future scares me!
Like the smile of a village witch
It gazed back at me and called me
So I sought the gate leads to it
.
Be strong! Father would say,
These are the puzzles I foretold!
No honor lies in giving up!
None dweal in dying!
Fight son, fight!

Balogun David {drunk poet}
© 2017

Loneliness is my companion,
Silence has been an inspiration,
So I sat under that iroko tree,
Me, myself and I making us three!
Devil talks and angels whispers,
I traveled when I vibe,
Oracles murmur, ascenstors watch,
To my beloved Lucy, a woman I believe
To be rare!
The wind blows from my head to the east,
I see beyond Albert  telescope,
But too afraid to write,
Cause I lost my light!
I lost the grip of my pen!
The talks, murmurs and whispers override
My heart and hand! heart,
I became clueless,
I lost my consciousness!

Father I want to you something rare,
No father!  Not the beauty I beheld yesterday,
Nor the sweetness of her lips,
Father not the dexterous touch of her hips,
Listen father, please care,
Father I had a nightmare,
Not a masquerade chasing me,
Look my mouth! No sign of amala!
Father out you should hear me.

Father it's my homeland,
The land of my forefathers,
She was helpless,
Couldn't find help, not even by
Our Fathers,
She  restless and careless.
Father my County is dying!
And moses shook his head In disapproval,
Father you are the country.

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.

Father and his immortal dreams,
Held firm by his halyard heart
Sometimes his mind got siege by
Achievemephobia
But Father would leave his footprint
On the river!
"follow my prints"  He said
It leads to the assembly of minds
The sand might be thirsty for your blood
Be strong!
The vultures might be hungry for your body
Fear not!
The Hawks might hover around your destiny
Have faith!
When I become an ascenstor
I forbid you miss me
But carry the cross
It's the legacy!
Wave the flag!

Fate has choked on us
Our life driven by wind on monstrous sea
Conquered by our friendly foes
Invoking death and tears accompanied with plague
On our fatherland
.
Tonight, we bury our deads
For the they have joined our ancestors
Let us dress up our wounds for our visit
To the ancestors has been postponed
Let us sharpen our blades and smoothen our spears
For this is just our prologue
.
May fear not be the guest
But the gods in their very best
As we sit round the fireside,
May the gods ignite the fire inside
Sing! For this is the last dirge our lips would sing
Lay the young ones to sleep and sing them sweet lullabies
That they  may take shield in their tender dream
.
We fight back
Like Herculean with strength on
We write fate with ink on the clouds
Commanding death on our foes like rain on pastures
No one tell our story like us!
.
Balogun David Tolulope {drunk poet}
IG-@acedadrunk_poet
©️2017