‘I belong to this
And you belong to that
Here is a line in the grass
That you may not pass

You stay on that side
I stay on this
Here is a laminated card
Without it life is hard

You talk in that way
I talk in this
Those similar I hold dear
But you cannot come here

I have this symbol
You have your own
Three colours on a rag
You have an uglier flag

I am one type of person
You are a different kind
Our kind cannot be mixed
For our categories are fixed.’

Nations – what a load of old *******.

"I'm not committed"!!!
Easy in saying... Deep in impact it leaves!
As a "Tribe" we raise... As a "Tribe" we Heal and Grow!
I don't belong anymore to "Tribe"!
Where do I belong then!
Where my soul will be straying around!
Where will be my home!
That is the quest!
Peace be upon you all!

A Brother…
A Friend…
A Reliable Corner in your life to reach whenever you ran for peace…
Above all, he is a light soul with that smile and soothing voice…
The space around him, let you close your eyes and let those Mantra spill over to cure…
Your Moments with him keep  you in the sacred circle of purity…
Although his tears are hard to fall, still you feel the warmth of his heart surrounding you with harmony…
He is presence in his silence….
He is the manifestation of truth…
He is one of the Tribe!!!!

I am not my mother’s tribe I am her pride.

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......

A drop of Tear dropped.... before my steps into the Alter!
A drop of Tear dropped.... before saying my name!
A drop of Tear dropped.... before declaring my hunger!

I danced my signature...
I cast my charm...

I saw their eyes glowing and through receiving me...
I saw their smiles inviting me to rest...
I saw their tears and I'm happy in trusting them!

I cried in silence saying to myself... "Where have you been?!"
I saw their eyes and I fall in love for them...
I am finally in my Place!
I am in my Tribe!!

Sands slip through my fingers,
sun scorched with dried blood
staining the palm where I wiped the blade.

I did not bleed. I did not bat my eyes
when his severed limb flew past my face.
My eyes opened wider and tasted victory
more intently than my screams
vanquished his memory.

I thought it was but an apparition on the sands
miles past; a haunting, a demon, a scorned lover
back for revenge now that I made off with valuables:
the fastest steed, the cave within me
where he stored his treasure when he pleased.

Thus when he appeared, when he charged by foot
and outstretched his arms (much smaller from my new height)
feebly, weakly to end me first, so he could brag to the village,
"She is like the women who believe they can fly."

I do fly
to my sword,
my hand unsheathes the blazing boiling metal.
With one sharp ting I watch his arm and the tiny dagger
sail across the desert and settle atop the sand,
gently gracefully, unlike his living, boasting words
would have wanted.

To the man who brought destruction in the depths,
where coolness and faithful waters dripped down the walls;
where no one dared near for fear of the One who is near me.

They will say warrior was born of ruins.
If they ask me, I will say, "Warrior is born of defeat no more."