Oníkòyí Òrò

Oníkòyí Òrò

Let me tell you
Of Oníkòyí;
One whose mind bleeds,
Whose heart pants,
Whose ink spills,
Like a fresh cut,
Like the feet of a cheetah,
Like beer from a King’s stupor.

Should I breastfeed your mind
With his royal pedigree?

Let me spoon your ears
With his celestial eulogy.

Oníkòyí Òrò!
Your words are like friction
Between day and night.
Their quiet noise ding dong
Like the King’s gong.

They rend the hearts
Of our enemies
And mend our pieces
When we are shattered.
Can the King’s eyes slumber
Without your command?

Oníkòyí Òrò,
Even, the maidens
Do not pamper you
For the sake of the gods;
They want to lay your bed
And suck your words’ nipples!

Think of it, Oníkòyí,
I befit your bed of words.
Make me your rhythm!
So, I can have a taste
Of their beauties
When we take that celestial journey.

I pray you,
Make me your rhythm,
Oníkòyí Òrò!

©Olaitan Maryam Mojisola

Dear God

Dear God

Dear God,

I walked out
Of the cathedral,

I ran away
From the assembly,

Because…

Religion was killing me;
It stabbed me
Every Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday.

I was taught
To worship a sculptured Jesus
And forced to serve
A God who is only found
On the pages
Of their fic-religious books;
The ones I can only get
On Amazon, Okada and Jumia.


(Excerpts from Dear God, Olaitan Maryam M.)

Through the Holes…

Through the Holes…

I saw your heart

Through the holes in your eyes.


I saw 

The fears, tears, cares and curses.


I saw fire,

I saw love

And danger.


I saw your thoughts

Through the lines on your forehead,

I saw the fiery fierceness in

The hollow of your heart.


I saw your heart; 

The deeps and darks; all within you.



©Olaitan Maryam M.

A Night With Adwoa

A Night With Adwoa

Naked wings
Of flimsy aroma point their asses
At my promiscuous nose.

‘Oh, save my soul from
The soles
Of temptations.’
I cry
With serious insincerity.

The end
Of every muscle is
The palm of Delilah.
Gently,
Poisonously,
She stretches and squeezes
The beats
Of my muscles.

With my mind under my feet,
I inject morsels
Of fufu into my potbelly.

A wise woman breaks
The stomach
Of a man.
A brash woman rends his heart.

The spoon feeds the stomach,
The sword feeds the grave.

Adwoa feeds
The endless hunger in me…



©Olaitan Maryam M.

Rainfall In Magboro

Rainfall In Magboro

The thunder murmurs
And rattles
Like a tattered kite,
It echoes
Like a pendulum.

Linear and curvy waists
Of lightning appear in
The sky.

‘Oojo n bo!
Oojo n ro!’
Naked children chorus.

‘Gather the clay pots!
Bring the calabashes!
Let us drink
The tears
Of heaven,
For they are like wine
To us.’
Our mothers shout.

‘Come, oh come!
Bathe us; purify us!’

‘Fill us, our land,
Purify us; bathe us  



*Ojo n bo (Yoruba)  – the rain is coming

*Ojo n ro (Yoruba) – It is raining

©Olaitan Maryam M.