Oníkòyí Òrò | Olaitan Maryam M.

Oníkòyí Òrò | Olaitan Maryam M.

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,


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.