Sunday Ajayi

Sky pensives and the birds gnash,
Because of you we wear our black sash;
We follow'd in a tearful promenade,
Chanting the name of our lost comrade.
Our hands tremble the candles lighted,
Our hearts and souls undelighted.
On the pitch of soccer you were a goal keeper,
In the department a gentle peace-keeper,
Within peers you were an humble governor.
We search the campus but find you no more;
Your words we remember, your face we zoom,
All these gone and can never resume.
Not here under the sun or rain,
Sunday, we look out and say 'hope we meet again'
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poem by Joseph Oladehinde Ibikunle
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And So She Becomes, My Sunshine

And so she becomes, my sunshine
She comes like the moon of August
A felicitous friend from divine
She bears joy, love and trust.
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And so she becomes, my sunshine
She lightened and showed me the way
She holds my hand and say, 'We'll be fine.'
She taught me to be good and to pray.
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And so she becomes, my sunshine
In her presence, all pains vanished
My life, my heart are all thine
With you, all troubles banished.
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And so she becomes, my sunshine
Neither of us can explain how it brew
Her love sweeter to my taste than wine
She is tender, like early morning dew.

poem by Joseph Oladehinde Ibikunle
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The Misfortunates

What a prodigy, dear Chatterton?
At your teens, you pioneer'd romance
Alas, poverty be your mighty menace
The silent suicide of arsenic poison.
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Poverty and tuberculosis in your battles
All in the blush of bitter rejections
A virtuoso bedridden in his afflictions
Norwid, this life unfair - heaven rattles.
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I mourn the life and death of Crosby
Her poems and hymns her witness
She had journey'd all her days in blindness
I imagine with pity how she prance the lobby.
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Your lines are great, - though
They were written in distress
Your tears when you mourn your mistress
Your fourty was full of pain, Allan Poe.
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poem by Joseph Oladehinde Ibikunle
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Father Africa

Father Africa! At a token ignorance,
You have given your inheritance:
To strangers you gave amuch
White loonies who do not eat in our dish.
Behold, with some sham laughter;
They transacted for few daughter;
They bring clothes and rum and guns
To shackle away your sons.
Father Africa, foolish you!

Lo! See Mama Africa cry
Her hapless tears undry
On her black beautiful, dark dimples
Oh Africa, chaos ripples.
See your sons brutally unfair
Taking hostage His own kin at warfare,
Selling them at ludicrous token
Oh Africa, your woes betoken!

The sun rose in great grief

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poem by Joseph Oladehinde Ibikunle
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