(POETRY) I will Write a Story \\ by YUA

PHOTO SOURCE: Pinterest


I WILL WRITE A STORY
By: Yusuff Uthman Adekola (YUA)

I will write a story,
A story about this mother
Whose bosoms droop
And hang in a limp stance
That speaks the words
Of age long over-sucking
By the proboscis of sadness...

I will write a story,
A story about this mother
Whose face is a bruised board
Where piercing darts domicile,
Together with a mate of agonies,
And inject the ravaged beauty
With the vastness of faceless wrinkles...

Someday,
I will write a story,
A story about this mother:
A story of conquered corruption;
A story of interred terrorism;
A story of stifled disunity;
A story of blooming love;
A story of wakeful security;
A story of teeming honesty...

I will write a story,
Someday... Someday, soon...

READ ALSO: (POEM) Retired Night; Sacked Day

WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, the Department of English, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

(Poem) Retired Night; Sacked Day

RETIRED NIGHT; SACKED DAY
By: Yusuff Uthman Adekola (YUA)

Tell the night:
No need to sit here
When the sun recedes to rest,
For our nation, already,
Is a reflection of the sobbing dark.

Tell the day:
No need to peep through the sky's chink
When the moon hides from the eyes,
For our country, truly,
Is a murderer of the teenage light.

There is a carnage of love here;
A smashing of our brittle bond;
Bloated blisters upon filial splices:
Woes, spreading in rippled tears...

The day is timid; the night is hackneyed;
Our home is already darkened.

WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

YOU MAY LIKE ALSO: (POETRY) One is Born; One is Gone

(POETRY) Words around my Home Country

WORDS AROUND MY HOME COUNTRY

These words are  s c a t t e r e d
Pieces of  b r o o m s t i c k s
Broken into blinded lonely letters
That wander the Savannah of knotted disunion
Where only tattered rags
With holes agog like polka dots
Bear the face of the abandoned bond.

These words are a once radiant curtain
Dancing with stuck  smile of unstained candour,
But now gently encroached by sizzling lies
For its hem is gradually taped
By dripping slime of stifled promises
Dispelled by the robbing rotten rulers
That sway our hap-stolen lines into faceless zig-zags.

These words are frowning drops of caning tears
Slipping off the watery firmament's shuddering grip
As smile is interred in the ministry of dead plenitude
And plenitude raised in the cemetery of murdered smile
Where sprawling hundreds of evening-skinned children of the green-white land
Make the bartered trade for a lone child of the milk skin.

These words are the shards of crashing hearts...

Yet,
These words are the cooling breaths of f l o a t i n g  l e t t e r s
Redolent of a calming wind with fondling fingers
Tugging at the bubbling spring of flowing hope
That beckon on the planted seed of patting change,
So that the darkling sky may bloom
And the clouds muster their watery sticks
Drumming awakening beats for the slumbering growth...


WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

(POETRY) A Pained Pen Speaks

Photo Source: Mjcob


A PAINED PEN SPEAKS...

What shall I write?
Shall I write a prose
Of endless fountain of words
Continuously outpouring
Like Ikogusi Cool Spring?
Shall I write a play
Of life-like exchange of words
Like Olympic relay sprinters
Pass onto one and another the baton?
Shall I write a poem
Of entangled verbiages of words
Which hone the slumbering brain
Like the whetstone does the dead sword?

Why shall I write?
Shall I write for this rocky land
Where no green grass grows
Except with growl and wriggling
Like a whip-lashed hungry angry dog;
And like a gun-sought snake
Hoping to escape deathly gunshots' kisses?

I am that pained pen
Whose ink boils but spews calm words
Cementing crumbling or cracking walls
And quelling nose-stiffening dust,
Cheerfully parading the body-calming air.

I am that pained pen
Who catapults silent shouts
Into wooly un-hearing ears
So that hearts may be soft
As the gentle mother earth.
I am that pained pen
Getting fettered flayed bleeding skins
Un-pained...


WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

(POETRY) Moos: Souls Gone Soon {A Short Poem}

Moos: Souls Gone Soon

Moo... Mooo...

The voice of guns,

Silent, creepy, friend-like,

Camouflaged in the look

Of a nomad's ranch stick,

Buried in dreary cattle cries...

Dreary cries; scary cries...

Moo... And Mooo!

Blood trickling down the horns:

Fiery bloods of smothered souls smoulder,

Gently gallivanting

As weedy food across paths,

Throwing lives into hastened rest.

WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

(POETRY) I KNOW WAR FOR I HAVE KNOWN WAR!

I KNOW WAR FOR I HAVE KNOWN WAR!

Phantoms of peace
Roam this land of ours
Where drips of tears
Hang around like the blinding mist
And shower smiling bitterness
Upon our slumping plants
Yellowed by the mirth-burrowing voice of war.

I have known the man called war!
I know the man called war!

On his face are scars of deadened laughter,
On his lips roam guttural words that flay the heart,
Around his body do I see fluttering feathers
Dripping of wailing blood.

I know the man called war!

Hours climbing upon hours,
With seconds stampeded by the restless feet of time,
Sprawling bodies with ousted souls
Litter all nooks of the land whose shoulders are sagged,
As heads are gulped by raging BOOMS!
And legs, gorged by roaring GBUMS!

I know the man called war!

On this wailing land,
Dreary shrieks shuffle with their saddened feet.
With majestic paces,
Agonies parade that weeping land.
And around the rubbles of the ravaged land,
Only roving wraiths of calmness bear the words on the wind's lips.

I know the man called war!

To them
Whose chests are heavied by stomping sighs;
To them
Whose minds are shrouded in tangled woes;
To them
Whose eyes are sunken by the excavated souls of their progenies;
To them;
Whose jumping hearts are garbed in billowing fear,
Deluge of showery salve shall salvage all
And we shall conquer the man called war!

WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

(SEE THIS) An Interesting Poem You Will Love

Photo Source: 8tracks


ONE IS BORN, ONE IS GONE
By: Yusuff Uthman Adekola (Y.U.A.)

The wintry breeze of the night
Dances around to the honey melody
Of rising songs that extol the sleep’s awakening;
Humble silence creeps in,
Encroaching the land cast in buoyant dimness
From which the unbridled din darts away.

One before one, one after one,
All are drowned in a weak merciful death
That throws a banquet of amnesty
At the birth of the exuberant sky-bulb
Whose flitting robe spreads its open palms
That spray the sparkles of a new sight.

One is born, one is gone.


WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01

(FLASH FICTION) No more Dawn or Dusk Here

Photo Source: Pinterest

NO MORE DAWN OR DUSK HERE
By: Yusuff Uthman Adekola (Y.U.A.)

Danjuma, despite being a twelve-year old, knew that nothing remained as it once was. A thought, like the turbulence of a whirlpool, was roaming deep within his mind as he silently sat on a raffia mat, under their green tent.

He occasionally shook his head, in rejection, as he tried assuaging his pestering thoughts. The more he tried resisting the thoughts, the further he lucidly remembered all that he tried casting away.

He remembered how he had always helped his father on the farm; how his infant sister did tenderly suck at their mother’s breast and how he did outshine his peers at school. By now, his eyes were already getting bloodshot as he looked around him and could see the old and the young looking wistfully downcast with their necks limply bent downwards.

The feeling was no more tolerable such that welled up tears found their way off his now tightly-closed eyes— tears dribbled down his cheeks. His father, mother and infant sister had gone with the booming of the bomb and the rattling of the gun. His only family of strangers left, were stricken by endemic and rather infectious diseases and were unhealthy to stay with. He thought about the nonchalance of the government and shook his head in distrust.

Suddenly, he heard a cock crow. It was dawn already—he had been lost in thought all night. He felt undisturbed by this but only heaved a sigh accompanied with the fall of a drip of tears.

He looked at his sleepless cohabitants, amongst whom are either the ones busy scratching their skins covered with rashes or simply those grabbing at their stomachs occasionally as they try to relieve hunger pangs through caressing.

He sighed painfully as he mumbled to himself, ‘Is this how we all will slowly die here, forsaken?’

He haggardly shuffled with his gaunt body out of the tent; raised his face towards the sky and again muttered as he shivered in the cold, ‘There is no dawn or dusk here, anymore. If only we could be back in time.’


WRITER'S BIO:
Yusuff Uthman Adekola, presently a student of the University of Ibadan, is a campus journalist, a poet and an essayist who believes in the correctional cum enlightening power that the pen commands. He can be reached via +2348166599760 ; adekolayusuff@gmail.com ; FB: facebook.com/adecaller01