Sofiat Oladuntoye

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Sofiat Oladuntoye
Monday 8 March 2021

/maɪ mjuːz/

I tried to write you a book,

But found my pen lost in the heart of a poem.

I tried to paint you in a canvas,

But you found your way to my heart.

All over again.

The winds whispers wide willy witty witty words,

But your husky deep voice my ear crave more.

The breeze blows beautiful blue blunt air,

But your husky deep voice my ear crave more.

The bed i find no more succour in,

As your chest is now my want and wish,

Your strong arms the softest pillow there is,

Your touch a balm to my aching soul.

So come back soon,

My black beautiful awesome muse.


Sofiat Oladuntoye
Sunday 7 March 2021


You will wait for me somewhere,

Those words were like dagger,

Driven through her heart to her loins.

So,after all,

She is but a use when the needful is on away,

A want in dark night in dark times,

A desire that light detest,

A passerby in his house.

She sat with hot patience on the mat,

Angrily trying not to regret her choice,

Of staying even when the odd is much.

She sat with hot patience on the mat,

Tears rolling down her cheek in wave,

Thinking about all the futile hope,

She has dare to dreamt in peaceful times.

Its all done now,

Priority has being shown,

Hers more blurrily vivid,

Its time she close the door to her heart, 

And throw the key to the shallow dept-

-of the blue black ocean behind her house.


Sofiat Oladuntoye
Tuesday 19 January 2021



Here once sit our ancestral abode

The falling mud walls marks the speck 

Here a big fire was made year by year

To welcome a new year with sweet burnt big yams.


Here neither age nor positions matters

As in front of the gods;

We are just a number of devoted members

Whose lives they can sow or uproot on a whim; 

if they so choose.


Here they met us

With shining knives placed at the throat of the not tainted white sheep

Meant to be slaughtered and appease:

Appease the gods and atone for the faults of our existence.


The priest with voice as piercing as needle

Sang praise to them and not to the gods

Now the priest, our leader has been cursed,

So, who are we not to be cursed?


We were still called to come back from our plays,

Our gods still shouted to us, Their children,

To come back to our evening meals and sleep,

As the clouds were thickning in the large red sky.

The nights charmed with black gun powders,

Mornings pregnated with sweet sorrow.

And afternoons has being stained with thick red bloods of ours

But, deaf dumb ear were turned; what a sweet sorrow.


Now, here lies the remains,

Of the fights we lost graciously and stupidly.

Our pride has been punctured in many sides,

Leaving in us empty sack and souls.


Here still lay the giant Africa,

But now her golden sons,

A lost asset with no pride.

Her golden daughters,

Have enrode into the arms-

Of the too strange sophisticated towns,

And all has forgotten the calls

Of the abandoned gods and their ancestral abode.


Oladuntoye Sofiat Oluwadamilola   


Sofiat Oladuntoye
Friday 15 January 2021


Now the moon goes down 

into the canyon

beyond the hills;

the broods wil be going.

Soon the first cock will crow,

The first clay-pot be laid out,

And the first finger ready to be licked.

Kids and dogs and sheep

Beside the hearth

Wake before all reproach.


Let the cock crow

In your ears

By the playground sands

Under a quarter of the sun.

As the moon had died again,

In the dark canyon

Beyond our loves;

Beyond the high arched origin

Of the short demon tree.


Then it was your mid-night ,

And silent love was in your eyes.

Now the moon has set;

The shining sun is set to shine again--

A Most maidenly quarter sun.

©@ Oladuntoye Sofiat Oluwadamilola


Sofiat Oladuntoye
Thursday 14 January 2021

"On a Good day"


On a good day, 

I shouldn't be here kneeling at his feet on  rough rocks,

Listening to his rage and rant restlessly.

With flood running down my eyes.

 On a good day,

I should have been in the kitchen,

Preparing heavenly meals for him,

With sweet smile shinning on his face,

As he sings my praise.

On a good day,

I should be worshipped like the saint i am,

And not whipped like a slave over a sin i never sinned.

On a good day,

I should be bold and brave

And not weak like a weakling,

Shaking ceaselessly in front of him like a cold hen in cold days.

On a good day,

I should have been his spouse,

And not his spinster.

So,if today is not a good day

When will the good day come?

©@Oladuntoye Sofiat Oluwadamilola



Sofiat Oladuntoye
Saturday 9 January 2021



Listen you unruly son of this land.

Listen to the wails of the innocents.

Listen to the cries of your forefathers.

Listen i say! to the quiet noises and muffled rage.


Listen i say to the hurrying  feet of your ancestors,

Whom in there intelligence moulded you the real tomorrow ---

Which you have strangled to death.

Oh! Nay! in your clamour for wealth.


Where are they? The life savers---

Who trade their morning for a bountiful evening.

Where are they? Those unstained souls--- 

Who kept their pride and dignity high.

Where are the original offspring of this land?


Its now, we sweep away the dust,

That stains and hinder our growth.

Its now we join hands and build A BETTER TOMORROW.

©@ First_lady✍✍


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