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Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami


Lagos, Nigeria

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Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

He came,
The morning dew fresh on his head,
But while the dew was wet on the grass, he left:
A peep so painful,
Hastened by a virused womb.
He went,
Well - honed Sword in his hand,
Until his breath betrayed him,
His budding but bold bones
Resisted his cureless adversary:
A sizeless octopus
At whose feet
The whole wild world;
Its high and mighty
Crumble in fears and tears.

He, won,
One of the boldest of the sons of men won,
Even the very heart of Mandela
In joy of hope
Sang his elegy
"He was exemplary in showing
How one should handle a disorder
Of this nature.
Let his life and example
Spur us on to be strong,
Resilient and vigorous in our
Fight against the dreaded infection
He has earned the right to
Be accorded all honour,
Dignity and respect."

in the mother's heart is life


Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

A case for breast-feeding

In the motherís heart is life
This life is heath,
And health is wealth.
The wealth of Milk
The milk of life,
From motherís heart.

From the heart of the earth,
The heart of nature,
Is a fountain of life,
To nurture your budding bones
With strength, Oh child,
The strength of a man:
A man who does exploits,
That causes history to fear,
Men to tremble.
And the world to stand in loudest of

back to the state of nature


Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

Back to the state of nature

four years old boys, detained by the Nigerian Police for two nights at Oko- Oba Police Station, Agege, Lagos on Friday, July 13, 2001.+

Welcome back,
This is the state of nature,
The very stone age,
Only the fittest breathes survival
The brutish, the nasty enjoy life,
Though short,
Too short.
Even their seeds
Their own future
Are not spared in this barbarism,
That curdles like cold blood
It is a nightmare.
Life in Africa,
Oko-oba Police net,
There, was tomorrow caged in two
For days,
For reason that rejects water.
Then screamed their heralds:
"Enter the youngest caged in the land"
Were I their editor,
I should sing a dirge
Vociferous in melancholy:
"Horror in the Land,
Tomorrow is caged
Oh the future is manacled
What hope for a people
Who have no respects for their own future?

Gloomy doom, I see
For a Nation inebriated by high ignorance
That gives no place
To the ones in whose hands
Lay the state of humanity.

Protection against inhuman treatment


Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

Put no marks
On my cheeks
For my God, who made me?
Without marks,
Makes no mistakes,

No donít
Donít mutilate my genital
It is a practice of pain,
Ordained by you,
After my creator declared:
"I am fearfully and wonderfully made"

Donít put me up for sale,
Iím the future
Or what kind of people are you,
So wicked without a heart
Sell their own tomorrow
Into slavery.
Iím free born,
I came here without chains
Let me live without them.

Iím not the reason for your war
Treat me just like that
For where I came from,
The presence of my creator
No war is fought
No soul is wasted.

My body is not made for it
It is made for His glory.
Why do you abuse me?
Why do you put on my head?
A burden too heavy
And deadly to my growing mind!
Why do you defile me in my days of glory?
My tender days.
When all your care I need,
To be a sound gift to all generations?

Donít laugh at me yet


Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

Donít laugh at me yet
And donít carry the load,
The load?
Yes the load of your hand on your head
In celebration of pity party.
For my plights,
Donít shed tears
And line your cheeks with endless lines.
Not even in a corner,
The corner of your room.

Give me your hands,
Lets walk this walk together,
A tough walk.
Give me your ears
Lets talk this talk together
A frank talk.
Give me your heart
Lets think this thought together
A hard thought.
This is no leprosy
It does not jump on you
Not by your closeness to my body.
It is a virus,
Who live in my blood
But it has not touched my heart
It can reach my soul
It is a virus too strong for science men
But too weak for men of conscience,
Men of conscience,
Determined to bring its pangs to an end
And its pain into the sea of forgetfulness,
By an arm of friendship,
A hand of hope,
Stretch to all in whom it reaches
And beyond!

fight for life


Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

This is a fight for life
A fight for menís life
If it must have life,
Fruit and life,
We must give it all our life,
It is a life fight for life,
It is a matter of life,
To save humanity from pogrom,
The pogrom of a virus
A wicked one,
That knows no cure.
Today I call you to fight,
A life fight,
A fight for the life of men,
And women too.
If it must bring life,
If it must bear fruit,
We must give it all our life,
All of our life,
Even the last drop of our blood.

fight poverty: invest in children


Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

In your belly,
Yes, in your god
In your self,
And in your bloods,
Against your mandate,
Your good people,
Against history
Have you kept
The ingredients of my growth:
The milk,
Which from the creator flows on our land.
Iím posterity,
Whose future your belly keeps.

Today, I come in words:
Words of repentance,
Tomorrow, in the face of your deaf ears
I shall come with the sword:
The sword of vengeance.
History watches
I, too watch.
Will wisdom preserve you?



Taiwo Oluwawemimo Akinlami

This is the Love who kept us!
4 Olaoluwakitan (one year after and few hours to the I-do day)

This love sees.
This love hears.
This love is perfect.
He sees with the eye of an eagle.
He hears with the ear of ajere*.
He carries His very perfection.
He is Godís.
He is God,
Shed abroad in our hearts
By His own Spirit.
This one is unconditional,
He requires no price.
This one is stubborn,
He is impervious to self.
This one is large,
He covers multitude of sins.
This one is mature,
He seeks the will of God-written destiny.

This love sees
He is not of this world that is blind
Like its subtle prince
Who authors it,
And invented in it from sail
Inescapable elements of woeful crash
Hidden in self and lust.

This love hears.
He hears a Voice behind him
To show the way,
The way to peace,
The route to joy
Upon which the future stands like olumo rock
On the breasts of the Almighty,
He neither snores nor know slumber.

This love is perfect
He casts out fear,
And delivers to hand
Power that defeats the day of adversity,
Sound mind that quenches his fiery darts.

This is our Love sweetheart
This is the Love, who kept us all year long,
This is the hand of God
Faithful to keep us till that day.
Yours in Him,
Yours in this Love,
Yours in true Love,Taiwo 121003

*Ajere is a multi-perforated pot.

Multiple for shame
4 olaoluwakitan when the evil one appeared to carry the day

There is no day the devil should win,
But there is a day he must not win,
A strategic day,
When on this day he wins,
It becomes a big catch for his kingdom.
His victory destroys to devastation
And wears the smell of chameleon faeces
Over his victims,
Who in the first place gave him liberty
Of operation.
Guilt takes a gleeful trip on the mind
Who allowed him,
This is the relish of the of the evil one,
His kingdom over a victory so coveted.

At this time when all appear won
And all appear lost
A voice of real victory whispers,
This is the voice of the Spirit,
The voice of the One, who upholds all things
(He does not leave nor forsake you, His own
He also does not condemn you,
He seeks your restoration):
"I cause all things to work together
For your own good"

This voice touches the down heart
With a balm made in Gilead
And halts the trip of guilt.
The joy of the evil one is quenched in misery
Like a candle light exposed to bar beach.
Conviction of His Spirit takes charge,
It gives way to godly sorrow,
The godly sorrow of repentance,
This is a repentance that comes with a vow
A vow from a washed mind,
"Never a day will the devil win anyday,
No, not this day
Not even that day."

The evil one that carried the other day
Is today in regrets,
He counts his countless loss,
This is the loss of a shame that brings
Honour in multiple of portions,
The portions of sea sand
(Even this psalm set to bless humanity).
In agonising compunction of broken spines
Says the evil one in a bitter epilogue:
"Had we known we would not
Have touched the elected
Of the king of glory."

Rich land, poor land.
The story of my nation, Nigeria

Rich land,
Poor land,
He made them both,
Yes he made them rich.
But while men sleep
Their leader,
Put in power by their own thumbs,
Transplants the olive trees
Into his own garden,
Home and abroad,
He also drains the land
Of its milk and honey,
In his bellies
He creates for them an ample place.
While his own necks are weaven in fatty fleshy rings,
Thumbs who pushed the power
Wear the neck of a sickly strand of broom.
He is not done yet,
The next suffering formula is deregulation,
Another ploy to further fatten his bulging bellies.
Come back to your senses Ďbaba no conscience Ď,
Adakedajo, who made the land rich,
Which you made poor
Beckons to you with His long sceptre of repentance,
This is your last night,
By this time tomorrow ,He thunders in anger
Hotter than baked iron,
He says to me in confidence:
" Louis the xvi Ďs fate shall be a childís play,
And Batista shall cry for you in painful pity"