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Omo oba Isale-ju,
Her royal highness,
Ololufe Obatala, the betrothed of the gods,
I don't know what shit to write on this sheet,
Since I am left to chose between right or wrong.
I always chose right, but my rights are always wrong,
That leaves me wrong before their eyes but right in your heart,
Because they think Kunle cannot love...

But, do we not get brokenhearted and disappointed,
because we think we know people by recognition?
Kunle cannot love, of course,
I thought so myself,
But no man ever truly know another man,
I couldn't even know myself,
'Every saint got a past, and every sinner has a future'.

I thought I was tough as a turf.
But deep I'm lost in thoughts over this lust.
Must it cost a lot, a cot or a cut princess,
Must this being, being struck badly begin to beg
In desperation attention just to end in contention?

I thought or I was taught that Love died
On Calvary at Golgotha's place;
The red sheets of blood spread over my guilty palms,
As she lay wasted in a state of nothingness.
I saw it Gloria, we crucified you,
I saw when Love bled a fountain to cleanse my sins,
That even hopes wouldn't bloom such a glorious rebirth.
Then it's true what the Christians say,
that my Jesus rose from death,
while wide-open my eyes were blindfolded by extreme atheism.

I'm used to thinking I was a scholar above the maths of life,
But solving surds were different from drawing swords.
The fire from your eyes and your smile lit the world,
That roses began blooming in the darkest corners of my heart.

Aremu, the daughter of the chaotic winds,
She whose portrait portrays the morning star,
Whose beauty exceeds the faery queen,
Bringing Sango and Ogun to their knees,
Sparking their desires into the fire of wars,
The only human child that catches the sight of the gods,
Whose eyes got this numb heart kick start to life,
like a stiffened machine after the greasy touch of an engineer...
The beauty of the sun.

Aremu, I am scared of fame,
Because all the stars in the sky stare with their brows lifted,
Expecting to see a god only to have a human,
A tiny human of my stature will feed them disappointments.
I'm not afraid of heights, but scared of crashing down,
Even as a cat, curiosity wouldn't kill me,
But with you as part of my recluse
I should rather lay earthed in the warmth of your embrace,
Than taste the sugar of fame then settle for the bitters of lows.

But Aremu when your lovers come knowing you gave your heart to me,
Will you hide me within your breast,
like the hen spreads her feather around her chicks?
When Sango comes with his fire, Ogun with his metal,
When adversary rage like a tornado
and men set their bows and arrows and drag their swords,
Will you love me still, ehn, Aremu?
Or will you elope with me?

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Loved the whole of this, Drey.
I sometimes think, that poets with English as a second language actually have a head start when it comes to poetry, in that they are unbound by convention.

Well done mate.


I'm not sure where all this was going, but I saw flashes of what I think are eternal questions. Who? What? and Why? ~Geezer.

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"Must it cost a lot, a cot or a cut princess,"
the above has been niggling me, I'm hoping my interpretation is wrong.


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