A Testament of Death
When the ember loses its prime to the pride of ashes
When the moisture loses its traces to the conspiracy of rain
Do not mock the existence of the transient era,
do not scoff, do not ridicule the lots of a withering creature…
When a tiller dies;
when the son of a cultivator elopes with whirlwind;
when a farmer sleeps in the ridge
made with his intimate deity,
do not mock, do not mourn the privilege carcass
that lived on a borrowed pulse without the knowledge
of its expiration.
It’s noble to seek the breeding earth
Of its loss; of the regret of its dresser
before his eventual journey of no return…
When a poet dies,
do not mock the muse; do not mock his manuscripts;
do not burn his diary of love with the smoke of derision;
Do not dismiss his sonnet, epic, Ballard and pun into
the valley of moth. A poet is best celebrated
when you search, consult and enquire from his lines
the regret of his pen painting the truth…
When I die, do not mock my withered limb;
Do not mourn the precious memories left
I would only rest when you check my voices,
search between my stanzas, my breath and find
The places where I paused the truth;
Seek where my tongue is seized when to justice the truth beckons…
Of what use is a life lived with reservation for truth?
…Of a Dismal Day
Once, I asked the colour
Of the thing above my skull
And I heard a bold voice saying
‘A cloud full of virtue and lacking
Though, I have no eyes but my skin
Tells the hit of its droplets, its emission.
I see no-thing but my veneer groans
At the hit of its heat. All I could do
Is to embrace the fate of an iron status
Rotting away till its imminent death.
in my thought, I gave hope a chance
Scavenging feed for worms from the
willing hands with hidden wishes.
I was told it’s not yet dawn
so, I must not set out else, the traveling
Night will board me away to the dreadful
How well can I mourn a fading
Flame before the breeze of evil?
A Portrait in Grandma’s Living Room
Who could ever predict
The marriage of odds:
The son of modernity
And the princess of antiquity?
I was the unsaid prophecy
When I entered into her house
After two decades. The two eyes
Of mine were never different.
What seems strange in me
Is the flirting pulse for the moribund…
And, I could not sleep that night
For the passion that met in our eyes
Unknown to me, she too had traded
Sleep for the sudden visitor…
Without wasting time, I took the
Princess to her mother:
“Grandma please betroth her to me”
I said in a suitor’s baritone voice
“What do you like in her; do you
think she can really meet your
penchant eyes for modernity?”
She answered like a jilted in-law…
” You have to vow that she will not
be hauled into the trash nor be
turned to an object of disdain” grandma gave
her releasing clause.
And I signed the oath of love with kisses.
That was how I became the groom of a
relegated artifact who the trending maidens
look with piety. Unknown to them
Ever since our conjugal, I live in love and rest
in peace with my Pearl for no fear of exorbitant
ornaments to meet the need for a virtuous look …
Through her eyes, I can see my coming queens…
Through her dimples, I can see my charming prince…
No one can ever write this image except Mona Lisa!
of a peck…
how long will it last
Your flirtatious touch
On my elated brow?
I grew in the wood of thirst
There I see a flea
Pecking a fleeting nectar
A little sip
a temperate oozing
For a quick return
Not my wing yet
the yam’s tendril will soon wither!…
Biography of the Poet
Atoyebi Oluwafemi Akinlawon is a graduate of English and international studies from Osun state University of Osogbo, Nigeria. He equally bagged his M.A English(Literature) at University of Ibadan, Nigeria. As a poet, he won Adats Science and Arts Academy poetry competition in the month of March 2020. He works on part time base with Centre for Performing Arts and Film Studies in Education Osogbo. He lives in Osogbo with his wife and son.