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Refugees’ Song: Poems by Adeola Ikuomola


The barren laughter
Of the heartless murderers
Rent the thick thunderclouds
Like fresh thunderbolts.

They chirped over our giblets
Viscous fountains of fresh blood
And pyramids of smooching corpses
Like a thick band of hungry vultures.

But who can tell us tonight
Where our fathers were fired
And our sweet mothers murdered
Like the strayed blood sucking bats.

Those bloody hands castrated
Our youthful brothers like sows
And violated our virtuous sisters
Like dogs on the platter of sunshine.

Let the incoming night’s darkness
Spread her bloody tarpaulin over
Our bloody pupils and dry fresh
And espouse our broken souls to slumber.



The eloquent harbinger
Of celestial excellence
And the glossy reflection
Of terrestrial treasure.

The crowned prince
Of political stability
And the grand patron
Of industrial revolution.

The evergreen syllabus
Of romantic greenery
Your golden heartbeat
Enriches poetic imagination.



Let the stars gather their well-organized organs at night
Let the radiant moonlight beat her eloquent kettledrums
Let the doubly decked sun arise in her penetrating rays
Let our worthy elders recall the glorious birth of their son
That was born to rule and burning to serve our generation

The wise men have ended their search for the prince
That was born to wear the golden crown of our fathers
At your feet prostrate the entire king makers did all fall
And spread their flowing garments at your golden feet
To usher you right into your monumental royal palace

Let the eagle in you soar higher and subdue the clouds
Inspire the lion in you to roar triumphantly in the forests
Let your teeming subjects rejoice in your transparent life
Indeed, in peace and tranquility supreme you must reign
Surely you were born to rule and burn to serve humanity

Thunderous is the laughter of the numberless sea waves
That highlights the beauty of the treasure base of your life
Boundless is the joy of the souls that fetch from your well
Drunken with the abundance of your boundless generosity
They lift up their souls in songs of praise to the Almighty

Oh! How precious is your virtuous queen, the mother of all
Her peaceful domain is the safest haven to all nationalities
How beautiful, tender and well mannered are your children
Watchfully they follow your eloquent and transparent steps
In reverential obedience to the Scriptures that cannot be broken



The water birds have swarmed for me
The solemn ripples smiled back at me
Soothing are their love laden ribbons
They embrace the swimming clouds

The thick coated march has been struck
And the fine flames flared back at me
Thick darkness has taken to her heels
To renew her silence in the grave yard

The bold pestle has pounded for me
The morsel embraces my appetite
Her tender embrace enriches my soul
Like the bride breaking out of her veil

The winning wind has blown for me
And the breeze caresses my nostrils
Great are her sermons on survival
Like my mother my greatest teacher

The Lamb of God really died for me
His blood has cleansed my filthy soul
Excellent is a brand new life in Christ
For all the homebound prodigal children



It had taken so long for me to understand
That the laughter of foes sounded loudest
Whenever I over blew the trumpet of sorrow
About the had times and seasons around me

It took me so much longer to understand
The potency of the songs of thanksgiving
In the roaring rivers and the furious flames
For they are my guides to the mountain top

Oh! How marvelous is the divine revelation
That the song of praise subdues all elements
That daily with their filthy mouths mock men
Who diligently tread the path of righteousness

It has taken so long for them to understand
That I have what it takes to praise the Lord
In the midst of their trumpet of lamentation
For His great mercies that endure for ever



Naked before the sun
Naked before the moon
The morally loose nail
Is hit daily by all hammers

Rotten under the sun
Rotten under the moon
The deeply decimated apple
Daily the earthworms to eat

The heavy rain descended
From the dark eastern skies
And walked down the aisle
Of the lightweight western soil

Blindfolded by arrogance
And ruined by filthy skirts
The once prosperous soul
Now toes the line of pauperism



She peeped through the cracked wall of her dreamy hut
The morning sun reigning superlatively in the eastern sky
Bent down double to lift up her light burden on the west
The north nodded her head and the south shouted loudly
And the world cleverly spread out her flowery garments

Yes! Our wearied men are suffering from maternal malaria
They slip deeper down the slippery courtroom of escapism
And crouch under the broken shadows, counting the starlets
And numbering the fireflies, crickets and the crawling crabs-
They have infected the women with raw masculine madness!
Energetic women do make weak men sick of maternal malaria

Dreamers are steamers groaning under the yoke of tomorrow.
They jack- stammer their dreams under the dew and the sunlight
And thunder-snore their endless dreams to the stone dead ears
Their elongated dreams have turned fleshy ears to solid rocks
Interpreters are agile eagles soaring in the current bright clouds
Fully documented and decorated with multitudes of flying colours



How farther has the night gone into the woods?
How closer is the birth of another beautiful day?
How deeper into the ocean floor are the sharks?
How much longer do I have to wait for my love?

The sea has written his enduring love letter to me
And the moon mutters his intentions all night long
The wind waves his magic wands before my face
But my love for my love is a fountain in my heart

I will wait much longer for the owner of my heart
Even when thick darkness envelopes the world
His lamp of love maintains the purity of my heart
Never to be defiled by the filthy hands of vanity

Affix colourful petals and sepals on my garments
And spray perfumes on my pillowcases and ribbons
Very soon we will meet and mend our broken hearts
With the pieces from the many hearts we have broken

Here comes my love on the wings of the dawn breeze
Hurrying triumphantly towards my outstretched arms
To have a cool drink from my divinely purified fountain
Faithfully concealed from hydro carbonated streams

How much farther has the night gone into the woods?
How much closer is the birth of another beautiful day?
How much deeper into the ocean floor are the sharks?
And how more refreshing are the embraces of my love!



I heard soft footsteps in the kitchen
And listened for my mother’s voice
I got caught up in an endless silence
That ushered sorrow into my heart.

Again and again were the rumblings
And the endless hissings in my bowel
The world around me was in a circle
That no mortal could dare contend.

The virile cocks were heard all over
Cracking the walls of another day
To usher in the bride from the east
Amidst the overlapping songbirds

That competed feather to feather
And throat to throat to celebrate
The virtue in the scarce innocence
Encapsulated in the golden sunrays.

Mother, mother, what is the matter?
I cried out and I heard in response:
I am the matter and not your mother
I am Martha the helpless housemaid.

Mother, hunger and helpless Martha
The tripod upon which my life stood;
Then I thundered with all my strength
Martha, what is the matter with mother?



Chaotic silence
The ancient tyrant
Reigns over the land
With his scepter of terror

He batters the breeze
Ruins the rain and
Soils the sunrays like
Vultures devouring the dead.

But if I were you
The excellent singer
I would raise my voice
And liberate the land

And mock the thunder
And the epileptic lightning
Across the vast firmament
With soothing redemption songs



Our principal is a roaring lion
In the thick forest of indiscipline
But his heartbeat is a gentle lamb
Bleating deep in the sheepfold.

Our principal is an agile golden eagle
Zooming in the clouds of flying colours
His shadow abhors the waterless pits
Dug by the wearied hands on the idle soles.

Mark the echoes of our nightingale’s moon song
On the golden platter of the travailing scrolls
Equipping the wakeful adventurous pupils
To acquire the enduring scepter of excellence

His name is written across the colourful clouds
For the world to read and for heavens to recite
Mr. Wilson Oye Babarinde: the lion, the eagle-
Our principal, our father, our friend, our mentor



What a dream what a desire what a choice
That the poetic tourist kicking in my heart
Desired a memorable flight aboard Lufthansa
The international affairs accurate time keeper
The computerized compass for global explorers
The couples beautifully furnished aerial estate
The soothing spot for fact finding soul mates
The dappled delivery room for travailing brides
The excellent cradle for globe trotting children
Yes, I am proud to say that I am lufthansatisfied
With the millennial global lufhtansatisfaction
A dream a desire a choice and now a reality!



You have reminded me of the roaring lions
That have numerous deaf ears to awaken
You have reminded me of the tallest giraffes
That have contrary views to edit and review
You have reminded me of the gold medalists
They have turned their rags to ultimate riches
You have reminded me of the tallest majesties
They have conquered the mountains to grow taller
In you is the music awaited by your generation
To depart from the muddy water of lamentation
In you is the ray of light awaited by your mates
To wander no more in total darkness of ignorance
You have reminded me of the hidden treasures
Only diligent seekers are the eventual finders
You have reminded me of the refreshing songs
Only fluent nightingales can render with ease

You have reminded me of the flaming sunrays
That only the risen morning sun can generate
You have reminded me of the excellent dreams
That only the wakeful souls can easily interpret.

In you is the compass needed by your co-travellers
To depart from the land encapsulated in darkness
Yes, in you is the deep fountain of the living water
Panted after by the travellers left in desert places

In you is the kingdom that will never be subdued
And the great mountain that will never be climbed
In you is the gallant horse that will never be beaten
My child, you are the raw gold that must never rust.


(c) Adeola Ikuomola


Adeola Ikuomola
Adeola Ikuomola
Adeola Ikuomola is a Nigerian poet.


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