WIBENATURE

Best day to celebrate words Is the great poets page. The stage to serenate rhythms Is a good pledged place. Bring the shaving razors To the over growed head. Once the river is over flowed To call the sea swimmers to drive Deep. The believers dance to the rhythm In the shrines of the singers. Flowing of the words Intoxicate the audience. The wall of the ocean of Earth Build, winds to the pipes to Melody. The fan of the elephant ears Hears more by the steady listeners. The lips of the singers Slipped the mind of the heaven. Eyes lids of the spectators Watched the shows in closed eyes.

Give wine to the stomach Give wine to the flies Give nectar to the butterflies Give juice to the bees Give kolanut to the gods A god loves fried bean That god cheers wine a lot. The kolanut speaks as gods As the grain of sugar good for ants. The flies dies on pap and palm wine Give kolanut to the gods Let a god Inspires to gods In the mouth of aged cults The spirit talks to the spirits Bring kolanut to hear The spiritual words of the lords. Bring the grains of sugar To the floors to see the joy of crawls Bring calabash of palm wine To witness the fellowship of flies. Toss the kolanut to show the wisdoms. Come out of the throwing, Only an aged eyes see the dices, As the fest in the junction For goats and dogs joy.

When I got conscious of my mother was when I was being a vetim of devouring. I heard she laboured in pains gave birth to a baby, l was named  Aladeniyi, wanned for years in sleepless nights. I was told I was in comma for some hours on fifteenth day of my birth. She called I couldn't answer, my spirit had gone to a place. Thank God for my revivals, always all night vigils were not in vein. I gave her praising on the days I had springed all around at the day of child playing joy. At age of four, I couldn't walk around on second day in crippling for several months. My mom neglected the siblings to cuddle me on her back. You are there for me till my golden age. The child who downs her mom will be poverty forever. You are my money that I count every time. You buy all my needs every ages. Once you are here I will conut you, if you are absent I always mark you up. I had drunk from two spring faintains on your chest. My mother my money.

Some need silence While some require sound. An action need costumes While another request nudes. What war can solve Never be successful in peace. A war resembles inheritance But interlacing each other's. The drama of the pen to be A kind of swords to wage wars. The pen kills in million as a sword Just membed in pieces. Power of attorney is gruesome Before the potent of arms. Some of them require microscope  To see in life while Some of them can be seen in naked eyes. You toil to belong but  Some are looking for your presence.

A river flowed out of bank The waves of the ocean wind Out of the Sandy shore. The wise words spoke out of The idiots and indos mouths. A praise to the king as well As to his subjects in subtling. What a bigger received is a Multiple choice of the giver. A pin bore the way to link The reservour of the liquor Drop by drops the content will Be easily emptied. The sharped peg penterates easily Then blunt one. The sharpest razors blunt with  A stone cutting. The hardest diamonds crack  In wided glass cutting. Say no to wisdoms Say yes to wilderness. Where the wisdoms come by In the whole wilderness. The sweat goes to paradise Is the tiredness equals to hell. The roots of the booty Is their holy war  The waters of the Earth Show in veriety tastes. Different substances desolve In veriances. Get me right don't miss right. The tastes show the enconuterings.

The way I see the idols is the way i care about it's value. The way I mind the melodious beats is the way I rhythmize my steps to match. The way I understand my poems is the way I dose it to my audience. The way I taste this world it seems there is no other planets that possessed my favorite. The stories of the heaven seems to be faded in the garden of Eden. The creation of the heaven and Earth equals to paradise  and juggle of the hell. The idols are in all narrations to symbolize the points of the story-tellers. The prizes for the signs are praising, praise the nobles as goblins of the globe. The universe understands the whole craftworks words,scribes,carved and moulds 

A douth must never mix with a done. A true tips out the tricks of the falses. After the darkest nights the lights show up. Before raining there may be a cloudy sky, the rain is never a tricky tale. From the Earth the water the rain blesses landscapes. The iron ores were their crafts, the meteorites ahead the gods of thunders. The gods are uniqued beings, the crafty stories make their shrines to be alive, oiled, bled and watered. Atime flowered with foods from earth to earth. Hum every being is uniqued in the bore of the Earth.

We are never a visitor We know the left to right Wear the trousers from feets Hang our togos from head We are never a novice We step to the rhythm When percussion sparks in beats. Demised goat's skin sounds. We are never useless We sing for our joy. They cry and carry for a post We are never the sadists The tune of happiness In the pattling of prowls. Nightingale shots up till death We are never sent them As a butterfly in the Mallows. In the garden it's parading A butterfly lady. We are never count them As their teeth to be spincered. As their hands to be nailed in fencing. We are never care what They say what the fits. Count mouths to be Sixth and seventh Say crown fit and unfit. We are never listen to Their verbosed songs The rites of envious GISTS The war in will of the wailers. We are never cherried Their praises, with an hints In full of soothing limbs. By Gbadegesin Akeem Ayodele           AKA Somideela

The more you look The more you see. We can never do By playing with fire. The more you listen The more you hear. We could never Surrender our future To their hazardous wags. The more you go The more you far. We know not our love That will keep us behind. The barred windows. The more you stupid The more you belove. We didn't want to Gain birth to a fool. In the bussy boat, The more you jack The more you slack. We know moderate But we never satisfy. The more you race on The more you move on. We know a steady steps But here's to whistle More than the stories. The more you judge The more you sin. The walk on a road As a cloud time Darkness without a lightening. The more you know The less you judge. The secret of the scenes On the faces of the victors. The more you fingered The more you pointed. All other courses are for  the orators to the listeners By Gbadegesin Akeem Ayodele             AKA Somideela

From a single mother The two children born A single mother breadfeed With two breats to two mouths. Pick one with right-hand Care another with other hand. Sing with a mouth to lullaby Give a drop of water to twins The splits of milk from her breats The African mothers are never careless, as other world mummy. Reverse is the case of the fathers,  Who pater the Queens . Iya ibeji, the bearer of two foets, Give breats to two mouths. Carry two at one atime, One is crying Other is defecating. You are a great mom of Africa. © By Gbadegesin Akeem Ayodele           AKA Somideela

DEELA MISSONS GBADEGESIN AKEEM AYODELE: HOME : I travelled on the trail, I saw many scribes on the bricks. It read ume, ime, umme. I touched on the tips. I learned many lyrics from th...