Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

I am Ada, no wealth to partake,
Dad tapped palm wine, Mom sold old rake,
Poverty’s grip, like a dagger’s cruel wake,
In our village, outcasts, hearts ache.

I chose to journey, a path to undertake,
Hunting for riches, a new chapter to make,
For my family’s sake, a stand I would stake,
Defying the doubters, their negativity I would break.

From waiter to cleaner, risks I would undertake,
Confronting my fears, my courage would not shake,
Through rain and thunder, I would find a way to partake,
Among gangsters and hardships, my spirit would not forsake.

Love came knocking, a heart at stake,
Abuse soon followed, bones did break,
Abortions brought agony, dreams did flake,
Health and riches vanished, in their wake.

Life felt hollow, like Cain’s cursed rake,
In poverty’s grasp, no solace to partake,
Powerless to bury my parents, a heartbreaking ache,
Their souls restless, as I struggled in the quake.

For Ada’s sake, my words I now remake,
Survived through trials, wisdom I now reawake,
At eighteen, dear daughter, decisions you will have to make,
In life’s turbulent sea, tread cautiously, for your own sake.

Listen to my voice, let not haste overtake,
Avoid deceitful love, its promises are fake,
Wealth’s allure may lead to mistakes,
Slow down, my child, for your future’s sake,
In the name of Ada, these words I rake.

© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

In the heart of the city, a hullabaloo,
Where noise and commotion are nothing new.
From dawn till dusk, the streets come alive,
With bustling traffic and vendors who thrive.

On every corner, there is music and sound,
With instruments playing, creating a surround.
The beat of the drums, the strum of guitars,
Melodies floating, carried by cars.

Children laughing, dancing on their toes,
Immersed in the rhythm, in their own little shows.
Their giggles and squeals fill the air,
As they spin and twirl without a care.

Street performers gather, their talents displayed,
With fire breathers, jugglers, and clowns who invade.
People stop and watch, captivated in awe,
They cheer and applaud, giving a standing ovation encore.

The hullabaloo continues as night falls,
Neon lights flickering, casting vibrant walls.
The clubs come alive, with music so loud,
As dancers and revelers fill up the crowd.

In this trumpet of chaos, a harmony is found,
A melting pot of people, diverse and profound.
The hullabaloo unites them, erasing the divide,
As they celebrate life, side by side.

Now let hullabaloo echo through the night,
A testament to liveliness and pure delight.
In this city’s uproar, there is a magic you will view,
In the joyous essence of the hullabaloo.

© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

In moments of bliss and fiery delight,
Where passions ignite and souls take flight,
There’s a crescendo, a peak to pursue,
A breathless sensation, an orgasm true.

Like ripples on water, it starts as a spark,
Igniting the senses, glowing in the dark,
A symphony building, with each gentle touch,
A dance of desire we both love so much.

It rises within, a volcanic desire,
A burning intensity that blazes like fire,
Unleashing a storm, a tempest untamed,
As waves of pleasure crash, unashamed.

The body trembles, lost in a trance,
Every sensation enhanced with each chance,
Whispers of pleasure escape from our lips,
As we navigate a journey between our hips.

A symphony of moans, harmonizing our ecstasy,
Merging our bodies in perfect synchrony,
Climbing higher, reaching for that sweet release,
With each passionate rhythm, finding our peace.

And in that fleeting moment of pure delight,
We transcend together, reaching new heights,
In that sacred union, where bodies entwine,
An orgasmic explosion, pure love defines.

Like shooting stars painting the dark sky,
We bask in the afterglow, contented and high,
For in those moments, we are truly set free,
Bound by the magic of orgasm’s decree.

© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi

In Oyo’s land where rivers wind,
And marketplaces their stories bind,
I speak of a heart unkind,
“Modern Day Slavery,” its verses unwind.

Through vibrant stalls where history thrives,
In Ibadan’s heart, where hope survives,
A husband’s deeds, a tale derives,
Of disrespect that love deprives.

In toxicity’s breeze, a story unfolds,
Of an African husband, a tale untold,
His wife, a slave, or so he has been told,
Equal rights denied, a love grown cold.

Beneath the sun’s gaze, their bond does fray,
In marketplaces’ bustling display,
He treats her harsh, no kindness to convey,
His archaic beliefs, like shadows, weigh.

Yet, hope lingers amidst the strife,
For love’s endurance is woven through life,
In Oyo’s essence, amid the market’s rife,
A call for change cuts through the strife.

Let “Modern Day Slavery” be a plea,
To break the chains and set hearts free,
In warm embrace, let love decree,
Equal rights and respect, for you and me.

© Ifedolapo Ogunniyi