Sunday, November 1, 2020





Ask Me


I could tell of chiefs who are also thieves

that chair committees in the Chambers.

I could tell of lives who are loved

but lost to laws that only favour

the lawless lords.

Why not ask me?


I could tell of graduates with good grades

whose greatness grow in garages.

I could tell of many mothers

who are mourning mouths

that could have brought meaningful mornings.

Why not ask me?


I could tell of priests preaching politics

on pulpits to rich and poor people.

I could tell of teachers toiling in teaching

and trying to thrive in this trying-time.

Why not ask me?


I could tell of bold and beautiful orphans

whose parents were pals with poverty

before they passed on,

begging for bread under bridges.



I could tell of several citizens

who are striving, struggling to succeed

in this sanely sick season.

Why not ask me?


I could tell of fat-belly  fathers who are fools,

'faking fainting' and falling flatly for fear

of being probed.

I could tell of a corrupt country

whose leaders lead to loot,

lie and lust with the truth.

Why not ask me?


I could tell of meek men

who preach hope wholly.

One is me.

Are you one?





Tears Of A Poet


I weep for a country that crushes dreams

and cajoles citizens with candies.

I weep for a country whose leaders gaze

at another direction and allow animals to graze

on human bones.

I weep for a country whose leaders embrace

sins and expect God’s gracious grace.

I weep.

Yes, I weep.


I weep for a country that’s blessed

with religious people with little care for humanity.

I weep for a country whose leaders don’t only

lure followers with lofty ideas but also lead to loot.

I weep for a country whose leaders tramp

on citizens’ tolerance and make many, a tramp.

I weep.

Yes, I weep.


I weep for a country that kills dreams

and carry coffins of children without

serious, sensible sympathy.

I weep for a country that

prioritizes politics than education.

I weep in silence, in my unspoken words,

in my visible voiceless words.

I weep.

Yes, I weep.


I cry on paper in words.

I bleed not blood but words.

Yes, I weep.





Ours Is A Sick Land


Ours is a sick land

Of depressed souls, widows and orphans

Wallowing in abject poverty and pains,

Wishing death comes early.


Ours is a sick land

Of unconscious leaders and political prostitutes,

Portraying lackadaisical attitudes

Towards the sufferings of the masses.


Ours is a sick land

Of beautiful minds, sound minds and young minds,

Minds that are bought with a penny

And love to live in penury.


Ours is a sick land

Of associations that go on strikes,

Selling our children’s futures to leaders that loot the treasury

And carry coffins of dreams by their acts daily.


Ours is a sick land

Of people of different races,

Who only imagine peace

And harvest pains as dividends of democracy.


Ours is a sick land

That rots,

That stinks

of innocent blood of brethren.


Ours is a sick land

Of people who kill and kidnap kids

Pierce peaceful gatherings into pieces

With bullets, bombs and grenades.




Ours is a sad land.



We will rise to raise the fallen flag again.

We will strive to see this land live again.

We won’t lose hope, for Nigeria is a promising land.

We will win this war, waged by selfish ones.

We will work and make her walk.




BUSAYO FAKUNLE is a Phonics consultant, poet, author of many children's literary texts. He studied English and literary studies at the University of Ado-ekiti, elected as the president of NASELS. He had his Masters degree in the English language at the prestigious University of Ibadan. He is a scribbler and has been on several radio and television stations speaking on issues relating to Arts, education and politics. Some of his works have appeared in both national and international anthologies of high reputation. He is a homely person and reads all kinds of works. One of his books had made Oyo state ministry of Education’s list of literary texts. He is a member Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Oyo state chapter and winner of The Poetry Court contest to celebrate Prof. Wole Soyinka’s 81st birthday.


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