Adeosun Olamide

In bank of memory- riches dwell.

No greater power than that to forget, to be still amid storm. No greater gift than to let go. None greater.

The fire that burnt my soul, the winds that blows my thoughts and strip me bare, stroll again and awaken me.

I have learnt to dream Have learnt to gleam Seem also I have learnt to beam Teach me lord to wake Teach Lord to see, to change And to share

In the end we have nothing except all we gave.

The Looking Glass- Wish it bares abides in us. It lies' just yesterday my skin glowed in it' Today it pales like it never bloomed.

Difficulties the food of strength, have ye not ears that persecution is thy mercy? it is that which strengthens our tiring faith.

The comely stroke of friendship don't come in having thousand followers. The touch often is in just one' that companion who has you as friend.

Times make seem this dark skin- the hell of the damned soul. The excellence of this soul, the flames- all quenched by the color of its rags and though may reach the peak- the skin cause unseen, unnoticed to this soul- but yet the drive is heart of an unbother-liness beating- let the snub be blind.

The emptiness is bottomless, the misery depth unknown, the darkness has no end- it wins always the battle- but more are the stars- stationed here that flutters, O how they make the dark desirous and the emptiness craved.

The fire is coming and even we are not safe in the grave.

The grave has the greatest company.

Death- save us money and time, death- spare us strength, save us from the sickness that mocks us, from the scars that humiliates us.

Go to the grave sometimes, the place that shall be your home.

Even the devil wants to be God. #What makes us demon are beyond us.

You have your heart broken, some have their minds shattered. A scar on your cheeks, some have burnt faces.

To be buried in the company of the dead - for this we worked hard. Not to put, abandoned in some dirt, alone. #The grave is expensive.

Jilted, betrayed- the devil flees. That he should love another, a Mary - jilted, betrayed- the devil flees.

And death, o woeful death- torments some to a hell, to suicide.

And by your indifference - you have made a thief.

I'm not the devils child. I am Christ.

We are angels with horns.

And we wait tonight for the arrival of death, to take your freezing soul. We stand by with warmth in ours- watching you pale, watching you come colder.

This moment - there are no remembrances, no memory - your sickness have taken all, have worn us all out, we only remember feeding you, changing your clothes, we only remember the odor of your stool, we only remember a miserable life and all before that is gone.

Your beautiful face, all is gone - we wait for death your messiah, your savior from this misery, our savior- so that tomorrow we won't have thoughts of murder and your thought of suicide won't linger.

And we knew not - the breeze that came was death. And in its arrival - spelled us a slumber as take from our greasy grasp a soul we once loved.

It would be hasty, the burial- so the gods don't withdraw their mercy, punishing us on. And by dawn - shall be a blessing to the worms.

From a slave to being a widow. Now your children can have my little strength, now they can see their mother, now I can keep them warm.

He brings me smile and calls my scars -The cause of my beauty

Go now, sow seeds, plant roses- where shall be your grave, grow daffodils.A stream, course path to hear water through.And a tree as shade.

The people in denial. Here where the spent, undesired sparkle best, here is darkness. I the filth, the odor, the ugly, I the best.

To those who died today, rest on. To those who were robbed, be glad you have your life.

Now anyone can break news, get a truck and kill our loved ones, let us remember to be our brothers keeper, to be kind - to seek out those who hurt and offer them healing.

There is no foul feelings, it is only what it is steered towards.

You lost your job, sober little - some were wives yesterday, mothers this morning.

Are you losing your beauty? Sober little, tomorrow some are losing their legs.

You have a scar there, shame little - some have lost their breast.

Put my heart in a jar- but away from the cockroaches, put the jar in the dark- but away from the rats.

I am above all, beneath all, in my robes of pearl a filthy soul and in this hides of a sheep - I am a wolf, in this fur- a pig.

In some places, Jesus still would be killed.

And I know you would not always be beautiful, and I know you would not always be.

And if you would come in my sleep, then I shall sleep evermore.

You are not indispensable.

And know too that my eyes is thirsty for your words, to belong in your feeling - to be elated in it, to drown in it.

Some things don't pass, we die in them.

We upon a brink do seem a depth, we forgotten in hell do sing of angels, we cursed, forbidden from sleep - do sing the lullabies.

Soon, soon we shall begin to hear, first as a whispher- then as a clamor- the woman is the father of the house, the woman fathers the home, Mary is my father, Hillary is my father, Elizabeth is my father, Ada is my father, and we shall hear too- Paul is my mother, Stephen is my mother, Colbert is my mother. #All a social construct.

Now the word 'woman' is a social construction just well. It makes no sense distinguishing only across gender sense. The feminist in us don't despise being a woman, it despises the meaning attached to it, so we hold our heads and stop bowing, in a long sudden, we don't want to be a man but we want the meaning that comes with it, that is what we want to be.

We must remember the beautiful people. those who with their rags, their looks - reminds us still of the void inherent in us.

My friend, I'm sorry you would die and I will dance. Do so- yourself.