Winsala Muses Limited.

Subject: Micro poem (38words)


Stamping legs, run nakedly
on the sandy ground.
Triggering the mouth
To burst loose spontaneously


And filling the air
With pleasant odour of pleasance
Dropping down the society
Like a Champaign, pop for
Gold winner at the Olympic.

Grace pen

Àdògán: Tripod

Yòrùbá bọ̀
wọ́n ní àrò mẹ́ta kìí d’ọbẹ̀ nù
which was what killed our heroes
pulling away at democracy
from the grip of the military man


Àgbà mẹ́ta níí ṣèlú
So we were convinced
to embrace this so-called government
of the people by and for the people
But were stabbed in the back


In the early hours of a mischievous day—
or so I was told—
a mug of coffee in his hold,
“Behold . . . Nigeria!” He announced,
that clownishly mustached Lord Lugard


Alára l’ára ò rò òun,
those freaking colonial monsters,
wọ́n ní ó kú àìsùn ó kú àìwo
And since then we’ve all been stuck
to this gloomy destiny sitting, dangerously, on a ticking time bomb


Our federal structure looks shaky
Adìyẹ wá ti bà l’okùn
But its numerous ethno patches
bonded with drops of ephostic glue
won’t part ways, unfortunately,
Ara ò r’okùn . . . ara ò rò adìyẹ


So why the adamant pull?

It may seem hard
but until we cluster our heads
under the tripod of harmony,
this fledgling raging fire
may never burn. .


Muneer Yaqub🙈❤️


The platter of pleasure
Is praised In the presence of philistinism.
Spurting sweat and saliva
Is swallowed with smile and simper with no thought of hygiene
Or of what body they are come.


You empty yourself for love_
I ennoble you, a need to help.
You spread her love in the air_
Happy me, there is need to love.
You steal from the sorrow of tomorrow just to put smile in her face_
It’s well, love knows no bound_
I accede, love is blind.


But as time flies
After the spell bite the dust
And you smell the blitz of reality_
Will you still be her rocking bass_
Singing mellifluously, a Nightingale
And consume the pains as of old?


When she unveil the veil
And Rehab becomes better_
Will your love still abound?
Who wants a street toilet, a wife?
Tell me, will love still be blind?


When she transposes your brain with her high heels_
An intermediary of enmity
Betwen you and your loved ones.
Will you overlook her erratums
And cuddle her to inner room?


When she drian dries your pocket
And your hand becomes too deep to essence of her smile and love.
When she sells your fortune
And spend the money for beauty_
Will you tell her “You are beautiful”
And work another fortune in time to come?
When she breaks the limit to human endurance_
Will love still be blind?


And if love forces to be blind_
And the music goes on_
It will echo in your heart.
Will love still be blind?

I stand at bay watching_
Learning the language of my ink_
Learning how to handle my pen.




The morning sun arrives with a furnace,
blazing hot as hell one,
in my cage I lie,
solitary with many eyes,
each one for his pain,
no sympathy except for oneself.


The day arrives with the earth bellows,
making our feet’s go sour on each step,
the roof becomes as hot as asteroids,
then no place to call home,
in purgatory we’ll reside.


Dusk arrives as cool as the refrigerator,
giving us a literal whiteness,
we become as the arctic,
evening is a merchant trading our joy for the pains of the morrow.


Dinner arrives with plates of scorpions,
stinging our brains for prominence,
in this phase we smile with our teeth,
as our broken bones we set to lay,
awaiting the burden of tomorrow’s sun.


Olumide oripinye (Tzeblon)


Before you go to bed
look out the window,
count the stars,
see those glowing eyes hailing even your misdeeds,
craving your mistakes,
to them you became Orisa,
you forgot our land is a bed of thorns,
can you see the times when these million’s mouth won’t remember anymore,
the times when you were their Bahubali,
when you were their brain’s everything,
can you envision the time when your knees like breeze blowing over the waters become,
can you envision the time when the moon will become half,

Olumide oripinye (Tzeblon)

Subject: Review


My Passion for Poetry (v2)

My heavy mind, swayed away;
Fell flat on the floor,
To kissed the clay;
It suffered from overloads-
Of isolated potentials;
Willing to see the sky.

These sat smart in my heart-
On a scant sheet_
Swallowing the assiduity in me.
Bit by bit a mad man was emerging:
Talking alone whilst walking-
On the road.

Mom’s word knocked up
My dancing mouth;
Running fast as if I’m chewing gum.
Spotting out the stains-
People poured on me.

The day, the wind delivered-
What people said;
My opened eyes sees nothing-
Than the Tap dropping-
Flows on my cheeky cheeks.

I dropped the load,
Along the road of depression_
Sitting down on one-
Of the product; alone with my thoughts_
Along with a note,
And that’s what here.

Grace Pen
(Rewrite of version 1.5)



I have sold all my goodness
To the goodness of all
And here I am ditched
Like an infectional disease.


Here, the ring in love I have
Given to you like all was well
But you thrown me out like
A beggar at Begger begging.


You inflicted me with pains
Which no one is able to see
Because your charming smile
Has covered ’em all like layers.


I cry daily in your afflictions
While you enjoy the comfort
Of my love in its complacency.
But deep within, I am dying.


Give me peace I pray-
For this smile in tears
I cannot fancy pretence-
-deep within, I am dying.

I stand at bay watching_
Learning the language of my ink_
Learning how to handle my pen



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March 16, 2020


March 16, 2020

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