ìjàré

Locked on the steps of the hinterland

On the foot of scattered hills

ìjàré

Yet a Valley, yet a plain, yet on a plateau

Hidden behind dusty roads

Unknown mystery until seen

Not a birthplace of Kola-nut

But owned it.

Scorched masquerades in its wakes

It is the cult of ọlọ́fin

Not since Genesis

had friends' dispute founded a land

ìjàré

An outpost broken in quarrel

Solved by broken Obì

Sing not my Haiku

The Life I chose to live

Not when the rain falls

nor the sun shines

The pick of my breath

The last of my unknown past

To you my destiny

I am here for the picking

To my predisposition

Do I still dig deeper or continue digging?

I belong to the unspoken days

I am counted with the unseen

How liberating!

A caveat; a cornerstone

Sing not my Haiku -I have a longer span

I chose my words -They are my binds

My thoughts - Unwritten

History are what I did untouched

Not what is written of me

or will never be.