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Papa | Badejo E. Wuraola

For the umpteen time

I cry bitterly

And for the very first time in my life,

I really understand what pain is;

But, was it for the sadness

Of losing one's father at a tender age

Or for the sorrow that plagued mother's heart?

Even up to this day, I can't answer that myself.

Amidst the mourning, came a woman

Though in tears yet, she wears a burning rage

And with this wisp of flaming rage,

She beat mother to pulp

Cos she believed mother was the killer.

Little did she know how mother loved her husband.

Twelve years is like yesterday,

Missing you is a part of me now.

But living without your love is hatred; not to you

but for life — life is an odd foul.

When the earth kissed my breath,

I knew you are a wonderful father;

Your wife is living since you've passed away,

She lives in the absence of your midnight touch

and morning smile without another man.

Yes! She lives in the solitude of your departure.

All she cares about is your seven fruits —

and she has vowed without moving lips for

their better morrow. We are living well, Papa.

Adieu Baba mi

Té Amo.


BADEJO WURAOLA ENIOLA hails from Ogun State, Nigeria.
She is a passionate writer and she is proficient at it.
Although, her educational qualification/career is still at its secondary  level, yet, she strives for excellence.

You can reach her

for free publishing on Philip Peace Literary World, CLICK HERE FOR SUBMISSION GUIDELINES


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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

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