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Thursday, 21 December 2023

NEVER AGAIN...

Let me tell you a story —

Not of a king.

Of a little boy called G.O.A.

 

His dreams were bigger than his pocket,

yet life was serving him gari and groundnut "like say na 5-star dining"

Uniform torn.

Socks missing.

But every morning he still ran after school

like tomorrow had saved him a seat.

 




Then came the knock.

Loud.

The kind that shakes hope off the wall.

 

Landlady’s son came for rent.

His father came home tired —

Lagos buses, heavy loads, weight no child should know.

 

One word led to another.

Anger entered.

A screwdriver spoke.

And blood fell where dignity used to stand.

 

Then a whisper:

“How much is left?”

The room broke:

“Two naira.”

 

Two naira

A father’s blood for something that couldn’t even buy gala and Coke.

 

In that silence, childhood packed its bag and left.

Responsibility walked in without knocking.

 

And that little boy made a vow:

“Never again.”

Never again would poverty write his family’s story.

Never again would lack disgrace their name.

 

So he worked when others complained.

He learned when others settled.

He endured when quitting looked sweet.

 

Hard work wasn’t enough

so he chose wisdom over excuses,

purpose over pity,

vision over circumstance.

 

Step by step.

Prayer by prayer.

Scar by scar.

His future started answering the promise he made that day.

 

Today,

the boy who watched his father bleed

now places house keys and car keys

into those same hands that once carried the burden.

 

The parents who once counted two naira

now count blessings.

And every memory has turned to testimony.

 

So when you see G.O.A.,

don’t just clap for the applause.

First, honor the pain that produced it.

 

Because the deepest wounds birth the greatest strength,

and the darkest nights give birth to the brightest mornings.

 

So remember this, when life says your beginning is too small:

Pain may introduce you.

but purpose will announce you.

 

And if you remember nothing else:

We don’t look like what we’ve been through.


About the poet:

Gideon Adeyeye is a performing poet and spoken word artist with nearly a decade of experience exploring the depths of human vulnerability, mental resilience, and emotional healing.


Wednesday, 2 August 2023

FROM THE HANDS THAT TRIED TO STEAL IT...

 One silent night, when the traffic stood still,

my father answered a question time could never kill.

“The happiest day of my life,” he said, soft and clear,

“was the day my first child was born.”

 

I was meant to be asleep in the back seat, small and unaware,

too young to know those words would follow me everywhere.

Years later I learned — it wasn’t just love in his tone,

it was ink on a page I didn’t know I’d own.

The first chapter of an assignment written over my name:

 




Then came an afternoon, my brother home bleeding,

and I ran to my father expecting a hero to come leading.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t shout.

He just looked in my eyes and asked,

“What are you going to do about it?”

 

I wanted rescue.

He wanted to raise one.

That question broke me out of fear,

out of excuses, out of childhood.

 

So I stood.

For my brother.

I found my voice.

I took back his power from the hands that tried to steal it.

And that day, I stopped being just a brother.

I became a protector.

 

When I came back, my father didn’t clap.

He didn’t make a speech.

He just smiled and said,

“You’ve done a good job.”

 

And those five words became my inheritance.

Heavier than gold.

Louder than any crowd.

 

Because being firstborn isn’t a privilege.

It’s a calling.

To carry the weight before anyone feels it.

To walk first so others learn the path.

To be strong until they are strong enough to stand alone.

 

 

That is the legacy my father never just told me

He lived it.

And taught me to live it too.


About the poet:

Gideon Adeyeye is a performing poet and spoken word artist with nearly a decade of experience exploring the depths of human vulnerability, mental resilience, and emotional healing.

Monday, 1 May 2023

LOVE CAN BE EXPENSIVE

 I watched my mother count money

as though every note had a heartbeat.

Bills gathered around her like hungry birds,

and she kept dividing what little she had

into pieces large enough for all of us.

 




She worked while the world slept,

carried burdens she never placed on our shoulders,

and smiled with a tiredness

I was too young to understand

but old enough to remember.

 

There was a particular pain in watching her struggle,

loving someone whose hands were always busy

building a life that kept collapsing beneath its cost.

I wanted to help,

but childhood had empty pockets.

 

Sometimes I watched her come home

and wondered how much exhaustion

a person's body could hide behind a smile.

She rarely called her sacrifices sacrifices.

She simply called them life.

 

I learned early that love can be expensive,

not because it asks for money,

but because it asks people to give pieces of themselves

they may never get back.

My mother gave many of hers.

 

So her sacrifices became seeds beneath my skin.

Every dream I carry remembers her name.

I want to build a life where the people I love

do not have to choose between survival and peace,

where her labour finally has somewhere to rest.

 

About the poet:

Olatinwo Yushau is a compassionate, deeply intuitive poet, performer, and author whose creative practice centers on survival, resilience, and the human evolution through adversity

Sunday, 30 April 2023

SHOOT YOUR DREAMS...


Hey, listen...
In the history books of black women 
where uncommon boldness, 
that out-of-this-world DARE TO BE DIFFERENT sagacity lives,
There was 
-The Dahomey Amazons




There was 
Resilient in the fiery bones of
-The unyielding Olufunmilayo Ransome Kuti
-The Unbroken Sojourner Truth
-The rising Maya
 Angelou
-The Magnificient Miriam Makeba
- The Fearless Yaa Asantewa
-Relentless Dora Akunyili

Yes, Yes..
There is the 
Amiable Malala Yousafzai
Undaunted Joyce Banda
Impeccable Folashade Ogunsola
The driven Ellen Johnson
The wise Folake Solanke
The “never backing down” Kemi Bakare
The unbeaten Donna Ogunnaike
The tireless Aisha Yesufu
The roaring Wangari Maatthai

And now, there is you
A wild promising, 
A fast-rising maverick wonder,  
generation of warriors  rising from her shoulders...
You 
...Okeleye Damilola Dorcas...

Yes...
Look at me,
Look to see if you can decipher what this seer sees
See, 
someone said if what you live all your life for isn't worth dying for.
Then, it isn't worth living for.
Ask yourself to ask yourself, what are you living for?

Damilola
You - Glittering like stars in the heart of the sky
Be bold, blast through your fears like a shining star
Tear yourself into particles of your dreams;
Burst forth like gas caged in cylinders
Break age-long barriers
Walk your name into immortality

Do not die before you leave
Do not leave until you have lived
Yes
Mark Lawrence chanted everybody dies but not everybody lives
But you must live, like legends do
Clasping In your hands the time of many kings

Oba mewa Igba Mewa
Seriki ngoma, samani goma
Remember
Oruko rere san ju opolopo wura ati fadaka lo 

Like never before, be your own fan
When you fall a hundred times
Rise a hundred and one 

Unleash!
Shoot your dreams with triggers of incurable optimism
Do not retreat
Do not relapse
Burn the midnight oil
Fan the flames!
Fan the flames!
Fan the flames!

Hold faith on your fists
Let rain fall, as you punch your way through a thunder strike
Fear not, stand firm, the adversities of today 
makes tomorrow a brighter rewarding adventure...
makes tomorrow a sweeter wine

Remember 
Before a seed becomes a forest, It starts with a leaf.

Congratulations!


©BankHALL
Edited by: Adetimehin Victor Inioluwa (Vic'Adex)
26.03.2023
........This piece was a token gift to OKELEYE OLUWADAMILOLA DORCAS, for emerging Winner; BankHALL Media Maiden Online Yoruba to English Poetry Translation Prompt 2023.
TO GET A MUSICAL AUDIO VERSION OF THIS PIECE, REACH BANKHALL MEDIA VIA WHATSAPP ON +2348127745061 OR +2348035138888