Skip to main content
A LETTER TO MY CRUSH
..By Ola Vincent Omotade

So i started the letter with few Yoruba poetic lines

Omo tuntun kan tide adugbo...
Elumide loruko re , omo baba ELU ni o!
Adumaradan, omo eleje tutu.
Ara mi aya ti mo ba ri ni kuutu.

After reading this Yoruba serenade, she took the letter to read with great admiration, she read out the name on the letter

 "Ola Vincent Omotade.."

She hisses "mtchewwwwww"

Joke the cool headed, smiles as this words bounced off her vocal chords

"who wrote you a letter? she said

Oh, the letter is from this guy who calls himself
Ola Vincent jare..

Joke answered, that poet ko, the one crushing on you, lets see what he wrote there now, a romantic poem i guess..

I don't know for him.
Joke hijacked the letter from her  and read to the room of six.

Dear Elumide,

"Be a Good girl and face your studies, keep a straight face, don't talk to boys, talk to girls only..you could talk to Vincent anyways.. You know he is a  man of God "

Lol.. I wrote this onset paradox, its a letter. What if mumcy sees this letter first..? Then i'm done for.

But Mide if you're reading this, its a medical note, a summary of a lecture you missed while you were home. Mummy if you're reading this, you don't need to. Trust us, its purely academical.

Yea.. Mide
With no intended insolence or schematic plot of tomfoolery towards you, l'll like to remind you of how breathtakingly  gorgeously you look.

 Any human who desperately needs to see the Arabaribitiness (Almightiness) of God should  come to Osun state, where you, Elumide was birthed.

God's enviable creation,  i think i have a feel of what heaven looks like since heaven resides with you, visibly with a topnotch nose, edible looking lips,  resplendently glowing eye balls, aesthetically radiating sets of teeth, a perfected height and gratifying shaped curves..

Please accept these as an appreciation of architectural eloquence through you holy kisses (Romans 16:16) lol , hugs and accolades aplenty..

See you soon..

#Yours dearly
#Pastor Ola

Who knows, if mummy would skim through the letter to the last word to see who wrote it..

Laughs

 #PoetryPowerPeople

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

FEBRUARY 27

By Ola Vincent Omotade Aderonke will be my only poem that never ends, For a good woman is but a poem. A genuine poem that comes in blue moon. You are a jewel of purest gold, The smile that never grows old. You are the beauty of the sunset sky, The intricate twinkle of a happy star. You are the keeper of an unborn life, A champion, heroine, a candlelight . You are a budding shoot, evergreen, a colourful sweetness. Your laughter is like the whirlwind of the spirit, it  keeps resounding in the valleys and hills of life and motions. Encircling the hearts of men with magical notions. So now the night of January is past and the day of February is broken Today speaks of this calmness, this brightness,the one you brought. Today carries  messages of heavy words, Words that are pregnant with beauty for you. And with my golden mouth and pen, I wish to celebrate your existence. What joy of a fuller and freer life, have I got if onl...
2 comments
Read more

''AM A BLACK ANGEL"

By Ola Vincent Omotade I look dark in the outside But deep within my fragile heart, lies a light. "The brightest light that shines so bright" Just as the rainbow in its gloomily, Brightens and beautifies the clouds, After a stormy rain, so I shine in your gloominess I am a black angel yet I brighten your darkest. So I stood every morning causing a radiance to your awesome smile. Even when it seems am unnoticed, I keep making you colourful and accepted. So many decades ago, I was sent to come make you fulfill To come bring you splendor in vendors. My beautiful self have I sold to your love, I live all day radically enraptured  in your world. I am your BLACK ANGEL
Post a Comment
Read more

ÌGBÀ ÈWE (CHILDHOOD DAYS)

By Teslim Opemipo Let our mothers come like harmattan haze and swear by the sacrality of ògún if the roof lying above their fathers' house has never been stoned by a boy in love to walk them out for an evening talk. Let our fathers come like a windy rain and swear by the simplicity of òsun if the path that leads to the village stream has never danced to serenades sang by their soles in chase of maidens with braids so long. Let the elders come like a mid-year harvest and swear by the tranquility of the moon if they've not once tasted the bliss of childhood fermented with the morals of moonlight tales. In our village, childhood is made of water; kinsmen, remember, water is brewed with life and life is the laughter moulded on our lips when we gambol from rivers to trees and to fields painted in the colours of hopping grasses. Brethren, if you hear an elder saying: growing up kills laughter and joy, do not giggle for they once like us tasted the bliss o...
Post a Comment
Read more