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My Oyinkansola

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by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

In my beautiful ‘dansiki’
I observe her shyness
She attempts to use ‘ipele’
to cover her radiant face
Her presence increases heartbeat
Beauty flows inwardly and outwardly
Black, beautiful angels walk on earth
They are treasures humans seek to find
I am no seeker
Yet I find a treasure; a black angel.

Heart purer than white pap
Face tender than mushroom
Words she possess melt iron
Loveliness of her ways
far too good to be rated by words
Beads worn on her hands and neck
Dangle to the rhythm of the ‘ewi’
that I read romantically to her ears.

If only she would be forever mine
I will dance on my head
While Lagbaja beat me the talking drum
I will drink palm-wine from dawn to dusk
I will pay dowry with cowry
I will revive traditional ways in her honour.

Her loveliness surpasses modernity
She is the kind “Alarinas” spot with ease
She will scratch wall with hands
While I whisper loving words to ears.
Oh no! I have to wake up from this dream
Oyinkan belongs to no one
Yet she belongs to all.

None can boast of owning the sun
I can’t own
But I can bear her up in my hands
While others try to catch her sight.
From Oyindemilade to my own Oyinkansola.

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