taelolu's poems Scroll π
The First Poem
THE POTTERY IN THE COSMIC
For those of you who worship God your Creator with fear and not with love, with the fear of hellfire guiding your footpaths, I want you to differ, for God is love and He has no religion!
Of my rhymes and verses, you can reap some rhythms and lyrics, if you scroll with diligent attention. You can not but love all these poetic expressions.
In a realm where clay takes form,
There was a potter, skilled and warm.
He baked his pots with love and care,
And gave them life, beyond compare.
He set three commitments for each pot,
To follow, cherish, and never forgot.
"Law one," he said, with a gentle voice,
"Don't be mere pots, make my heart rejoice.
Law two, my dear pots, do not hold within,
Any water or burden, it's a grave sin.
For I, your creator, know what's best,
To keep you strong, and forever blessed.
And law three, my pots, I implore you to see,
That no other master should you ever plea.
For I alone, your creator divine,
Deserve your loyalty, till the end of time."
Yet these laws, the pots did fail to keep,
As their nature and purpose ran too deep.
They behaved as pots, with no remorse,
But the potter's love stayed its course.
They held water, and carried loads,
Disobeying the potter's gentle codes.
But the potter, wise and understanding,
Smiled at their transgressions, never demanding.
For what concerned the pots, was not their plea,
But the love that breathed life into pottery.
The potter knew, as he broke each pot apart,
It was to give them a fresh, new start.
New bodies, new shapes, patterns, and hue,
Their souls untouched, forever true.
That's why these pots, time and again,
Returned to the potter, to be remade and sustain.
Isn't it a fresh start for the pots once and for all!?
For they don't ask for this gift of life after all!
It's out of love that makes the potter give life to all, mere clay, i know the potter breaks his pots,
only to give the individual pot some shots,
of a new shape, some new patterns and lots.
But the same soul that he has never hack,
That's why those pots kept coming back!
The Second Poem
The title of this poem is:
"The Wings of Age."
Like the contents of a recycle bin,
so we take the cycle of life thin,
coming in and going out different times without reason,
like the evaporation of water at a different season.
Of my rhymes and verses, you can reap some rhythms and lyrics, if you scroll with diligent attention. You can not but love all these poetic expressions.
How soaring faster is the wings of life,
as eager as husband thirsty for his wife,
wait for none surely are the time and tide,
How do we woo the wind to give us a ride?
'twas like i was born yesterday!
even though i'm forty-five exactly today!
Mili-second grows into seconds,
Second grows into minutes,
minute grows into hours,
hour grows into days,
day grows into weeks,
week grows into months,
month grows into years,
ten years grow into one decade,
ten decades grow into one century,
ten centuries grow into one millennium.
So too a baby grows into a kid,
a kid grows into a teenager,
a teenager grows into a youth,
5 o'clock we wake up for the strife,
early in the morning full of life.
we take our bath and put on a new garment,
10 o'clock in the morning we go out to our daily routine,
that is our timeline from baby to teenager.
13 o'clock in the afternoon,
we play and play and play and play,
that is how we spend our teenage era!
2 o'clock,
3 o'clock,
4 o'clock,
and 5 o'clock,
we work and work and work and work,
such is the way adults spend their
twenties,
thirties,
forties,
and fifties.
6 o'clock in the evening,
we are very exhausted and full of fatigue,
such is the life when you are becoming old at sixties!
now 'tis 8 o'clock a little bit after the sunset,
we retire into our twilight chair,
as we are surrounded by the folklores children!
you will surely do that when you become eighties!
that is when you are completely old to the bone,
and lucky enough to be surrounded with your grand children.
now 'tis 10 o'clock in the death of the dusk,
we go into the house, we eat our last dinner for the day,
we go into the bed room,
we shut the door,
we climb onto the bed,
we shut our eyelids,
as we soundly sleep,
due to the stressful day's activities.
that is when you are lucky enough,
to be a centenarian!
as you are are exactly one hundred years old!
and go after all to your peaceful grave,
while you are shut away from the noisy earth,
as you are covered upon by the cloth of death,
every now and then we see ourselves,
on the track of a new theatrical timeline,
starting the sa
me drama over and over again,
5 o'clock in the morning,
that is how we start the drama over and over again,
The title of this poem is
"The Wings of Age."
Abraham Taelolu Babarinde.
The Third Poem
An African Genius
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Elephant knows that it's heavy.
Lion knows that it's wild so fiercely.
Why won't a real genius know that he is indeed a genius?
After all, it's the soul that bears it for us.
Of my rhymes and verses, you can reap some rhythms and lyrics, if you scroll with diligent attention. You can not but love all these poetic expressions.
In the heart of Africa, where dreams are born,
A helpless genius is squatting with brilliance adorned.
With eyes that sparkle and a mind so bright,
A beacon of hope, shining within his heart's night.
Altho unnecessary lot may seem to hold me down,
my spirit soars amidst tears, refusing to be drown.
For within my soul, a fire of innovation does burn,
as a dream that will cause the world to yearn.
Oh, helpless genius, the whole world awaits,
to witness the tech's nearing amidst steady gaits.
Your potential, indeed like the African sun,
will surely encapsulate everyone with great fun.
Through trials and tribulations, i'll fly,
like a phoenix, soaring across the sky.
Determined and resilient, shall i flee,
to become an icon of success is enough a glee.
For Africa's children, you're a guiding light,
A source of strength shining ever bright.
With my techy innovation i surely will make things possible,
inspiring the whole world as the economy become stable!
Oh world! We can overcome.
Oh world we too can shine.
With this african genius, we are so divine.
the future of technology is nothing but our home!
With hope and determination, i'll make my stands,
tho for the worthy tech i've lost of my hairs some strands.
with all the potential backers in the form of my wings,
i surely can fly with the feathers of the same wings.
Oh world! Rally behind this African genius so unique and pure,
Support this visionary as you help him mature.
For in my techy invention we all shall surely find,
A brilliant revolution just for the humankind.
Abraham Taelolu Babarinde.
The Fourth Poem
Labelled as: my first poetic Ladder
Title: I climbed a ladder
With my knowledge of poetry as a poet, I have invented what is called Column Reader or Pillar Reader. This is a type of poetry where some words are numbered vertically one after the other in such a way that when you read these numbered words, starting from the first word numbered as "1", then the word numbered as "2" and so on, it will make sense either as a phrase or as a complete sentence.
The Pillar Reader has two formats. They are Ladder πͺ Reader and Waterfall π Reader.
Ladder πͺ reader is a format in which the numbering pattern follows the act of climbing up and down the ladder. That is, if one numbering starts at the top of the vertical line, the other vertical line starts its numbering at the bottom of itself, and so on, hence the name Ladder πͺ Reader. It can have a single column, or two columns, or a maximum of three columns.
On the other hand, Waterfall π Reader is a format where the numbering of each word within each vertical line starts from the top, hence it is called Waterfall π Reader. Note that this format can also have a single column, or two columns, or a maximum of three columns.
Examples:
Ladder πͺ Reader and Waterfall π Reader.
Below are the examples that best illustrate how the two formats discussed above actually look.
Ladder πͺ Reader
Hidden in my rhymes and rhythms are the ladders of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a double ladder hidden in the wall of a prominent work of art; as you descend the first ladder, you can only climb the second!
Instructions: While you read the poem below in the usual way, there are two extra sentences lurking within the content of the script in the form of two ladders as numbered in the artwork, descend the first ladderπͺ while you ascend the second ladder πͺ, following the rungs of each ladder in the form of numbered words! A good reading.
The title is: A Poem by a Poet that is a Poetic Poem!
(First Ladder)!
π
πͺ
I¹ am a poet¹⁶ whose poems are poetic
climb² on my roof and show us how long¹⁵!
a³ poet like me is¹⁴ yet to be born
Ladder⁴ and¹³ chair have their rungs
To be honest, a poet's rungs are his rhymes!
Pluck⁶ a poet's rhyme and¹¹ a ladder's rung is out!
a⁷ sage's rungs are indeed his rhythm¹⁰ lots
ripe⁸ to hold the⁹ mad savage with a wisdom
Mango⁹ is captivating on its own⁸ mother tree,
and¹⁰ a pretty maid is her mother's delight!
I¹¹ am a sage⁶ with my boatloads of odd talents,
Put my rhymes safely in your book of trial,
it¹³ can't be truer than I am the only one of my kind!
Inside¹⁴ a new me, another rebirth of a poet!
a¹⁵ sage who has long gone to the² occult beyond,
Basket¹⁶ this season to¹ hide good harvest.
πͺ
π
(The second ladder)!
The first ladder πͺ reads? = (can you read the words)?
The second ladder πͺ reads = (can you read the words)?
The Fifth Poem
Labelled as: my first poetic Waterfall
Title: The Days Of Our Life
Below is my first waterfall π reader:
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
Instruction: The poem below, which is styled as a waterfall, you will find that there are two other sentences that lurk within the current of the ocean script in the form of a two-tiered waterfall as numbered in the artwork, descend the first waterfall π as well as the second waterfall π . follow the current of each waterfall in the form of some numbered words! Good reading.
The title is: A poet's poetic lines of a stalking guest!
First Waterfall π Second Waterfall π
π. π
How¹ 'ny days of a century¹ and a hundred days?
Many times you see nothing that is² there and
Days³ are nothing but³ the twins of nights
are you aware of an unwanted guest in a corner?
There is a time eater and you are the time giver!
In many ways you have lost your days to him,
Our⁷ days to Him are⁷ loaves of bread so buttered,
Life is but a butterfly, it can wait for no one.
Even though you try to be wise, the man distracts you,
if¹⁰ I can only make it a request of a genie,
every February would be a hundred days!
our life could have been the longest for us,³
for us,¹³ so that we may truly¹³ fulfil our old wishes.
is there anyone who has never hesitated?
Sure!¹⁵ There isn't one, because I have plenty of time too!
Be a¹⁶ guest and overcome your procrastination,
spend¹⁷ your time¹⁷ wisely, for a lost minute is worth
only a day if I used to produce nothing!
a¹⁹ journey of a million miles should not take a
century²⁰ before you can actually complete it,
and²¹ if you make it up to a century, an achiever,
a²² result of days spent wisely²² is the only proof!
A hundred²³ enough²³ of years would be useless if
days²⁴ in fact²⁴ unwittingly betrayed seconds.
The first waterfall π reads? = (can you read the words)?
The second waterfall π reads: = (can you read the words)?
The Sixth Poem
Title: "The Den of Wealth,"
Two friends, both poor alike, go to a casino, "The Den of Wealth," One made fortune so luxurious while the other one met with misfortune so penurious.
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
In the land of dreams and games of chance,
Where fortunes were made with every dance,
Lived two gamblers, skilled in the art,
Whose lives would soon be torn apart.
In a casino grand, "The Den of Wealthy," it's called,
ΓrΓ³kΓ² and α»lα»́lΓ‘jayΓ©, their fortunes, enthralling and enthralled,
Together they entered, hearts pounding with delight,
Their pockets full of dreams, their eyes shining bright.
ΓrΓ³kΓ², a man of daring and greed,
Sought to increase his wealth with every single deed,
He gambled and wagered, day and night,
Chasing the ever-elusive fortune, with all his might.
But α»lα»́lΓ‘jayΓ©, wise and serene,
Saw the path to success in a different scene,
With his newfound riches, he set sail,
And established a shipping company, without fail.
Ships sailed the seas, with his name on their mast,
And his wealth grew, spreading far and vast,
Luxurious houses, he built for his kin,
Daughters and sons, his love within.
Women adorned him, with their love and grace,
His name whispered in every elegant place,
His wealth became a tale, told from mouth to mouth,
A legend of success, spreading from north to south.
But ΓrΓ³kΓ²'s fate took a different twist,
His riches dwindling, like a forgotten mist,
The Den of Wealthy, took all he had won,
Leaving him with nothing, he was undone.
In his dreams, he saw what he had lost,
His greed, his pride, the ultimate cost,
While α»lα»́lΓ‘jayΓ©, with each passing day,
Thrived in fortune's embrace, without delay.
So, remember this tale, of these two friends,
One's downfall, the other's ascend,
For life's choices, they shape our fate,
And greed can lead to a sorrowful state.
The Seventh Poem
Title: The Ape's Wisdoms
A hunter met an Ape in the forest. The ape is with some wisdoms as a foreseer. It tells the hunter futuristic wisdoms.
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
In a forest deep and dark and old,
A hunter stumbled upon a tale to be told,
An ape with eyes of wisdom and a heart of gold,
A foreteller of futuristic tales to unfold.
The ape spoke of life and love and riches too,
Of technology that would make the world anew,
Of life and death and reincarnation's sway,
And the hunter listened with a curious heart and mind each day.
"In time to come," the ape did say,
"Riches and wealth will fade away,
But knowledge and wisdom will stand the test,
And love and kindness will be the greatest treasure to possess."
The ape foretold of a world in motion,
Where technology would bring both joy and devotion,
But also warned of the dangers of the heart,
Of greed and hate and love's darkest part.
"Death is but a door to new beginnings,"
The ape did say with a knowing grin,
"And those who live with love and light,
Will find reincarnation's path to win."
The hunter left the forest with a newfound view,
Of the world and all its mysteries anew,
And though the ape's words were hard to understand,
He knew that wisdom's lessons would forever stand.
The Eighth Poem
Title: The Shadow's Revelation
A bride who's so beautiful that she believes that no one is as beautiful as she is. One day in an african night, when the earthen lamps are brightly burning, sees her shadow casts the ugly image of her. She is so angry that she asks her shadow, "what has come upon you? whose image is that on the wall? Are you raining on me some abusive portraits!" The shadow says, "No! Far from that. You only see the beautiful me early in the morning. The Alluring me in the afternoon and this ugly me in the night!" Then she asks "why?" Then the shadow says, "...this image of me that you see now is how you look when you grow old!" As it says so her pride melt down.
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
In African night, where lamps burn bright,
A bride distraught by a startling sight,
Her shadow cast in eerie light,
Revealing truth that none could write.
"O shadow, twisted, image grim,
Whose face is that upon the rim?
Are you mocking my beauty's hymn,
With this visage so frail and dim?"
The shadow spoke with voice so low,
"Beauty fades as age does grow,
Morning's charm and noonday's flow,
Night unveils what time bestows."
"Why show me this, cruel trick of fate?"
The bride implored in anxious state,
Her pride dissolved as shadows sate,
Revealed her true and aging mate.
In African tale of pride and woe,
Beauty transcends what eyes bestow,
Identity in shadows' show,
A dirge of beauty, lost below.
The Ninth Poem
Title: The Parrot's Prophecy
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
In a humble hut in the heart of the African land,
A boy ventured, bold and grand.
Through village deep, his path he weaves,
He finds a Parrot under some baobab trees.
O mighty Parrot with wisdom old,
Foreteller of stories untold,
Speak now of life's intricate dance,
Of love, riches, fate's grand expanse.
"Brave Kid," the parrot begun,
"Time's sands are ever on the run.
Each breath you take, each step you trace,
Leads you closer to life's embrace."
"Aging comes as sure as morn,
But from it, wisdom shall be born.
Embrace the cycle without fear,
And let each moment draw near."
"Death is but a fleeting end,
A passage to where spirits blend.
Rejoice in journeys yet to tread,
For from death springs new life instead."
"Dreams are whispers from the soul,
To guide you towards your highest goal.
In them lies your truths profound,
Awaiting to be unbound."
Aging, Dreams, Journey, and Spirituality,
Anxiety, Bravery, and Freedom.
Let us heed of the parrot's wisdom,
and embrace the mysteries of life with integrity.
The Tenth Poem
Title: "AginjΓΉ- αΊΈ̀rΓΉjαΊΉ̀jαΊΉ̀," - meaning, "The Scary Forest."
The animals argue about which amongst the tribes of the forest that are the most closest to the human beings, the african elephants boasts that they are mysteriously the shape shifters ever exists. Then they all shifted into the shape of human beings.
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
Ten African hunters, five women and five men,
as if they were husbands and wives,
roamed about in vain the scary forest,
to hunt some games but without a success.
Just when they were returning to the village,
they took an unexplored route within the range,
and somewhere they eavesdrop voices of animals, what are they saying in the forest called,
"AginjΓΉ- αΊΈ̀rΓΉjαΊΉ̀jαΊΉ̀?"
- meaning, "The Scary Forest."
monkeys said they don't need all that trouble because they are already in the form of the humans.
The tortoises said they don't need to look like human beings before they could be called the wise one, they are wise and that's the reason why african tribes refer to them in their folklores.
buffaloes said they hate humans, so they don't want their image.
apes said they are wiser than the humans, and that to turn into the humans forms is a lot of downgrading.
The deers said african tribes really know that they are not ordinary animals. So they also shifted their bodies into the humans forms.
Lions said they are the kings, the royal family upon both the animals and the human beings equally.
This made the elephants got angry, there began a great fight,
amongst the animals which caused great commotion. trife
The animals started biting one another, stampeding upon one another. Tearing one another's flesh apart. They are booming, roaring, trumpeting,howling. An Ape climbed up a tree and an elephant uprooted the tree.
While the gruesome fight still goes on,
each hunter unwaveringly set its hungry gun,
and pointed the pipes at them from different angles,
from the different ranges the deadly dynamite began to explode. "
"bowng!" ""ghaum!" ""ghoarl!" ""downg!" ""powng!" ""kehwing!" ""ghoum!" ""bhoarl!" ""khoarl!" ""gheemng!"
went the calling guns one after the other.
Each load of fire that came out of each gun,
killed at least, three to four animals,
hence, there were lots of animals on the ground.
they were lying there as dead as some wooden logs.
How many animals had those hungry ten guns killed?
The animals dare not wait to count each of them.
The remaining ones, both the wounded and not,
ran helter-skelter wise.
One of the women hunters with an anger said,
"No matter what, animals should never compare themselves with humans!"
The Eleventh Poem
Title: Ambition's Dance (An Abraham Taelolu Babarinde Sonnet)
Of my rhymes and rhythms you are about to read, it is a waterfall of creativity. Descend the ladder and consume the harvest. It's a multi-level waterfall of two cascading currents hidden within the wall of a striking work of art, you only have to descend each of the currents to unlock its wisdom.
In dreams, a boat drifts on the storm’s cruel tide,
No paddlers guide its course, no oars to steer,
An aimless journey where the waves decide,
Love lost amid the tempest’s chilling leer.
Nature's wrath propels the vessel fast,
A dance of chaos on the boundless sea,
Recovery seems like a distant past,
As depths of confusion swallow me.
But in this trial, courage finds its voice,
Bravery awakened by the howling gale,
Confidence born through trials of choice,
Ironic twist in this harsh sailor’s tale.
Through depths of sorrow and depression deep,
My ambition's dance, a promise to keep.
The Twelfth Poem
The title of this twelfth poem is also "The Twelfth Poem"!
Don't confuse alcohol with nicotine. There are only the sensible senses in reading the poem itself! Good reading!
Of my rhymes and verses, you can reap some rhythms and lyrics, if you scroll with diligent attention. You can not but love all these poetic expressions.
A Poet is a poetic sage,
And so lives in a penurious cottage,
An inheritance from his impoverished village,
And not from his resourceful lineage.
A Poet is a peotic genius,
All his rhymes are verses are so prestigious,
to some villains they can be so poisonous,
but some heroes finds them so harmonious.
The poet begin his debut from his humble town,
his physique is so enchanting like a wizard's gown,
he become so famous throughout the downtown,
his crows echo through the row up the uptown,
The crown and the swords sends for his person,
before the noon he is standing afore with reason, Then the crown asks from him with an abnegation,
"how many poems have you said in this season?"
"I've said ten and one if i get right the accession!"
"Then give me the ""Twelfth"" poem,
... that'll resonate like the biggest anthem."
Then the poet opens his parabic so solemn,
as his voice flow with mastery without any ahem,
In his verses the palace behold an omen!
This made the crown brood on his system.
""A crown's upon a hidden wealth!" says the bard,
""behold he's living with it with no regard."
"beneath his castle a mammon with a bodyguard!""
"The kingdom's economy is so haggard,"
"yet the crown's eyes fail to see under the ground,"
"a phantom that could turn his kingdom around,"
"he's guided below with poverty as the guard,"
"Some birds flutter from the faraway,"
"they undone the phantom and with him go away,"
"back to their land those birds with kindness play,"
"they feed the sage and for him bake the clay,"
"with a sudden transformation within a day,"
"the phantom begins his mission on them to pay,"
"he made their land so much the wealthiest bay!"
"shame on the crown that didn't in time make hay!,
Abraham Taelolu Babarinde.
If you really love.my poems, be informed that more are on the way!
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