Home » Poems » Best » Muyideen Ayinla » Best Muyideen Ayinla Poems

Best Poems Written by Muyideen Ayinla

Below are the all-time best Muyideen Ayinla poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

When the Ships Come To Berth

Over the ocean's creed 
Lie in waiting with foreign breed.
Heavy metals laced the ocean's petals
En-route to the creek in cargoed cans.

Rice from the fields of Thailand,
Iced fishes from freezing Iceland.
Craps of computer hardware from Shenzen,
Packs of frozen skeletal turkeys from China.
Smuggled contrabands in hidden sacks
Matches and toothpicks from Japan's racks.

Cornfield of men at the wharf
Old and young, giant and dwarf
Exposing chest to the moment cling
Hurling sacks of rice the cargoes bring
Staggering weightless like David's sling

"No food for the lazy" the saying goes
When the ships come to berth,
Able men to the harbor dart.

A wave of pity descends my lung
Watching men so silly and strong-
Getting strangled beneath heavy loads,
Smiling wickedly at crumpled notes.

If only those energies could grace a trade,
And suffocate beneath the weights of knowledge.
When those ships come to berth,
May be they will someday leave this shore
Filled with the toil they bore
With our local brands in foreign lands.

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

6-11

6 a.m

It is time to wake- 
After being bludgeoned by sleep.
A quick brush 
And a quick wash
Off to the bus-stop in a quick rush.

It’s another day 
To work for a pay
Loose soap lather-
Sticking senselessly by the tip of the ear
And white Vaseline still to sink in the hair.

This life is a rush
Get late and get fired
No one cares if you are tired
Or couldn’t spare the time for a notch.

Brown suit,
Black trouser
Loosened zipper
Man! You are a walking sleeper.

We all filed-up
Looking like men heading for the concentration camp,
Yawning helplessly from an unfinished sleep.
This city life,
Is just a life of strife.

We hop on the bus,
So eager to seek solace in its confines.
Heads hanging loosely,
Snoring trumpets at its crescendo.


11 p.m

Free from the day’s toil
But held captive by Lagos traffic.
Sweating and panting from heat,
Squeezed like a crumpled note at the back seat.

Dinner on third-mainland Bridge,
A stick of gala and Asala*
With a bottle of water to quench the hunger.
 
It’s business time for the street urchins
From Iyana-oworo to the bridge that links Alapere,
They disguise as beggars-
Or hide in the shade of dark like scavengers
Watching out for victims to prey on.

The day weans itself away;
Broken down vehicles,
Long tankers stealing the lanes,
Pedestrians ignoring the bridge,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
Tanker horns blaring like hooting train.
 
Six to Eleven of our lives
Stolen by the struggle to survive.
Office pressure and less leisure,
Street madness and no cure.
Traffic Thieves,
Problematic Passengers,
Howling Hawkers,
And Lazy-ing LASMA**
All add to this insanity.




* A Yoruba dialect for Walnut 
** LASMA reference to Traffic Officials of Lagos State


© Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

Guts and Glee

I see people of different race and culture
so calm and calculative i stare like the vulture.
I see mothers with babies strapped to their backs-
and men with goods in woven sacks.
I see the child with the hope of tomorrow,
so do i see the old with tears of sorrow,
all these that i see-
is nothing but guts and glee.

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

Incandescent Metaphors

When cries do echo the walls of the ward,
Bringing you down on your knees with the pangs of emotions,
Watching tears trickling down your eyes,
Shaking the core of your very being,
As you watch the time tick away-
And every bit of joy seems to fade away.

So you bury your head in resignation,
As the atmosphere remains still,
Casting a eerie echo through your vacuumed mind,
Swaying you off balance like an hopeless being,
Then darkness spread its shadows upon your soul,
Blinding your visions of the relevance of existing.

Then you break down and like yesterday you faded away. 
So were you wheeled away-
And all that surrounds you was the air of pain,
And the smell of medicine and the cruel face of the surgeon's knife makes you sad,
And you know not if your face will ever grace the light of tomorrow.

Those you loved; none by your bedside
Those you stood with by the hour,
None passed to drop you a flower.
You wobbled at life's foolery 
And your face creased in fury

I think of you
Wherever this hour may bid you be,
I yearn to hold your hand-
Like a lover looking in the other's eyes
I yearn to be that vaccine
To heal you of your ailment. 

Hear me as I penned-
This feeling of mine in verses
Be not scared-
As a poet shares in your plight.
Do not be worried,
Lest your mind be troubled.

Let this incandescent metaphors
Lift your spirit high
And make you heave a sigh.
You are strong,
Your heart is that of a lion.
You are an achiever,
So believe in the hands of the divine.
You are a motivator,
You bring us words of inspiration.
You are a loving father,
Your presence we all do cherish.
You are a friend,
Someone loving through the trend.
You are life-
That's why I wrote you this incandescent metaphor.

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

In a Land of Concocted Dreams

Slowly our pride fades away
Like a smoke entwined with the air
Rots and decaying dreams
Sends waves of pity upon our soul.

We were drafted like soldiers-
Into the four walls of a classroom
Watching as our destiny was being decided by a system filled with avarice.

Oh! I would like to be a teacher
Or simply be a doctor.
I would like to be a lawyer
Or simply a farmer.

So we learnt the abc
And meant to see what failing could be.
Up the chain we moved
As time moved along with our being.

Then as we grew, reality wagged its tail at us.
And struggle called a bluff of our person.
How do we move along?
What if all we laboured for went wrong?

In this land the veil was lifted from our faces
As we watch the same system
Which has been the sole determiner of our fate
And our dreams became steam of vapour as we-
Take over the baton from where our parents left,
Running a race which we knew not the number of laps left.

We pledged our allegiance
To serve this great nation,
And give from our ration-
Those whom we can help survive this oppression.

As daylight turns night
And days matured into years
We watch as souls drift to a world beyond
And dreams die before the call of dawn.
We watch as our friends leave the shores of their fatherland-
And drop their allegiance for alien ones.

Now that we have grown
And ready to reap all we have sown,
Only to learn that all we laboured for really wasn't our own.
We have to serve a system
Filled with corrupt leaders
We were locked-up in class all these years
Only to be subdued with fear.

In a land of concocted dreams
Is just where we have been all along,
Singing ourselves sullen song
Watching thieves became heroes
And innocent men languish in jail.

In a land of concocted dreams
Hopelessness is just a plague
Ready to consume all elements of hope.
Chaos, murder and tribalism  ransack our being
Stealing and oppression is an everyday thing.

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

Love Is Like a Diamond

Shall I compare thee to a sparkling diamond?
For thou bringeth attraction and lust for possession
And in the wave of heat we burrow through the heart,
Sometimes to be heart broken- or cry in palpable joy.
And when rocks do cast lust upon our being-
Death matters less to the joy you bring,
For you are a priceless possession
Who some are ready to place a price upon.



© Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke 23rd of July, 2013

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

We Heard the Ocean Speak

I can go ahead and personify the ocean
As this pen has been granted the poetic license
To carve a soul from a still object-
And make the ocean take the form of man.

The soft sand shaking forth beneath our feet
The sweet salty smell of the ocean-
Caresses our nostril to the presence of nature
As we watch the image unfold-
Of such huge expanse of water with ships lacing its trails.

So the sun came right above the sky
Embracing us with his scorching arms
Sending waves of heat upon the earth-
As we scamper to find a shade to rest our legs.

So we watched the waves wash the sea up the sand
And watched as half naked men dive headlong into the sea
And there by the shore some set their dice to roll upon the sand.
Just you and me; we watched as the day sailed by
And beggars raised their hands for token-
And little unfortunate boys walked hungrily behind their mothers.

Together we heard it speak,
As it tells us of how beautiful life is,
And how tumultuous the world could be,
So we should expect it.
It speaks to us about the joy that abound
When two people confide in the other,
So we should embrace it.
It speaks to us of how marvelous God is;
So we should seek Him.

Let’s bury our worries in the sand of yesterday
As the ocean speaks to us-
Of men who have been lost in the wind of vain
And of people staggering effortlessly in chain.
Man is history; just a filament of a story.

We heard the ocean speak,
So beautiful and terrifying,
We heard it shriek.

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

The Ten Last Nights

Ten nights abound
With bounties in it
The sincerity of worship
And the submission of a slave
Seeking the mercy of his master.

Ten last nights we crave
Like vigilant watchmen 
Yearning for one special night
When the mercy of our Lord
Shall majestically descend on the world.

The last ten nights that abound
The words of our prophet resound
To seek Allah in worship
And seek of Him of His blessings.
The last ten nights of Ramadan
Comes with it a new beginning
And a promise of better days ahead.

Our hearts yearn for this night
In the dark hollows we seek light
And in our silence and pains
We stand firm in obeissance
To our Lord who created man and the Jinns
And the tall mountains looking up at the sky
And the silent seas with fishes
And the wild beasts of the forests.

We shall raise our hands 
Testifying to His greatness
We shall come to Him empty
For we know we shall not depart unfilled.
Our Lord His merciful
And to Him is our return.

As the last ten nights abound
Let's seek the night of majesty
To rekindle the flames of worship
And bring to Him our burden loads
And our heavy hearts
Hoping that success shall come our paths
For our resting place
Shall be filled with His grace
In company of the prophet
And of those who strived with him.

The last ten Nights
We pray sleep depart our sights
As we yearn for the booties
To carry on our worldly duties

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

By the Bend

That’s where I have been
Among men whose work remains to be seen.

This is where I reside
Amidst this stream of men-
Whose trade flourishes in inks of pen.

You have searched the dancing floor
Among those bevy of girls-
And men captured by dancing spells,
Alas! I will be home reading Bernard Shaw.

My heart breathes writing poetry
As a breeder tends his poultry,
Seeking the wonders yet to appease the human mind,
Writing words too touching for men to rescind.

When next you need to seek me
And your heart beats for a sip of poetry or prose,
I will be blooming fresh like the red rose-
In my house just a couple of houses by the bend.

Details | Muyideen Ayinla Poem

In a Prison Called Mind

Locked up in an enclave
With no threads nor bars
Confined to a gaol of wit
Tied upon the folds unkind.

So weary from an inkling
As the moment's trance pound upon my thinking
But this heart is pure
Not fit for a hole as filthy as foul.

In a prison called mind
My legs do tremble within its walls,
Like every convict seeking the air of freedom,
I seek mine from the hands of boredom.

Darkness spreads upon the moment's reverie
Far across the land and the skies-
They taunt and haunt our very being
Setting our foot upon a land of thorns.

What if I watched from this dark walls
And paint a gloom of what beholds man?
What if I remain as meek as a muted flute
And fail to sound from the towers of justice?
Will I still be free from this prison called mind?

My nerves seems restless
Wishing to be subdued by this poetic recess,
But every sad tales-
That grace the moonlight
Is of woes and callousness.

Those woes:
Of broken homes and shattered dreams,
of grief and death beyond pity's sill,
Of hunger lingering on crumbling hill.

From the cruellest of lands
On the streets children take to arms,
And mothers wander helpless in search of alms.
Poverty and ignorance are still to hang on the scaffold,
Like a flood it sweeps across our land. 

In this lone wall
Where thus peasants call
And the trampled in dusty mash-
Order the day to a gallant march.
To bring relief to the people
To stand by men when comrades call;
Never to languish in this prison called mind.