Long Yoruba Poems
Long Yoruba Poems. Below are the most popular long Yoruba by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Yoruba poems by poem length and keyword.
Sojourner to far-flung climes;
When you return,
Will you remember the evening songs
Chorused by chirping under the baobab tree?
Will you still remember the fame of the great hunter
Whose courage put the forest sprite to flight?
Earning him the most beautiful virgin in the land
When you return,
Will you remember the fable of the wraith
That forced our forefathers away from the farm at dusk?
Will you still dip your hands in “Aro” to make “Adire” for our dear mother?
Will you?
The market still a beehive of activities
Every market day is as rustic as you left it,
Our women the same, untainted by the new ways
Our men have not also faired any better,
Still suspicious of the innovations of the town people
Our children are not ashamed of showing off their beauty for the world to see,
The harrowing cries of our virgins still pierce the night,
As they fall under the mutilators knives
Will you still remember how to savor “Iyan”
Pounded with the sweats of the maidens and
Molded with “Egusi” from earthenware?
When you return,
Will you not now be repulsed with “Ila”
That soup which you handled with such mastery with “Amala”
The leaves from the forest still keep us strong and virile,
Their medicines have not offered any hope to all our ailments,
When you return,
Teach us not new things about our Land
O sojourner,
When you return from the distant land of subjugation
That dungeon that robbed us of our cultures and creeds
– Aro:- A local dye
– Adere:- A fabric made with “Aro” it is popular among Yoruba people of western Nigeria,
– Iyan :- A paste for food made from Yam
– Egusi :-A soup made from the melon seed
– Ila :-A gelatinous soup made from Okra
– Amala :-A paste for food made from Yam flower
En-route Onikan Stadium
I had evaporated from
My abode in Samonda
Only to condense in Iwo road.
There I saw them begging
One barely leaves before
Another jumps on us
They were beggars of the Niger-Area.
Behold !an old haggard
Tattered looking woman,
Muttering some prayers
Only to her very self,
Cowries she needed.
Then comes another man
Clad in all white attire,
Making incantations through
His chimney-like look.
He shakes his head chanting
Some rehearsed -versed prayers
Meant for us passengers
In all, cowries he demanded.
Appears another blind man
With a kid directing his three legs
The first leg he points to pave way
For the other two legs
For he seeth no more
Cowries they needed too.
Two kids looking rumpled
Their mother tailing from afar
They are from a lake called Chad
The Chadian kids chanting,
Singing in aYoruba language
Their Yoruba pronunciation brings
Passenger’s teeth out impromptu.
Only then and there,
They got attention more
Cowries they had more than others.
More came till I lost count of them
For three scores of a minute
Beggars came begging for cowries ,
Poverty hovers round them
Wretchedness consume their look
Like a Vulture that is about
Being starved to death.
They are all indeed wretched of
The Earth on our own Earth.
The driver fired the engine
Still lost in my thought
About the begging beggars.
I looked through the windows
Only to find more beggars in Lagos
Cowries, they all needed.
Are we not all beggars in this land?
Begging for food , water, shelter ,air . . .
Killing ourselves for crumbs from their table
Even amidst plenty
They have made us empty
They are Gold- Diggers of our wealth.
For how long would we beg?
Can we ever stop begging?
Can we ever exist without begging?
Were we born to beg?
I said to myself “ No”.
We are not destined to beg
We are only made to beg
To suit their whims and caprices
But our desperation to get to the
Destination of our dream land
Lies with the destiny in our hands.
Alayande Stephen. T
February 11th, 2006
11.35am
A true life story.
On my way to Onikan stadium in Lagos
For NANS Zone D Convention .It all happened
Between Iwo Road and Lagos.
Form:
SHE'S MY CHOICE AND MY CROSS.
You told me beauty is merely skin deep
Wasn't that the reason I wooed her in the first place
Said it doesn't cook afang soup
I've not forgotten my way to mama put
You said she doesn't respect my mother
Excuse me don't make that sound like murder
Forget graduate Tinuke
I prefer beautiful unschooled Amanda
Even though she can't prepare amala
You said she's not intelligent
She does what I like and she's so efficient
Who said she's not sound
Have you heard her bedroom sound
She is not of classy source
But she's sassy and I dey enjoy her ponmo sauce
That she is mentally scanty is mere rumour
Even if she is, I enjoy the momentary humour
Who even needs that educated feminist
I have had enough troubles with chemistry
She can't speak fluently in the crowd
You need to see her in bed so succulent and loud
If you say she's crude and lousy
Excuse me sister , crude oil get value pass kerosene
Say my wife no go school
But she sabi hold spoon
Asking who will help my kids with their assignment
How that one take be your concernment
When we have kids we'll make arrangement
You dey tell me say I no get sense
Sister, you no dey see well go wear your contact lens
You claim she's using juju on me
But I'm enjoying the fufu she gives to me
You claim she's full of violence
You're wrong she doesn't just like pretence
Though she slapped me once in the open
It was because I burnt the food in the oven
That won't make our love to be broken
Now she's fat and won't hit the gym
It's OK Yoruba men don't like them slim
She's daft and can't stand a mental debate
Who even likes a wife that argues
If she ties wrapper round her chest
She doesn't want men to covet
If she was born of parents of colourful poverty
I've acquired the asset and the liability
Right now she's my sole property
Say all you want about her
She's my choice and my cross
(FM CONCEPTUAL ???)
Yoruba are the roots of many rising things,
A people where the first light often springs.
Where culture is crafted, where ideas ignite,
Where Nigeria finds her voice, her face, her sight.
Yorubaland hub of thought and creation,
A cradle of craft, a forge of innovation.
Yet beneath this brilliance, steady and strong,
Are women whose praises have lingered too long.
They stirred the pot, yet shaped a nation,
Turned simple seeds to sustenance and sensation.
Amala smooth, Ewedu’s stream,
Egusi rich like a woven dream.
Akara rising, golden and bright,
Moi moi wrapped, soft with delight.
Jollof rice glowing, seasoned with flame,
Iyan beaten with rhythm and name.
From humble hands came heritage deep,
Flavors that generations keep.
Measured not by tools, but by knowing,
A quiet art of giving and growing.
Cloth became culture beneath their art,
Patterns that whisper, fabrics that speak.
Dyed in wisdom, stitched with pride,
Histories hidden in every tide.
They did not wait to be seen or heard,
They moved in silence, yet shaped the world.
Where doors were closed, they carved a way,
Turning night into a rising day.
From healing hands to halls of might,
From pens that write to screens that light,
They told the stories, they framed the scenes,
They built the bridges behind the dreams.
From stages small to global gaze,
They shaped the screen in countless ways.
Stories rooted in soil and soul,
Now travel far, now make us whole.
In distant lands, their strength expands,
Across new skies, on foreign sands.
In banks, in labs, in coded streams,
They carry forth enduring dreams.
They rise, they lead, yet still remain,
Bound to their roots through loss and gain.
They shape the now, they guard the old,
Their worth is vast, their story untold.
For while the world applauds the flame,
It seldom speaks the hidden name.
Yet truth remains, both firm and clear
Their silent strength has brought us here.
Yorubaland shines, a radiant flame,
But women have kindled that enduring name.
They are the force, the unseen hand,
The quiet power that built the land.
Africa! Africa!!
One Mother, one heartbeat, one destiny!
Land kissed by the gods,
Womb that gave humanity its first cry!
You rise as one mighty pillar,
Your veins flowing with gold, diamonds, oil, and sacred fire.
From the Cape to Cairo, from Dakar to Djibouti,
Fifty-four nations stand as one family
One body, many beautiful limbs,
One voice rising stronger than any storm.
West, East, North, Central, South
All dance together under the same sun.
Nigeria’s thunder joins Kenya’s lion roar,
Egypt’s Nile flows into the Congo’s mighty heart,
Ghana’s gold shines beside South Africa’s rainbow,
Ethiopia’s ancient wisdom lights the path for all.
One Africa!
Where Yoruba drum meets Zulu spear,
Swahili binds what Arabic and Wolof bless,
Two thousand tongues singing one chorus:
We are the children of the same Mother!
Your people ebony, copper, bronze, and gold
Warriors and weavers, herders and scholars,
Women carrying the future on their backs,
Youth painting one bright tomorrow.
Resilient as the acacia across the savannah,
Wise as the baobab standing tall from Mali to Madagascar,
Hospitable as the ancestors who open every door.
No border can divide us,
No history can break us,
No challenge can defeat us
For we are One Africa United!
Mother of humanity,
Queen of the earth’s treasures,
Cradle, crown, and future of the world
Now and forever, ONE!
Let it be so! Let it be so!! Let it be so!!!
One Africa!
In my mind's eye I see this incredible vision that would make a beautiful African painting. Perhaps I shall try to make it real.
I dedicate this poem to the women of Africa. Be inspired by Archangel Ariel who is the Lioness of God.
English:
To my beautiful African lionesses
Zulu*:
Ezintombini zami ezinhle zase-Afrika
Afrikaans*:
Aan my pragtige Afrikaanse leeuwyfies
Xhosa*:
Kwiingonyamakazi zam ezintle zaseAfrika
Swahili*:
Kwa simba zangu warembo wa Kiafrika
Arabic*:
??? ?????? ?????????? ????????
'iilaa labawaati al'afriqiaat aljamilat
French*:
A mes belles lionnes d'Afrique
Portuguese:
Para minhas lindas leoas africanas
Yoruba*:
Si awon abo kiniun mi l?wa
Igbo*:
Nye nd? nne m mara mma
Hausa*:
Zuwa ga kyawawan zakoki na Afirka
My beautiful African lionesses
By Michelle Morris
17/08/2023
There is a lioness within
Every African woman's heart
She often has to hide it
Lest the Dark ones want its spark
But it cannot remain hidden
For she will always stand tall
Walk with grace and beauty
So much courage through it all
That lioness is there with her
Like her ancestors by her side
They give her strength and forebearance
To take this life path in her stride
All the pain and the sacrifice
All the grief and the sorrow
It is washed away into the river
Only good is there for tomorrow
The waters ebb and flow
Like our mountain roads towards home
We shall build our communities
Share our wisdom and our rainbows
We are not forgotten, dear ones
Africa is the cradle of mankind
Our seeds have scattered with the wind
To nurture and develop resilient minds
For we are humble and gentle
We are powerful and mighty
The Sun sees our warmth
The Moon knows our kindness
For we are blessed and guided
We share knowledge and history
Our empathy and compassion
Creates Ubuntu in our region
The Angels and Archangels are here
They surround us with Light and love
For Africa, her time is coming
To help us with life on Earth
Oh, my beautiful African lionesses
Take heart that all your prayers are heard
Your tears fall and spring forth new life
Throughout Africa and this world
© Michelle Morris, 2023
When tongues arise to condemn racism
None speaks the ordeal of the African albino being
Defined by different views of ethnical beliefs
Discriminated by his brothers for lacking melanin
He is but subjected to verbal condemnation
With chants of mockery upon his head
Discriminated by hypocrites who speak against discrimination
Begging love and acceptance from his fellow man
Have not many mocked his blurred eyesight?
And taunted his nystagmus as he squints in the sun?
Have not many tongues wagged in ignorance?
Spitting forth myths about his existence
Where now is the ignorant Yoruba cook?
That says "Afin ojeyo" with all boldness
Where is that man that showcases emptiness?
To say the sun beclouds an albino's reasoning.
Many myths are said and put to practice
Cursed is the man that sacrifices an albino child
For the zeal of greed has made men fools
To think the albino's blood a charm
Many a person living with albinism
Are daily deprived of the right to noble labour
So if ever tongues shall wag about racism
Fail not to speak of these black beings in white skin.
By: Adams Elizabeth Oyarese
Lizdiamond Poetry World
THE EAST & WEST LOVEY-DOVEY
The tribe that loves is the one that blooms.
A house in unison is where love fills it rooms.
Graceful GOODNESS glows in glory,
Victorious VICTOR volts into victory.4
The vibes flew from the East to the West;
A half-cast affection seem always the best.6
When love twirls as swirl world, it's said to curl.
Goodness, the gifted graceful Igbo girl,
Victor, the vibrant virtuosic Yoruba guy,
found a love that leapt across borders & high.¹°
The GOODNESS of God emerges the VICTOR,
Savouring symphony in life's same sector.
Goodness, the gorgeous girl gentle & grand,
Gleamed with grace, glowing & she's so glad.¹4
Victor, with a heart so big, bold and bright,
Bore a beaming smile that shone in the moon's light.
From afar, they felt fate's fine fingertips,
Their love lit like luminous stars in the sky's midst.¹8
Goodness gained a garden of golden dreams,
Victor ventured valiantly, his voice like velvet streams.²°
Their hearts harmonized in a hymn of hope,
Heeding the call of love's lullaby to elope.
Together they traversed through time & tide,
Tangling in tenderness, love's tapestry wide.²4
Now Goodness & Victor, clipped by love's dance,
Donning densed delicate affection from distance.
So, they danced in the dawn destiny's dalliance.²7
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Aliteration/Rhymes
Copyright ©?24th February 2024.
In ancient land,
—A realm of kings and queens,
A tale of courage, sacrifice, and love, unfolds unseen.
A noble hunter,
—Moremi, with heart of lion’s might,
Became the cherished queen of Oduduwa’s ancient light.
The kingdom thrived
—In commerce, wealth, and sacred power,
But shadows crept from darkened woods, in haunting hour.
The Ugbo hordes,
—With raffia guise, brought terror to the fray,
And women, children, borne away, in night, by fear were swayed.
A desperate plea,
—A mother's heart, to save her cherished land,
To river goddess, wise and old, Moremi did command:
"Great spirit!
Hear my humble cry!
I vow to pay the cost!
If by your hand, my people's fate, from doom, is not yet lost."
A plan was forged,
—A daring scheme, to free the stolen kin,
The queen, in beauty, as a lure, her freedom to rescind.
Within the Ugbo king's dark realm,
—She learned their secret ways,
A wary smile, a whispered oath, for freedom's dawning days.
Her essence strong, her courage true,
—She made her daring flight,
Back to her love, her cherished home, to face the coming fight.
With wisdom gleaned,
—And heart of fire, she armed her faithful kin,
To face the Ugbo hosts in battle, a victory to win.
The kingdom's wrath,
—Like storm released, did vanquish cruel Ugbo raid,
And in the aftermath of strife, a people stood, remade.
A nation forged in Moremi's flame,
—Her love and sacrifice,
An epic tale of ancient days, where honour paid the price.
Yet, fate's cruel hand still lingered near,
—A debt yet left to claim,
For in the halls of ancient gods, great vows remain the same.
To Esimirin's flowing depths,
—The queen did journey forth,
A mother's tears, a broken heart, the cost of love, and worth.
Her son, her only cherished child,
—The spirit's price, now due,
A sacrifice, in times of old, as gods and mortals drew.
Moremi's song of courage,
—Love, and tears for love foresworn,
Echoes through the ages past, a tale of Yoruba born.
In halls of legend,
—Where heroes dwell, and tales of valour shine,
The queen of courage, heart of gold, eternal shall enshrine.
Moremi, mother, lover, queen,
—Thy name shall never fade,
For in thy sacrifice and love, a nation's soul was made.
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