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Best Poems Written by Edwin Olu Bestman

Below are the all-time best Edwin Olu Bestman poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

I Am An African Child

I am an African child
Born on the fertile soil of Africa
Skin rich in minerals 
Raised by a mother who never allowed me to feel sorry for myself 

I am an African child 
Deeply rooted in the African dream 
Bright and thoughtful 
A treasure characterized by witnesses of many clouds 

I am an African child 
Though I am black and beautiful 
I refuse to be judged by my skin color 
Gift me a book and I'll tell the name of those hidden stars in the sky 

I am an African child 
It's obvious they hate me for no reasons 
But I am made of the moon
And shine bright like a diamond 

I am an African child 
Representing tears and blood 
Sorrows and unending pains 
But I am optimistic about tomorrow 

I am an African child 
Excited to be a citizen of Africa 
But fake smiles knocking on my door 
Cause my leaders paint my dreams with cookpot and charcoal 

I am an African child 
Not ordinary but a charming vessel 
Teach me discipline day and night 
And avoid hiding my faults 

I am an African child 
Clothed with beaded accessories 
Fetched water from rivers and streams
For my culture is my heritage 

I am an African child  
Not an American or European 
Teach me to stay black and not white 
Cause there's no continent I feel more African than Africa 

I am an African child 
A child whose father dances Africanly at the village square 
Flutes and drums are played during festival 
I am one of the sons and daughters of my fatherland

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

Story of a Black Orphan

He was birthed into a country
A home cemented with several crises;
Food, water, money, electricity, road, 
health and education 

He lives in a small house 
A house where electricity frowns day 
and night, 
And drinking water is clothed with 
millions of diseases 

At every corner of the street 
He begs to ease the pains of his stomach 
Crawling bitterly on his knees while his friends dine at Diana restaurant 

He makes love with sorrows 
Romances sadness until she births frustration
And his forehead speaks messages 
of pains and abject poverty 

He's lost in a scattered field
Cause his beautiful lips are dried
Not even a drop of a holy communion 
has touched his tongue 

Now, he is thrown between rusty bars
To survive or to get drowned
For his mind is captured with fears

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

I Lost All

I lost all my favorite 
people to death/
that is why broken smiles sleep 
on face/
that is why i am always lonely in a 
room full of people 

I lost all my favorite
people to death/
mom was the first missing 
angel/ 
whose face was never pictured 
by me 

Dad became our next mother/
whose life painted joy in our 
fragile hearts/
But took a tour with death in 
2017 

I saw darkness roaming our 
backyard/
cries broke in through the 
window pane/
we fell off like an iroko tree 

I lost all my favorite
people to death/
aunt too became a victim/
they said she had suffered from 
African sign

Beautiful souls having an affair 
with the red earth/
tearing me apart like a broken 
pavement/
how I wish to plant kisses on 
their foreheads

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

Home

'Home'

This place she calls home
They preach about women's rights
Yet, they're fed with rape twice a day
While sexual harassment has found a 
place to dwell

This place she calls home
Activists placards read 'Say No To Rape'
Sadly, at every corner of the streets
A girl child has been beaten, tortured 
and rape

This place she calls home
Love is not a religion 
Instead of protecting her rights
They're desiringly protecting their salary

Mama has fallen to the floor
Little kebbeh has been touched wrongly 
Yet, the government sleeps on the case
Cause Hon. X has climbed the stairs

This place she calls home
Rape has now become a culture
Officials subscribe to evil politics
Allowing young minds to become victims 
of the society 

This place she calls home
At the high table of decisions-making 
Her rights are loosely compromised 
She now bears witness of sexual violence

She craves for quality education 
Good home, happy family and children 
Yet, they serve her with their 
Devouring her dreams and aspiration

Listen society! 
The broken walls of her heart is covered
with pains and frustration 
She needs justice; justice for peace
I think the magical poet has written

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

I Say Unto You

Verily, I say unto you
Sexual harassment is still loitering on our streets
Rape graduated from hungry and now made it greedy
Penetrating lives bitterly making them victims of the society

The pictures of our loved ones are still beautifying the newspapers
Their crying voices still linger in our ears
But our government is filled with deaf and dumb 

Verily, I say unto you
Sexual assault is the most brilliant religion
Followers are dancing joyfully to the beat of their bass drums
Celebrating as if they have won an achievement 

Their bodies are crying blood and water
Funeral homes are tired of holding their corpses
Sadly, the government behaves as if she has fallen into coma 

The news of another rape girl is still crawling through our TVs
I am just tired of painting flashbacks
But rape keeps knocking on my door 

Activists' voices get lost with the wind
The grave has silently paid bride prices
Cause rape is still hanging around 

Verily, I say unto you
A girl's body is not a commodity.
Stop! Stop right there
Her mini skirt is not an excuse for rape

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

The Silence of Yesterday

for abunic sheriff – a friend who battled sickle cell.

yesterday the bones in my friend’s body wrote me a note of grief saying that they were tired of living.

even the smile my friend wore on the hospital bed grew withered & his voice became the new peace burning my eyes.

with the oxygen to his nose helping him to revive. his skin produced sorrows as if his body was asking for too much from sickle cell.

this is a tragedy that counts me too like the civil war our fathers fought. my friend tried with Allah on his lips for survival.

he was a muslim. calm like prophet mohammed. how i wish this poem could be a call for resurrection from the dead to feel his palms again.

only God knows how i feel in this poem. of how many days i watched my friend buried himself in pains on the hard ground. of how sometimes he bent on his knees to heal.

in this poem,
everything is mourning for my friend who grew halfway into life. yesterday he took his last breath & journeyed somewhere to find rest.

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

Lovemathetics

What is the formula of love?
Is it written on a woman's lip 
Or hidden within a man's thought cause 

Some relationships are like coordinate and plane geometries 
While others are advance differential  calculus, it is full of mystery and clouded by major and minor characters 

Some lovers are like "X" and "Y", 
Blend together thoroughly in a simultaneous equation, 
Deservingly giving birth to a positive or a negative number 

Some words behave like fraction 
Gently taking part of a whole in someone's life 
But it is either proper, improper, like, unlike, or complex 

Some kisses appear like trigonometry
Determining an unknown angle or side 
With the ideas of Pythagoras

Some relationships are arithmetic 
Addition means to add 
Subtraction means to take away, 
Division to divide and multiplication to times

Though life is a library of many experiences, 
But how can "Love" be defined, 
Is it the compilation of feelings through written notes or words

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

My Country - For Liberia

for so long,
this country sold its birth rights to the things that lived in the past 

history says - Liberia offered us bullets in 1989
& came back in 2022 to steal the glory off our skins

history is right - how can a boy like me still pretend to be alive
when there are grieves growing into bombs in my mother's home

for boys and girls wanting to refresh their bodies
in this country - breathing alone cannot make you to survive the tortures 

they tell our people to go back to the soil to sow their seeds
yet, in the middle of the night/ they come as weeds to destroy our destinies

everyone knows education is important
but how important is education in this country?

when men and women of high esteem hide in pretense
& obtain degrees from bogus universities

this country of ours is a prostitute
a ing prostitute - taking many unwanted es to dream lands faraway

i promise to never be gentle in this poem 
for this country is nothing less than an irony 

we have pleaded with them to show us how to fish for ourselves
but our people who sit in high offices fishing at the expense of high illiteracy

how about boys who are sodomized & girls whose features are playgrounds for rapists? 

this country of ours is a troubled bridge
causing multiple damages to passengers who lay low in taxis and buses 

and sometimes when i do survive
i go into my room and write my feelings into poems to remember my story

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

My Skin Is Not Me

Who told you that black 
is a logo of slaves 
And white is a logo of masters 
A book is not judged by its color 
But racism convinces us that one 
color should be free 
And another should be caged 

Who told you that white is 
beautiful  
And black is extremely ridiculous 
When we were created in God's image 
Not one less
But racism teaches that black or white 
is not a brotherman 

Who told you that white shirts are better than black  
Or black shirts are better than white 
For racism has schooled our membranes
Sadly, we live to hate each other bitterly
Not knowing that God is black and 
also white 

Who told you that black is inferior 
And white is superior
Every color is unique 
Not one less
None is greater than the other 
But racism is still teaching doctrines
of separation 

A white against a black
It is God against God 
Why should separate our colors
Neither white nor black is greater  
We are all the same
United we stand, divided we fall 

My skin color is not me 
My character is me
My intellect is me 
My action is me
But my color is not me

Details | Edwin Olu Bestman Poem

Liberian Girl

If beauty was a person, it would certainly be a Liberian girl

Behind those dark clouds, she is an angel yet to be seen 

Her smooth natural skin resembles the red earth 

Her lip is a place where sleeping dogs lie to appease themselves 

Her eyes are made of rays of colorful lights that restore hope 

Her beautiful earrings take a triangular shape indicating A=1/2bh 

Her ears are sensitive to uphold to the ups and downs of life 

Her short and pretty nose is admired by every suitor 

Hair nicely positioned at all edges serving different looks

Hands are tempting to touch just for a moment 

She wears a smile of imperfections striving towards perfection 

For if beauty was a person, it would certainly be a Liberian girl