Details |
Ololade Arasi Poem
Hey driver,
Keep going…?Please don’t drop me yet.
I promise to be well-behaved inside your bus.
Even though I know?it’s not because of their behavior?that you’re dropping the people.
It’s a mystery why?you keep stopping at every junction?to drop one of the passengers.
I know you have to drop everyone?at the final destination.
But why can’t you take us all there together?
Why must you drop us at every junction?
Some passengers barely get comfortable?before you ask them to leave.
Some don’t even get to say goodbye?to the ones still sitting beside them.
And some of us are left wondering?when our turn will come.
So, hey driver…
Keep going.
Please don’t stop for me yet.
There are still places I want to see,?people I want to spend more time with on this journey,?and things I’m yet to become.
I know the final destination?is waiting for all of us.
Just…
let me enjoy the ride a little longer.
Copyright © Ololade Arasi | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Ololade Arasi Poem
Look at them, they talking about me.
They say, “The crackhead is coming.”?He’s gonna ask for money,?To buy pills and get high.
Yes, I will,?’Cause that’s the only thing that keeps me sane.?Hopefully, people don’t start chasing me with canes,?As if pain itself wasn’t enough shame.
Some even call me the “Egbon Adúgbò,”?The area brother,?’Cause na all the youngins I do bother.
The one who used to be a role model?For all the little kids in the hood,?Is now the guy they snap their fingers above their heads over,?Praying their children never turn out like me.
Look at them, they gossiping about me again.
They say,?“Maybe he’s not even a graduate.”?“Maybe he dropped out of school.”?“Maybe he’s a cultist,?Can’t you tell from his looks?”
They don’t care to know?That I can’t afford a haircut.?They believe,?“He’s an adult,?He should be able to afford to look sharp.”
“If he truly graduated,?He should be working in a bank,?Wearing suits and smiling at customers.”
Look at them, they talking about me again.
Not one asked,?“What happened to him?”?Not one wondered,?“What battle is he fighting?”?Not one cared to know?If I buried dreams before I buried friends.
They see dirty clothes,?And conclude a dirty soul.?They see tired eyes,?And call me lazy.?They see scars,?And call me dangerous.
But none of them saw?The nights I slept hungry.?None of them saw?The tears I swallowed in silence.?None of them saw?How life broke me?Before the drugs ever touched me.
Look at them, they talking about me again.
They don’t know?I once had dreams too.?I once had a mother proud of me.?I once had people who believed in me.?I once had plans,?But life had plans too.
Now they cross the road when I’m coming,?Hold their children tighter when I’m around.?They forgot?That monsters aren’t always born?Sometimes they are made.
And maybe tomorrow,?They’ll hear that I died somewhere,?Under a bridge,?Or beside an empty bottle.
And they’ll shake their heads and say,
“What a waste.”
Never knowing,?That before I became the crackhead they laughed at,
I was somebody’s son.
And all I ever wanted…
Was a little help.
Copyright © Ololade Arasi | Year Posted 2026
|