WELCOME!

Hello everyone! what you see here is the product of the pieces of my

thoughts gathered together to find and recall the true meaning of my
MEMORY...Please, I love you all to leave your meaningful comments to help
improve my Blog and may be through your series of comments...I may eventually
find my TRUE MEMORY...Thanks!

MEMORIES...

You are welcome to my haven! I created this in the memory of my memories...I can only hope you will always hang on here as long as you can. But if you have to leave, I want you to please:

Listen to your heart
When it's calling for you
Coz I don't know where you are going
And I don't know why?
But listen to your heart
Before you turn and say...good-bye...

So that our sweetest memories can linger on as long as we live...

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

SHALL WE LET GO? ( To Xeno, the son of Phobia)

"This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate in to the veins of peoples normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love. A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death...We will never have peace in the world until men everywhere recognize that ends are not cut off from means, because the means represent the ideal in the making, and the end in process. Ultimately, you can't reach good ends through evil means, because the means represent the seed and the end represents the tree...The old law of an eye for an eye leaves everybody blind. It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate the opponent rather than win his understanding. It seeks to annihilate rather than to convert. Violence is immoral because it thrives on hatred rather than love. It destroys community and makes brotherhood impossible. It leaves society in monologue rather than dialogue.Violence ends by defeating itself. It creates bitterness in the survivors and brutality in the destroyers...When evil men plot, good men must plan. When evil men burn and bomb, good men must build and bind. When evil men shout ugly words of hatred, good men must commit themselves to the glories of love.Where evil men would seek to perpetuate an unjust status quo, good men must seek to bring into being a real order of justice." ---Martin Luther King, Jr.
"

Our limbs now fight to narrowly survive
These morbid characters of XENO, the son of PHOBIA.



 (This poem is dedicated to all the victims of recent Xenophobic attack in South - Africa, the injured, the dead, and the fortunate survivors...old, and young.)

Mother Africa…there’s fire on the mountain
We are no longer at ease with one another
Shall we let go…look on, and vanish in silence
While things continue to fall apart?

Must we set forth at dawn
Ride on the famished wings of time
To finally right that which is wrong
Or forever shut in this horrid room called hell?

Broken and shattered, we nimble on
As always, to reluctantly pick up
All there was to remain
The broken pieces of our concocted lives

Withered limbs, we gasped
As we struggled to fight to breathe
But not to poison the sacred air
And the fragrant pleasure it has to give

Yet, unable to mend our broken ways
We have turned pieces of bent and broken limbs
From decades of fraud, arrogance and blatant misrule
Which have remained a naked sore on their wicked souls

Their stubborn indifference…crass laziness
Paved our common streets every night with poverty
Hunger, diseases, hatred, war…and death
And now the birth of XENO, son of PHOBIA spilling blood

Our hearts must have been made of stone
Even when healings came through the backyard of victory
That EBOLA fell to the damning claws of our collective WILL
After many cries run into tears of doom

Together we tore down the evil fabrics of APATHEID
And now are over-joyed with grace and hopes
When our Nation willingly DECIDED to move
Past the strange verdict of the foreign apocalyptic prophets

But joy, has a slender body that breaks too soon
Eventually, that too was broken
As our limbs now fight to narrowly survive
These morbid characters of XENO, the son of PHOBIA

Oh Mother Africa! There’s fire on the mountain
We are no longer at ease with one another
Shall we let go…look on, and vanish in silence
While things continue to fall apart?

Must we now set forth at dawn
Ride on the famished wings of time
To finally, right that, which is wrong
Or forever shut in this horrid room called hell?



©adeolagoloba 2015

Monday, March 9, 2015

ÌSÀ Ñ WÓ RU - The Boiling Cauldron...


                           The Boiling Cauldron     


We came here

To live…in peace

We came…to find love

We aimed…to share friendship

And hoped…to fully embrace life

To savour the cooling breeze of nature

We sailed long…long distance

From the warmth embrace

Of our mother’s womb

To inhale the healing scents

Of paradise earth

We came…

To work and tilt the ground

Forever cultivate harmony

On the lush green

Of this globe-like plantation

Alas! We found nothing

Nothing…but strange scurrying bodies

Violently lurking in the shadow

Of the moonlight blaze

Like some turbulent frictions

On an extremely hot galaxy

Gold flaming, silver burning

Bronze melting, copper fuming

Ocean surging, global warming

Forest blazing, poisonous gas poluting

Earth quaking, flood invading

Power tussling, arms proliferating

Scurrilous rumours spreading, war lingering

Al-qaeda deadly, al-shabbab scary

ISIS daring, boko-haram alarming

Mass weapon destructing, deadly terror striking

Sociopolitical acrimony ravaging,

Ethno-religious struggles consuming

Battles raging, men fighting

Gun shattering, blood shedding

Suicide commissioning, bomb blasting

Love fading, hatred ruling

Peace failing, harmony falling

Hope dying, determination wanning

Soul shaking, heart breaking

Aids killing, fear soaring

Hunger maiming, poverty biting

Life’s threatened, home’s drenched in chaos

Oh…this place is nothing

Nothing…but a hot, hot zone

Nothing…but a boiling cauldron.




©adeolagoloba 2015

Thursday, June 5, 2014

ALWAYS



Adeola



I try to be the best of me

That’s why always

I try to express myself

In the simplest way, form

And most humble manner

That I am mortally made

Perfectly imperfect and

Handsomely beautiful within

Beauty isn’t skin deep

It transcends far way beyond

The glaring elegant of my

Superfluous image and skin

I am who I allow myself to become

With my maker’s leave and grace

I get what I give

I give what I get

So always

I try to give it my all

 And never ever give up

Always … I try to be the best

The true person I want to be

And not who others want me to be

Or want to see me become

Oh my God! I am perfectly imperfect

This is absolutely OK for me

‘Coz no mortal

Carved of mud water

Is ever perfectly made

I am beautiful within

So now I give you my smile

‘Coz this is all I have

It’s all I can give and share

A reflection of the perfect

Immortal love I have

Deep inside of my heart

It’s quite simple

“Blood, friends, associates or otherwise

If I sense devious tendencies

Negative vibes, fakeness, and mischief

Still, we can remain

Whatever to each other”

But definitely I will keep

My necessary distance

Just so you know

I am that singular person

“Who refuse to participate

In you great conquest of foolery”

Just to make the list

Of people, who you so desperately need

“Running circle ‘round your own world

Especially those with faulty wiring”

But I must let you know

“That I am always good

Where my throne sits”

Without your desperate expectations

 Still, I share with you my grin

 As always …

So through this, you can clearly see

Who I truly am

Far deep inside

‘Coz always … I try to be the best me

Just to be who I am

Deep inside of me

Always … I try to be the only person

That makes and can make me happy

So I can live my best life

The way I wanna live it

If you don’t, you can leave

But if you care

Come join and live this life

With me … ‘coz I am always on the happy

And not ever the sad side of town.

© Adeola Goloba 2014