TRUTH BEFORE THRONE (Ode to My Beloved Kindred Spirits)

 

Disclaimer: I do not have the copyright to the photo. It is only used for illustrative purposes. No infringement is intended. 

I was born where ancient titles breathe,

Where dust remembers every name it weaves,

Two royal rivers meet within my frame,

Ejigbo, Isolo, blood and flame.

Yet, lineage alone cannot command,

The right to speak or shape the hour,

It is the vow to truth that steadies hand,

And grants the voice its moral power.

I watched this struggle from a patient height,

Where silence learns the measure of its weight,

Not from the drums of hurried claim or cheer,

Nor camps where factions sharpen hope and fear.

I seek no crown, I beat no partisan drum,

No banner stitched with borrowed grace,

I come as one who knows what must be done,

To heal the land before the face.

They call restraint a fearful pause,

Mistake stillness for retreat or loss,

But silence held with conscious care,

Is fire maturing in the air.

My loyalty is not to names that rise,

And fall with tides of sudden praise,

But to the sense that time itself refines,

And futures shaped beyond our days.

This conflict stretches past the will,

Of any single heart or claim,

It tests how memory learns to walk,

With present need and future aim.

Tradition is not costume worn,

Nor ritual emptied into show,

It is the breath of those long gone,

Still shaping how the living grow.

Yet, memory sealed against the now,

Will fracture under its own weight,

A past that will not speak with time,

Converts inheritance to fate.

The law stands firm as ordered frame,

To guard the fragile common good,

But law detached from daily life,

Becomes a truth half-understood.

In kingship all these tensions meet,

The court, the state, ancestral right,

Yet, people wake each morning still,

To live the outcome, not the fight.

Stability, once rooted deep,

Becomes a good the state protect,

For peace, though silent in its speech,

Is shattered by unmeasured acts.

Acceptance does not crown the law,

Yet holds the fragile ground in place,

And history reminds us still,

That crowns once lived resist erasure.

This is not counsel to ignore,

The wounds injustice leaves behind,

Let errors stand in honest light,

So clearer paths may yet be found.

But justice is not always served,

By pulling settled roots apart,

Sometimes restraint preserves the whole,

Where haste would tear the communal heart.

A people cannot truly thrive,

In endless trial of claim and name,

No future grows where conflict lives,

As permanent and daily flame.

I pass no sentence, I wield no sword,

I claim no wisdom set in stone,

But to offer thought as careful guide,

For service, not for rule alone.

The throne may gleam with ancient grace,

Yet, conscience outlives carved estate,

No crown alone secures a land,

It is the truth that seals its fate.

Isolo’s future will not turn

On who ascends or who must fall,

But how equity is lived in deed,

And justice answers freedom’s call.

In moments thick with dispute and pride,

The noblest path is rarely loud,

It walks with care, with measured stride,

And bows to wisdom, not the crowd.

May Isolo rise, reflective, whole,

May truth lead first, yet temper role,

May peace and justice share one soul,

Before the throne, let conscience rule.

ASEEEEEE...!!!

My Reflection:

Truth Before Throne (Ode to My Beloved Kindred Spirits)

Truth Before Throne was written as an ode not to power but to conscience, not to office but to the shared spirit of a people. It is addressed to my beloved kindred spirits, those who carry history not as burden but as responsibility, and who understand that truth must always arrive before authority if a community is to endure.

Though shaped by lineage, this poem is guided by restraint. It does not rise from rivalry or ambition but from the quiet obligation to think carefully in a moment of contention. I write neither as a claimant nor as a partisan but as one who believes that silence, when chosen deliberately, can be an act of care. In times when voices compete for dominance, reflection becomes a form of service.

This work stands at the crossroads of memory and time. It honours tradition as living inheritance while acknowledging that memory must speak with the present to remain whole. It respects law as the structure of order yet recognises that communities must live inside its outcomes long after judgments fade. Stability, though often unnoticed, is sacred ground, the soil upon which future generations stand.

Ultimately, this ode is not a verdict but an offering. It is a call to those bound by blood, history, and shared fate to remember that leadership is sustained by conscience, not conquest. Truth must always come before the throne, but truth, to remain worthy, must walk hand in hand with humility, restraint, unity, and the common good.

Prince Adeola Goloba

Lagos, Nigeria

Friday, 6 February 2026

3:26 a.m.

@Prince Adeola Goloba 2026

Ink, Image, and Inheritance: Art as Memory, Witness, and the Making of Self

 

The Author as a Body of Art

This incredible creative caricature does not merely resemble me, it actually reads me. It reads my silences with the same attentiveness as my declarations. It stages a quiet but insistent argument about what it means to live as a thinking African in a world that often prefers spectacle to substance, noise to memory, and speed to meaning. At the centre stands a man formed by words long before he was shaped by institutions, a writer who began at fourteen not as an experimenter but as someone already aware that language could wound as much as it could liberate. The pen and the camera are not ornamental here; they are witnesses, bearing testimony to a life spent documenting what power attempts to erase and illuminating voices history habitually relegates to footnotes.

What radiates from the image is a tension deliberately embraced, royalty without arrogance and radicalism without chaos. Rooted in Ejigbo Awori soil and refined through the discipline of linguistics and literature, the figure stands at a crossroads where ancestry meets inquiry and heritage confronts injustice. The Awori dialect, the palace motifs, and the ancestral calm embedded in the image are not nostalgic gestures. They are intellectual positions. They insist that indigeneity is not intellectual poverty and that tradition, when interrogated rather than idolised, can serve as an instrument of justice rather than a refuge for silence.

From this grounding in identity and place emerges the body of work that surrounds the figure. The books stacked beneath him do more than announce authorship; they map a moral geography shaped by lived experience. ISA N WO RUU – The Boiling Cauldron is not a metaphor fashioned for effect but a condition lived daily. The boiling is social, political, emotional, and psychological, reflecting the unrest of women denied safety, children denied futures, elders denied dignity, and persons with disabilities denied visibility. In this visual narrative, poetry does not escape reality; it confronts it directly. Literature becomes civic labour, journalism evolves into cultural defence, and advocacy emerges as art sharpened by ethical responsibility.

It is this merging of identity, work, and purpose that gives the caricature its deepest resonance. The image refuses to compartmentalise the self. The artist does not retreat to make room for the activist, and the professional does not silence the poet. Instead, they coexist in productive and sometimes uncomfortable dialogue. This convergence mirrors my work with Voice of Awori and Unchained Vibes Africa, my long commitment to the local and international creative cum human rights communities that have shaped my journey the years, and my insistence through reportage, blogging, performance, and poetry that African narratives must be authored by Africans accountable first to their communities, not to applause or institutional convenience.

Seen this way, the caricature becomes more than representation; it becomes a point of reference. For critics, it offers cultural advocacy as practice rather than posture, and art as an ethical stance rather than ornament. For readers, it extends an invitation to read deeper, question harder, and listen more carefully to indigenous voices speaking in their own tongues and on their own terms. For me, it stands as a reminder that the work remains unfinished. The pen is still warm, the camera still searching, the cauldron still boiling, and the responsibility to memory, justice, truth, and the making of self remains urgent and non negotiable.

@Prince Adeola Goloba 2026

Vow of the Unbroken Self

If my soul spoke in one paragraph, it would say: "I seek meaning, not performance. I value truth, dignity, and depth. I honour where I come from and where I am going. I love with intention, speak with care, and walk away without bitterness when alignment is absent." - Adeola

I swear by the ground that taught me my name,

and the breath that reminds me I’m still becoming flame.

I will not kneel where carelessness mangles my sound,

nor pour my whole spirit in cups not built to hold ground.

I walk with a compass hammered from truth,

I do not bow to noise or the hunger of youth.

Where clarity trembles and honesty’s shunned,

I pass like a river already well-run.

My word will be bone, not vapour or air,

my actions, drumbeats carefully announced everywhere.

I will not perfume a lie with my grace,

nor shrink my own standards to earn a place.

I choose depth like roots choose the dark of the soil,

not for ease or escape, but the strength born of toil.

What holds me is deeper than surface or gleam, 

because I was not designed for the shallow or thin.

I will wrestle injustice with clean, open hands,

light fires for warmth, not to scorch who I am.

Even in battle, my tenderness stays,

a heart turned to stone is a conquered place.

I love like a gate, not a net cast awide,

what enters must come with purpose and pride.

What leaves, I release without venom or chase,

true alignment has never required a race.

When loneliness knocks, I answer with calm,

not surrender disguised as the need to be held.

And when love arrives, it must stand aware,

knowing clearly the ground it steps on is rare.

I stand with my ancestors steady behind,

and my future awake in the edge of my sight.

I move without panic, without delay,

neither rushed by fear nor stalled by dismay.

This is my oath! Let the record be whole,

to remain unbroken where fragments are sold,

to walk fully formed, to love wide awake,

and leave every season with dignity safe.

@Prince Adeola Goloba 2026

Thursday, January 1st, 2026

Ejigbo, Lagos

3:07:57 AM

                                  Statement & Reflections

"Vow of the Unbroken Self" is both a poem and a declaration! A conscious commitment to live with integrity, intentionality, and dignity. It reflects my journey as an Awori Yoruba writer and cultural advocate, rooted in ancestral wisdom and a desire to remain whole in a world that often values fragments over substance. Every image, from the earth beneath our feet to the flowing river and steadfast gate, symbolizes grounding, clarity, and the courage to stand aligned with one’s truth.

Writing this poem was an act of reflection and assertion. It emerged from examining the compromises we make in love, work, and life, and recognizing the quiet power of boundaries, discernment, and intentional action. I wrote it as a mirror, not only for myself, but for anyone seeking alignment between their inner values and the life they lead. It reminds me that real strength is calm, deliberate, and principled.

Ultimately, the poem is a bridge to my ancestors and a guide for my future. It honors the continuity of lineage, the responsibility of becoming, and the choice to remain unbroken. Through these lines, I affirm that dignity, clarity, and intentional love are not optional but essential. This work is my vow, my compass, and my invitation to others to walk awake, anew and whole. Again, this is my New Year Gift to the World, and it comes...straight from the heart❣️.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!