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
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