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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...

Friday, March 6, 2026

Bello the Wire Wire

 "We must uproot all forms of corruption in our communities before our collective memories are completely erased "   - Prince Adeola Goloba 

Advanced Fees Fraud (AFF) Star 

In Ejigbo’s square the elders beat the talking drum,

Where old proverbs walk and restless rumours come,

A chief once rose, his promises climbing higher,

And the market named him Bello the wire wire.


He paved the air with roads that touched the sky,

While praise singers cheered as seasons passed by,

But when the rains returned and the gutters cried,

The earth asked quietly what the speeches supplied.


The palm tree knows the storm before branches shake,

The village hears footsteps before sleepers wake,

Soon whispers drifted softly through the shire,

Around the shadow of Bello the Wire Wire.


Some hunters chase lost coins where secrets hide,

Across silent banks where hidden fortunes slide,

Others guard the palace where powers conspire,

Watching the calabash pass from sire to sire.


Two sandals walk the land with justice in their fire,

One hunts the money the other questions the squire,

When drums of inquiry echoed through the shire,

They paused by the gate of Bello the Wire Wire.


“Bi a bá fi owo osi juwe ile baba eni,” elders say,

“The left hand that points home meets truth one day,

The tortoise may soar on feathers borrowed higher,

But rain knows the shell beneath borrowed attire.


The gutters stayed silent but the roads could speak,

Of budgets in agbada and foundations weak,

The talking drum murmured beside the fire,

About the fading echoes of Bello the Wire Wire.


A town forgets speeches carried by the wind,

But dust remembers footprints left behind,

The moon above Ejigbo listens from its spire,

To the lingering tale of Bello the Wire Wire.


Curse not the drummer who beats what roads require,

He only echoes the rhythm truth inspire,

When footprints fade too quickly on the wire,

The town will ask again for Bello the Wire Wire.


Let the talking drum awaken every ear,

A town that guards tomorrow must guard it clear,

When footprints vanish from the people’s fire,

The village will rise asking of Bello the Wire Wire.


- PrinceAdeolaGoloba,

Friday 6th March 2026,

Ejigbo, Lagos Nigeria, 

3:19:46am.


@Prince Adeola Goloba 2026