Dear Crush, 

When life gets in the way, 

And all hope seems lost for me

I’ll still be waiting for you

When all friends turn their backs on me

Because “you’re being insensitive”

I’ll still be waiting for you 

When I’m classified as a nonetity

By the African society

With nobody as a spouse

I’ll still be waiting for you 

When everyone gets married 

And the both of us haven’t even met

Dear crush, I’ll still be waiting for you.

Each night, I dream of us cuddling together,  

When we get married of course

I envisage us laughing and mocking each other

Only because we are fools in love

I see us chasing each other

Or rather you chasing me

Under the coconut tree

At Elegushi Beach

I see us being nominated for couple of the year

With so much love and happiness around us

And when the children come,

I see us being the parents they could ever wish for

How I envisage  the day you’ll cry

Seeing me walk down the aisle to be yours

And later lifting me up

Because I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You own my life;

And the way it is in my dreams, 

I own yours too.

So if you could do us the favour,

Come home to your darling soon.


Music in Nigeria Today.

Music in Nigeria Today.
One cannot begin to over- emphasize the role music plays in an individual, a group of people, in happenings, at parties, and the society as a whole. It is so important and necessary, that every single person listens to at least a song each day, consciously or not. This is why they say music has a soul, it has its spirit, and its mind. No wonder you listen to a song sometimes, and the artiste seems to know everything going through your mind.
Over the years, however, quality in music has deteriorated in Nigeria, with the influx of young artistes, who can hardly differentiate between their left and right hands. “My lyrics do not have anything to do with me; they are basically for Nigerians to buy my songs”, a popular artiste stated in an interview with hip TV last week. How wrong! How improper! Do you sing because you want to get rich and famous real quick? Or because you want to grant interviews to TV and radio stations? It shouldn’t be. You should sing because you have something to share with the world. Something sparkling. Something worth sharing. Most artistes have no idea of quality, their rhymes are crappy, their mixing and mastering sucks, and their overall music just doesn’t sound professional. I mean, how do you explain Iyanya’s “from the bed to the bedroom?” or Koker’s “Askalavista, can I be friends with your sister?” How? Annoyingly, artistes who sing songs without substance are the most popular celebrities in Nigeria, while artistes with soul- searching, mind- throbbing messages, the likes of Timi Dakolo, Asa, Praiz, etc, are under- celebrated, or not celebrated at all.
Funny enough, Nigerian artistes who have British and American mentors forget that these mentors are successful because they do not sing with the sole aim of making money or making people to just dance. They sing songs of substance, songs with deep meanings. They are known all over the world- Sam smith, Adele, Meghan Trainor, Justin Bieber, etc. But Nigerian artistes are sadly more focused on money and fame, and they could only care less about what they put out as music. Now, don’t get me wrong, you should care about money fine, but don’t let it be your primary motive. They say the love of money is the root of evil. Why, apart from money and fame do you want to become an artiste? As a matter of fact, most of these artistes are school drop- outs, they are not graduates. So how can a drop- out write good lyrics?
The focus is that people need to learn that singing is not about having a sonorous voice, or being able to write good rhymes. Its a lot more than that. We can only hope the situation gets better, or by the next generation, music in Nigeria will command all sorts of social vices, sexual immoralities, and filthiness among the youth of the society.



I dropped my mobile phone in total disbelief. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks; and this really was not supposed to be happening. At least not now. If Oreoluwa or Kayode came in now, they’ll weep profusely. Poor children, I thought. Today was the wake-keep of their late father, and my husband who had died four days ago. His death was a nightmare to me, to the children; no one expected Richard to go this soon. My Richard. My loving husband. My rock. My happiness. Now, he was gone. How was I going to raise the children on my own? I barely made  a #100,000 per month as a Government worker, and the children’s fees were about #160,000 put together. Richard had earned much better, so my salary was basically for myself. If I was earning #100,000 per month, how was I to pay #160,000, together with the money for the house upkeep, food and the house rent? I had had sleepless nights over this issue.

Worse still, and the reason for my brooding, Richard’s family had turned their backs on me and my children. Every single one of them. His mother claimed I had killed her child, that I used him as my “contribution” to my witch group. That I wanted to inherit his properties. I laughed, hearing that. What properties did he even have? Only a plot of land at Magodo. So who kills for a plot of land? Tell me. They said all sorts, and refused to eat or even come to my house. I could go on and on.

The eyes of a widow in Nigeria sees many ugly things, I’ve come to find out. In the eastern parts, they are forced to shave their hair off, and drink the water used to wash their late husband’s corpse. Wickedness at its peak. Its three years and two months since Richard died. As expected, none of his family members ever call. They don’t even call to ask about Ore and Kayode, who are meant to be their blood. Kayode had cried home one day, saying his classmate called him a bastard because he didn’t have a father. Admist his tears, he begged me to marry another man so he won’t be called a bastard again. After consoling and putting him to sleep, I wept the whole night. These children were too small to see life in its true cruel form. I wasn’t going to re-marry again of course, I didn’t want any man to come and start raping Ore, or even raping Kayode as there are homosexuals, bisexuals, transgenders, paedophiles, and all sorts of monsters out there today.  I even got to know that Richard’s mum had cursed anyone who tries to help me and the children financially. So much hatred. I don’t care anyway; I’ve got the husband of the widow. Oreoluwa is now in a university that pays a yearly fee of #520,000 and I make only #100,000 per month. How I get to pay the fees I really don’t know. I just know God has always been providing. We have always had food to eat, clothes to wear and a roof on our heads. God has kept us, and he’s still working for us.

So whatever my late husband’s family tries to do, I’m not moved. Now, my goal is to see my children successful and happy years to come. I live basically  for them. I do all the things their father used to do for them. Today is Good Friday, and we’re headed to a shopping mall, after which we’ll go to an eatery and have a nice time. These kids are my life; and I’ll do anything for them to be successful and happy in all life ramifications.




Thank you for reading.



I could stop.
Everything is so tough and uneasy,
Pleasure, very Minuit,
The race is becoming tiring,
I could stop running if I wanted to,
And forget all I was ever running to achieve,
And no one would question me,
Not a single soul.

I could stop

But if I stop,
I stop and sit,
Of what would be my very existence?
Would I just join the multitude?
Those who had given up?
Those who had great beginnings
But no ends?
Those who now cheer for the brave ones up there?
Do I sit and watch those who persevere
Become celebrated and admired?
Should I indeed forgo my goals
Because the road is merely tough?
So much questions,
Few answers,
Simple answers,precisely.
I never want any of that, never.

I could stop

So I humbly, prayerfully, admirably,
Courageously, bodly,
Take my steps,
I’ll run and not be weary,
I’ll climb the mountains and not fall,
I’ll pass hurdles and barriers,
And still be dauntless,
And one day,
One day,my dear friend,
I’ll stop running,
Because there’s no more road to run on
Because I’m at the peak,
The peak of my glorious destiny,
And I’ll be celebrated and admired,
I’ll forget all my pains ,tears and worries
Through the long journey,
I shall rejoice,
And I’ll have many stories,
Many stories to tell.



Hi Guys! I wrote this poem about two years ago. And flipping through my poem book, I decided it’ll be a good idea to just drop it here. I hope you enjoy!

“I love hearing you laugh”,he said.
“You don’t laugh often.
Sometimes,I think you’re a very sad girl”.
He was right,I realized.
I have been sad for a long, long time.
I had been starved of love,
And affection,
For so long,
That I forgot what it felt like.
I had refused to let anyone in,
Afraid to be hurt again.
But this boy, holding my hand,
Was stripping me of my armour
Bit by bit.
It scared me.


All I knew was I liked this boy.
And it had been long I liked someone.
“All I can think about,
Is how to make you smile”,he continued.
“Not the fake ones you give to be polite,
The real smile;
Where your eyes light up,
And your lips stretch to your ears”.
My ears were ringing.
Who is this nigga?
What was he trying to say?
He looked at me in the eye,
Like he could see my soul.
It scared me.


If he truly loved me,
Would he keep loving me?
What if he suddenly stopped?
And became a beast?
What was I going to do?
And then,he kissed me.
Oh, his kisses.
They were like chocolate cake
Topped with chocolate fudge sauce,
And vanilla ice cream,
Leaving me with the crave for more.
It scared me.


Then I decided,
I was going to be with this one
They say people love others,
Not for who they are
But for how they make them feel.
Yup, he made me feel rare and special.
Like I was the only one his eyes
Were created for.
And admist my thinking and mind racing,
His mouth claimed my lips in abandon.
Gone was the butterfly kisses,
The teasing, the coaxing,
This was a branding.
“I own you”,
His kiss said.



Bye Babies!


Heyy boo😘 So how are you?? Yeah I know I’ve been gone for a while. Just so you know,this blog is gradually turning to my diary, its cute right?😊 I love diaries…it should be cool. Ttyl 😘


What If?

What if yesterday is the new tomorrow
And the things of the past now of the future
What if the things we thought were of tomorrow becomes the harrow
And short time becomes the future

what if

What if the past was the present
And we are all so bewildered
For the things of the past are now things of the present
Things  once abandoned now being considered

Our activities are back to how they were
Our forefathers must have been soothsayers
We all now do what they did
Our future would soon be the present
Present of the next generation
And our yesterday would always be the new tomorrow.

What if

Okay,this is from Temi,200 level Mass Communication Student of Bowen University, Nigeria. Good stuff,yeah? Sleep well loves😍😘😘

Like Me

So yeah😙😘😎 I’m here…this isn’t the regular poem or article post…just a little of me. Well,sooner or later this blog’s turning into a diary. Too much things are happening. Too much happening really fast. Sometimes I could catch up,other times,I feel this is too much to handle. But the point is,we aren’t giving up now,yeah? Not after all we’ve been through,no matter what we’re presently facing or what we’re yet to face; we’re getting there. We’re reaching our goals,yeah? We surely are. Although we’re few,I appreciate readers of this blog. Thanks so much,we’re surely gonna get there. There’s gonna be more of posts like this tho,I hope we’re cool with that.
I’m Dara,and I really love you😘😘

Hey People!

Heyy! I know its been really long, I’m so sorry😘. Well,I’m back and better🙌. See you soon; stay beautiful😘

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑