Friday 5 June 2015


Alade got a wife…

His first meal was a peppery furnace
Burnt his tongue and bruised his lips…

He ate with a strange joy
Mix of anguish, mix of hate
Mix of anger, mix of love…

He chews on the sticks of doom
His Mrs Fortune is a misfortune …
His mother met him

Alade is now a phantom
He is thinner than thin
His wife is a woman of noodles…

A cook of surprises,
Terrible in surprising cuisines

Alade wants a real meal
Like the poetry dishes
Of Adewale, the Poetry chef…

Alade is hung on a suicidal hunger
His teeth dance to a deadly starvation

She pursued the stars in dreams
In the garment of black and white…

She despised the little stars
That makes a woman for a man…

A man’s heart is the stomach!

She is the paradox in vogue
A bad cook is enough
To spoil the broth…!

Alade remembers Amuda
Amuda, the charm and the cook…

Alade is known
Master of all refectories…

Alade wanted Amuda
Only that she has no class…

Has the class but not the pass…

The pass to his heart…

And today that the cleaner eloped
With her fears of food and poison
His wife could not sweep!

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