DEDICATION

This work is dedicated to the sweet memory of my late father and mother.
Late Mr Dirisu Gabriel Jimoh and Late Mrs Dirisu Serah Omonale.
For everywhere this literary work is read, your names will be remembered.

© Idris Titus Kayode (2008)

2
INTRODUCTION
Verses from the deep is a masterpiece occasioned by the experiences of an
African in the transience of man’s mortal existence. An accident of some sort!

The tenacious depth of these verses whose revelation spanned a total of nine
years has often stunned even the writer. Many times, I cannot but help
wondering the emotions J. P. Clark must have bottled up in his masterpieces -
The Riverside Exchange and The Call of River Nun. These two great works have had
tremendous influence on the imagery and style of my poetry. Life is beautiful
but life is also fearsome, man’s only hope coming from God.

The death of my mother in 2001 inexorably led to this work. Her death apart
from inspiring this literary work have also taught me that life comes in phases,
each presenting a delicate and transient glowthat blows out in no time, “for [we]
are [but] a mist appearingfor a little while and then disappearing”.

Her death was a killing blow in the face of a life striving for a voice, and since
then I have fought an unimaginable battle of self. The battle to capture the
loud voice and mutterings of her weak tongue which slowly burned out that
morning. The lifetime battle to immortalize her undying presence and
influence. The struggle to capture in this work those beautiful expressions I
never had the opportunity to say, for that is the transience of our mortal
existence.

Born in 1952, she died only at 49. Her death has taught me to fear my very
existence. For it can burn out when I least expected it to. Struggling with that
bitter experience of her sudden death thought me to take solace in poetry and
since then I have come to love poetry. While humans are by nature poets, only
few traverse the intine to communicate the poetry in them, ‘for every one has a
songto sing’. All of this her death has taught me.

The death of Dad in 2005 was even more devastating. He was only 56 at death.
But life had taught us to accept the wheels of happening we least can control.
Death is indeed man’s greatest enemy.

Sometimes I wish I could hold back the hands of time. Sometimes I wish I
should ever remain in the sweet memories of the good past. Parental care and
attention may have been the best thing we ever had as children. For those were
good old days which can never be revisited except with the poetry in us. While
some poems contained in this book were informed by this desire, there are sure
several others contained herein that are romantic, salutary and general that
would delight the reader.
3
Every time I pause to look again at these verses, those tears again are let out to
refresh the emotion bottled in this work. For while life has consistently beaten
the drums of sorrow and sang the unmistakable dirge of life, some have
mastered the dance.

May all the effort invested in this work absolve my troubled mind and put to
rest the undying desire to immortalize the memories of these two, for they
fought relentlessly the battle of life during their transient existence.

- Idris Titus Kayode (2008)

4
ACKNOWLEDGMENT

My heartfelt appreciation and acknowledgement goes to my siblings Joseph,

Samuel, Martin, Femi and Segun who contributed in no small measures to
developing the imagery and stories of the poems featured in this book when it
all started in 2001. Samuel Orie, my “effico” best friend and brother, who
together we had sleepless nights at the University of Lagos reading for our
science examinations and writing poems, I knowyou will be most elated seeing
the product of those times we shared together.

Also to Professor Jide Tomothy-Asobele of the Department of European

Languages, University of Lagos and an indefatigable epitome of the Kabba Owe
royal spirit, I sincerely appreciate your priceless contributions and
encouragements in putting together this collection.

To all those who have been part of this work in one way or the other during
the nine years of arduous mental excursions, I say a big thank you. In this
regard, the critique, suggestions and contributions of my darling wife – Uzezi
Dorcas – stands out. As an English scholar at the University of Abuja, she
worked tirelessly to ensure that this work is eventually published a masterpiece.

Idris Titus Kayode (2008)

5
FOREWARD

Titus poetic outpouring has once again given one the satisfaction that teachers
and mentors derive from the work of an excellent protégé. The slim collection
smacks of the Greek epic The Odyssey. We all remember that when Odyssey
went to war he left his son Telemachus in the care of “Mentor”. Mentor was a
wise and supportive adviser. The relationship between Telemachus and Mentor
was mutual and beneficial.

A mentor is that person who achieves a one-on-one developmental relationship

with a learner and one whom the learner, identifies as being able to facilitate
personal growth. Titus has been influenced, empowered to take responsibility
over his personal life and control over his environment.

From such pieces as Fragments, A Song by the Roadside, The Mirror, The
Village Yam Festival in Ayede/Aherin, one feels the naturalness of a
cultivated and cultured rural life that eludes the city/town dwellers to their peril
and psychotic paralysis.

This first “Offerings” is laced with the perceptiveness of a sound, alert mind. I
therefore recommend this book to lovers of anything that is pure and majestic
for that is what Verses from the deep represent.

Prof. S. J. Timothy-Asobele
BA (Nigeria) Dip (Dakar) MA, MPhil, Ph.D
Universityof Paris (Sorbonne Nouvelle)
Head of Department
European Languages
University of Lagos

6
TABLE OF CONTENT

Poem Page
1. Fragments 8
2. A Song by the Roadside 9
3. The Mirror 10
4. Memoir of Grief 11
5. Lamentation of Abore 14
6. Emene Wonders 15
7. Jingle of my fetters 16
8. My questions, my wish 17
9. The Cutler is after us 18
10. I Shall lead a revolt 19
11. Solace 21
12. The wayfarer 22
13. The world comes home 23
14. And the rain came down 24
15. Welcome the bearer 25
16. The village yam festival 26
17. A child s invocation 27
18. I knock the door 28
19. The moon tonight 29
20. Dilemma 30
21. Land of the winds 31
22. Cliff-edge reflections 32
23. The damsel of the rose field 34
24. Emptiness 35
25. She who loves me 36
26. Our heart 37
27. Portrait on the wall 38
28. Little rose 39

7
FRAGMENTS
© 2002 Idris Titus Kayode
(Fragments was a semi finalist in the International Poetry Contest August 2002 organized by the
International Library or Poetry, Owing Mill, USA. Fragments has also received numerous
commendations from around the globe including the Royal Publishing House, UK and is presently
published in the United States by the International Library of Poetry in an anthology titled: Under a
quick silver moon)

Now, friable rose have withered,

Shroud for petals finery
Fragments caught in a whirl…
Gusting, lashing like beach’s slam
Beyond reach in fading dream.
Nowit pinches like mamba’s snap,
Beneath-mound noon anger of a hungry fang
Fast swallowing downstream
Beyond antidote’s nullity in veinules,
Where the venom pitch its pinch.
Nowthe dream’s gone in graying sleep
Wide awake
And sad disillusionment.
It’s fragments that I see,
Fragments of cherished source-rose
Winded in the after whirl
It echoes beneath my aching feet,
Moping and urging oozing hearts
Memories of sad dawn backdoor
When she’d muted in crumbled petals;
Serene around this knoll, I mourn…

8
A SONG BY THE ROADSIDE
© 2003 Idris Titus Kayode
(A Song by the Roadside has also received numerous commendations from around the globe
including the Royal Publishing House, UK. It is presently published online at OnlineNigeria Poems
www.onlinenigeria.com/poetry)

I hear the sounds,

Sounds of forlorn drums
…pensive rhythm.
I perceive the call,
Lugubrious call of the song,
A song by the roadside.
I hear the roar,
Dreadful roar of the maned,
Descend amidst drumbeats
On my bereaved ears.
The drums thundering down the rain,
Foundering down the soil,
The throat of the earth.
Howthe forest
have gone barren
and the fronds dried,
awaiting a newlife.

9
THE MIRROR

Toddler heart,
Striving a glance
…at the mirror.
“I’m not fit for it,
mine not the stuns”
it struggled,
pacing into the mirror
Whose say but the chameleon’s
‘who says! Even the moon,
In its radiance
…can’t compare’.
A happy hare,
It leapt away
Seeking the dandelions,
The jewels.

10
MEMIOR OF GRIEF
(For Sarah Omonale Dirisu)

I
Detest still, famished dawn,
Wrested and munched alluvial root.
Darkness plunged,
Rustling zypheresque1
On ashed self.
Soothed nostrils, saline spring
Stained to mosaic leaflets
Whilst verse spills.
II
Bless you, Iye.2
Never to disturb your rest.
This slowly passing rain
Would wet thee.
I am, only in stripling
Rutted face
While we dialogue
In desolate, contorted,
Grief-brimmed mien.
Shall I fasten kponor3
For who is left outdoor?
Except I beat myself in doho4
Yet an orunkan5 cries.

III
I remember, Iye
I remember tuber days.
Sultry days bit,
Seasons were reluctant
For our tatterdemalion efforts.
I remember, Iye, I remember
When as children
Night stabbing the earth
In our exuberance
We lacked not.
I remember,
Howthe moon lit
Our adventurous small minds
And the unquenchable passion
11
Of our prying little fingers
Molding dunes.
Plentiful to replenish
Those joyous childhoods
When we plucked
Our teeth after meals
And like chicks
Roosted in your arms
For the cold nights.

IV
Three times, a time
And three times
Were glorious arrivals,
Yet our tears
Greased its legs.
The cowry fell
On moist fertile soil
It earthen shell shrinks,
And the cowrettes6
Would not dwell
On bequeathed clay sauceroid.7
Alone to lick my oil-less finger
And pour my drops, bitter.

V
I remember, Iye
I remember happy mo’nings
When from fresh foliage
Of twain twinning bines
Fresh dews brew
Lovely dews of season’s delight
Garnering in streaming ‘spire
Ants for a merry share.
I remember, Iye
Prescient noon in Aherin,8
When the sun,
Crouched above thatches
Simmer in the field,
Duty bent backs.
I remember
Days in Dele’s hums,
12
Mo’nings in `Kushimihi’s chores
Forests of `Tori’s prowess
And sweat, yes
Sweat of `Molo
All blown,
Blown to mourn-wilderness.

VI
Last night, Iye
Last night in my dream,
Your innocent eyes
Were the pearls,
The pearls in my dream.
Through the vast expanse
Of pink, yellowflowers
You stride across,
Smiles comely.
In my dream,
I sawyou
In flowing furry gown
White as skinned tuber,
By the spring
In promised vineyard
Satisfied and happy,
Beckoning.

1
Like a zypher (gentle breeze), 2Mother, 3Door, 4Sack, 5Orphan, 6Little Cowries, 7Semblance
of a saucer, 8A village in north central Nigeria

13
LAMENTATION OF ABORE1

This, to an island,
Abode among the rivers, Victoria’s.
This, to an island.
From which the gods have fled.
This, upon which
My calabash would break
On the strength of its rock
And my venison dismembered
Without the gods.
In the ages of our forebears,
‘twas an orita’2 bare
and our ware sits
like the ‘wich3 horizon
on this black precipice.
Eyes must be shut,
Shut at night
While the winds sings
In isede4 to the rhythm
Of ancestral heritage.
But here, eyes
Laity eyes,
Oju ogberi, oju ewo!5
Eyes of the night
Whose beam spare not
My nudity
And leave not
The little black seed
Of our sires,
Even on this alter
Were its feet rut.

1
Fetish Priest, 2Village Square, 3 Greenwich, 4 Curfew, 5Laity eyes, forbidden eyes

14
EMENE WONDERS

To the greetings
Of the dawn trumpeter
The day descends
on the wings of fading clouds.
When finally,
Heralded a decree
To join hands,
Hands splicing ends,
Must-meet ends.
Little Emene up rose,
To go ready…
Senescent, limbs quivering
And wryly,
Mother warned:
‘Emene, may your way
no evil know.
In the canoe, do not paddle
Many have drowned…’
Railing sky’s furry face,
The sun came a high,
Uneasy, mother scold:
‘Child, in combi,1
Do not drive
Several have in the mound slept, minced…’
Dusk approached
In mother’s obsession:
‘In oyinbo’s2 alloy bird,
do not fly. Flared, hundreds have’.
The sun counterpaning in clouds
Darkness unleashed.
Mother ill took,
And in wet claws snatched.
“but mother never in canoe paddled,
neither in combi drove,
nor in alloy bird flown…”
Emene wondered,
Deep, deep into the dark night,
Lids drenched, warm…
1
Volkwagen bus popular in southwestern Nigeria, 2 Whiteman
15
JINGLE OF MY FETTERS

It’s dark,
But bright, heart bright
From the fell-on curtains
Of ineffable love.
The night
Has taken to heels
To bring those wishes
Dancing to the jingle,
The jingle of my fettered heart,
Chimming even stronger.

16
MY QUESTIONS, MY WISH

Should I die,
Would the days cease,
And the nights, still?
Would the springs
Cease their flow
And waters fall?
Would the beautiful songs,
Songs of the birds, cease
And the sun, forever set?
Do not then mourn
As to sleep in pond.
I’ve only gone
Bearing the joy,
The joy of our feats,
The bliss of our clan,
And the buds, yes
The buds of our wombs,
And the borne of our soil
To our sires.
Easier it is
Than the sweetness of sleep.
Do not then mourn
As to crouch in the sun
Pelting the still souls
Should I die.

17
THE CUTLER IS AFTER US
(For victims of the infamous September 11 terrorist attacks in America, all who have lost their lives due to
terrorism in the middle east and the January27 Ikeja cantonment bomb blast in Nigeria)

Father, before you

We have come.
The rains are here,
To carry our hearts
And we leave our children.
We have seen the cutler,
Blazed at our agia tree
Wielded his cutter,
Dried leaves we gathered
From the ground in September.
The cutler is after us,
Gloom hover over us
Like tenuous web
Over pricky cactus.
The cutler is after us
With his stem,
Firewood for flame,
Our thatches tremble
And we ran
Leaving harvest-time barn,
Like the hare
From noon-feast
Of the maned.
Women, children
We have brought them
In thousands, departed.
And men blubbering.
He, at the cradle
Of the rising sun,
The middle,
When with a calling hug
He greeted them
Men, women and children,
Dropped vines
We have brought them.
The cutler is after us.

18
I SHALL LEAD A REVOLT
(For Africa in her struggle against povertyand all inhuman conditions of living)

I shall lead a revolt!

A revolt of the shrubs
Against the iroko.
Like bees drone,
Sharp through lone air,
My weapon
Tap-renting its hold
On our tinker’s portion.

I shall lead a revolt

Of seconds against awry times
Tearing its fate
From the inexorable tick-tucking
Into the belly of myth
As the victory match
Of raindrops from the clutches
Of the clouds.

I shall stage a revolt!

Against not the nation
But of the brim
Against the tide
Setting me in directions
Against myself.
My sword shall his ventricle find,
While I roar in contentment,
Blood dripping
To quench heated patience.

I shall in revolt rise,

Not of vantage but duty
Against not the gentle soul
Of mother’s bosom, neither father’s
But against the haunting spirits
Cyber-plotting in the flickers of dew
In dying dawn’s moon.

Listen to the voice of gangan,1

Pelting my soul for peace;
19
The shrubs wallowin mire,
Yellow-green in loam’s greed,
At the doorstep of iroko.

Chant in revolt,
Resist in one,
Let arrows meet pellets
Should the iroko live
While my deprived hut
Falls apart
And our heads suffer scorches.

1
Talking drum

20
SOLACE

Walk,
Far to the east,
In the gale,
Drown deep, to return.
Climb,
High on the shoulders of Obaje,1
To descend.
To the bed calls of dusk,
The roosters yield.
So among your sires
Shall you.

1
A hill in Kabba, north central Nigeria

21
THE WAYFARER

MAN:O swan
Of the timeless river.
A frizzling debris
Shuffling after whirlwinds
I have searched
For the wayfarer.
Clutched to the river straw
I am drowning,
Get me ashore.

SWAN: You do not know,

At the riverbed, he may be.
For what
Shall the fruit
Of your effort be
If you do not find him?

22
THE WORLD COMES HOME

The world comes home,

Aye de!
The world comes home,
To still night
Restful night
With stuck-up dawn.
He comes here,
For beauties in the land.
Afu, Ogbede, Opa and Obaje
Chills of lone nights
They dispel,
Hospitable coverlet.
Aherin, Assah
Draped in four braids,
Braids of pretty maid, Bunu.
The world come here,
To the fertility of clay
Among the mountains.
Akuros are ripe,
Coffee, cocoa, venison,
Braids carry our peppers
Daylight red and night,
Yes, night
Black hunch.
Beautiful daughters,
Daughters of the king,
King Of the Green Inland (KOGI)
Among the high plains,
Protector of the spirit.
Elegant maids
Whose braided beauty
He comes to seek.

23
 AND THE RAIN CAME DOWN

The sky like the path

Lost strides to ripe mound,
Glistening dark and flashes
…and the rain came down.
I like the conjurer
Night stares on occupied leaves
Burning flames for tomorrow
…and the rain descended.
Life like hewed tatters
Not for bad supper
…and the rain came tumbling down.
Nowit rains
First for with stirs
Telltale of succor
And the roosters awake
For scents of refreshment
Then clip the flap
Of relapse from wherewithal
And the palm kernels
Shall drop no more
Because the rain came rushing down.

24
WELCOME THE BEARER
(For Justice, Bukola, Gift, Eniola, Mercy, Clinton, Serah, Delano, Mabel and little Babatunde)

At the wake of the morning sun,

The mist
Must gather its effects
To leave for the journey,
The journey to nothingness.
Let the mist leave
For the bearer,
The bearer of the morning sun
The torch which he bears
The torch of justice,
Whose luminescence
Must light our hearts
So darkness must leave.
Welcome the bearer.

25
THE VILLAGE YAM FESTIVAL

Loosen up! Soil

To hands toiling
Deep in aluju1
Where lies the soul
Of the platter.
Loosen up! Soil
To souls beating thee
Deep in the aura of aluju
Where lies the hope
Of the clans.
Plenteous be the harvest
As the yams rest
In measured heights
Against the trees,
The tallest of them.
The seventh approaches
And the mortar
Must live again,
Carving of burden,
In festive vigor
Supplies the rhythm
For the evening palm wine
And light the night sky
For the moonlight plays.

1
Forest in Kabba, North Central Nigeria

26
A CHILD S INVOCATION

Let’s start from home,

And we shall go playing
Into the thick forests
Far away from home.
We shall climb high,
Up trees and hills
And when it’s dusk
Homeward we shall cry.

Come with your catapults,

For we shall hunt birds
Big birds pervade our way,
Birds crouching and nesting
Up high on trees
Along the footpath
To grand father’s green ridge.
Folks, we shall go,
Go on our adventure
With our bare chests
And our dirt-scented shorts,
Our catapults adorning
Our young inexperienced chests,
With seven stones each
For our catapults
While we roll our wheels
Into the forests,
Uphill and down
All along the river banks, and across.
Be sure you are ready
But first,
Let’s start from home
For we shall return
When we are tired,
When our energies are gone,
Gone from us
As the shells
From a new-hatch.
We shall return
When it is dusk.

27
I KNOCK THE DOOR
(For Wole Soyinka, J.P Clark, Chinua Achebe, S.J Asobele, Birago Diop, L.S Senghor, Okot Bitek and
other notable African poets and writers)

I knock with courage, the door of the pantheon

Where housed the verdant poets.
Here a toddler, crouched before the door
For I have crawled to this point.
Knowledge I seek, among the gods of this pantheon.
The gods grayed in the bath
By the scorching presence
Of this sun in a cloudless sky.

You must lick this oil,

Dripping from the forehead of a suckling
My calabash is laid, complete and calling,
Calling for the knowledge which you possess

I, the grandson of `Tori,

It is I that has come before you.

You must partake of my eko1

Abode amongst kola nuts and bananas
For my bowl is laid, complete and waiting,
Waiting to fetch from your stream.

For what use is the moon,

Without the night’s blessing?

You must count my tribute

So Eledumare2 does not rebuke me
For my basket is laid, complete and steaming,
Steaming skyward with zest.

1
Congealed pap popular in southwest Nigeria, 2God

28
THE MOON TONIGHT

Yesterday `twas the sun

Whose feet gaily walk to my isle.
Tonight `twould be the moon
Who’ll caress beautiful saintly figures
And leave them pregnant with shadows,
Distressed with dark monstrous shadows.
Rapacious innocent moon
Never does claded
In dull repugnant apparel
Like the Niger
Washed down in July’s torrent.

29
DILEMMA

This is the crossroad,

Where hearts melt to pool
From the flame of heated anguish.
Moments adrift with a fix
Which enmeshes this fertile ground.
Should I break open
Clogs of thirsty dust
For the stifling hound,
The thundering of a mortal roar
Or fetch the dripping blood
Of a mortal heart
Pierced by the gaze
Of the watchful quiet God?

30
LAND OF THE WINDS

In the land of the winds,

Whirlwinds, hurricane and gales
Where wishes reside,
Only determination reaches it.

In the land of the winds,

Across the turbulent oceans
Where goals dwell
Only hard work sails across.

In the land of the invincible winds,

Far above the clouds ahigh,
Where ambition and success lives
Only the wings of optimism
Fly that high,
And pessimism only brings you down.

31
CLIFF-EGDE REFLECTIONS
(For Late Mr. & Mrs. Dirisu Gabriel Jimoh)

Seated on this precipice,

The comfort of a cliff-edge.
I see the distant land
Adorn an inaccessible horizon
Where flows the river
Of my endless tears.
I see clearly, the space
Resounding the echoes
Of an orphan’s cry.
We’ve been through,
Through bright days
And dark nights,
Uphill and downhill,
Through the thick forests,
And clear expanses.
Now, I shed tears,
An endless stream of tears,
Who’ll cover the crater,
Dug on a toddler’s heart
By the callous limbs of death?
Who’ll mop this warm tears
And hand me red roses?
I’ll await the seasons,
When it shall rain endlessly,
When raindrops shall be love.
When the fields are green
With empathy
And pinkish red
With soothing flowers.
I’ll remain
On this joyous cliff-edge
Awaiting a lost call,
The call missing from within me.
The call which’ll end
My warm, warm tears.
I’ll await the touch,
The touch of an angel,
An angel on errand
To heal my wounded heart.
32
I’ll await the voice
Of the inexorable angel
And the smile
Which’ll reverse time,
Times when lips knewsmiles
And once hail heart, joy.
I’ll await the rains,
Which’ll water the fields
And make them overgrowtime.
The sun which’ll brighthen
The cherished flowers of the field.
I’ll sit here,
And watch the winds flying past,
Awaiting the beautiful butterflies
To add magnificent colours,
The bright colours of love
To the sky above me,
And joy to the earth beneath me.
I’ll await the break of dawn
The beautiful break of dawn
In a cleansed earth.
Let the winds blowaway,
The pains of a bleeding heart.
Let time swallow,
The sorrows of despondency
Of a defenseless orphan.
Let love return,
To erase the footprints
Of hopelessness on the shore
Of a loveless world.

33
THE DAMSEL OF THE ROSEFIELD

Little damsel,
Treasure of the rose field.
Would you listen,
To the song of my heart?
Tell me,
The secret of your potent charm.
I am the sparrow,
Sheathed by an umbrella.
Tell me,
The secret of your lovely charm.
I am the warrior
Shielded from arrows
By a metal shield.
Tell me,
The secret of your powerful charm.
I am the swimmer
Tireless, who never drowns
Even in turbulent waters.
Tell me,
The secret of your lively charm.
The sparrowis unsheathed,
In the downpour
Of your lovely presence.
The warrior is defenseless
In the warfare of the rose field.
The swimmer is drowning
In the calm waters of your charm.
Through my protected eyes,
You have plucked the fruit,
The fruit of my guarded heart
With the elegance of your gaze.

34
EMPTINESS

Emptiness is it
That haunts me
When in ephemeral dreams
You dwell.
Emptiness is it
When my heart calls
In the dialect of love
Without response
In the wilderness.
For without you,
The sun is but
A dull radiantless ball in the sky,
As with the beautiless night
Without the cricket’s song.

35
SHE WHO LOVES ME
(For Naomi, Mosun, Uzezi and Funmi)

She who loves me,

Sees in me the zeal
Of a relentless current.
She who loves me
Sees in me
The good dawn of tomorrow.
She who marries me,
A pauper she loves,
Swayed not by today’s stern.
She has seen tomorrow.
She who marries me,
Marries the scorch of today,
For the sun scorches,
That July may come
And the fields
Shall again
Be draped in green.

36
OUR HEART

She cried…
“…our hearts we earth
Wailing hearts, heavy as clouds.
Foot away from hope.”
She cried…
“…mourning, we’re gathered
Bathing down our pains
As we lodge our love
Foots away from vanity.”
She cried…
“…now, the back would be still
As we hesitantly trod
Away from source
Dripping heavy with each comfort
Clattered around each other
As we trod away
From the earth
Which swallowed our hearts…
…the earth which lodged our love.”
I cried…
‘…what a world’

37
PORTRAIT ON THE WALL

Never has it been,

Firmly shut doors, windows
Yet an opening on the wall.
An opening, through which
The night sobs
And an infernal gust
Stream across
My small intine room.
Every look at the portrait
Lifeless on the calm wall
A thrust on an open wound.
Every flowof the stream
Through the mouth of the wall
A journey into yesterday.
Still and lifeless portrait
Frozen by today.

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LITTLE ROSE
(Dedicated to all victims of breast cancer worldwide)

Beautiful little rose,

Writhing on hope
Groping earnestly in tears.
Now, life it must find
Across a dark world.
Petals thy affliction
Stuns thy shame,
Little rose burning out
In the merciless wind.
Little rose! Little rose!!
I shed tears
Beholding mourning dew
Gorged in the ambitious sun
Burning out in the wind,
Oh little rose, gone in hope.

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About the Author

Mr. Idris Titus Kayode hails from Bunu land in

Kabba/Bunu Local Government Area of Kogi State,
Nigeria. Born in 1978, he holds a B.Sc (Hon.) degree in
Chemistry from the University of Lagos and a Masters
Degree in Environmental Management from the Federal
University of Technology, Minna, Niger State.
Mr. Titus is deeply experienced in traditional culture of
the Yoruba’s of south western Nigeria, an affinity that
has an unrelenting influence on his poetry adding an unmatched beauty of style,
imagery and class. He spent his childhood days growing up in a mix of both
rural and urban environments. Mr. Idris is particularly fond of his childhood
memories and days in the south-west, south-south and north-western parts of
Nigeria.
He attended kindergarten schools in Ijofin, Ipokia in Egbado South Local
Government of present day Ogun State, Primary School in A.M.E Zion
School, Oron now in Akwa Ibom State and Murtala Mohammed Primary
School in Yelwa-Yauri, Kebbi State, after which he proceeded to Government
Science Secondary School also in Yelwa-Yauri, Kebbi State leaving in Senior
Secondary One in 1992. He later completed his Secondary Education in Iworo-
Ajido High School (NowIworo-Ajido Model College), Badagry, Lagos State.
Having passed Secondary School Certificate Examinations in flying colours,
Mr. Idris was admitted into the University of Lagos in 1998 to study Chemistry
after an unsuccessful attempt to study Medicine and Surgery at the same
University. It was at the University that he encountered the power and
emotions of poetry after a series of sad events led to the death of his mother in
2001. Under the tutelage of re-knowned poet, translator and writer – Professor
Jide Timothy-Asobele (a Professor of French Language) of the University of
Lagos, Mr. Idris completed this collection of carefully written, succinct and
emotional poems over a period of Nine years.
Presently working for the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC),
Mr. Idris is happily married to Uzezi Dorcas and has two sons – Delano
Olusola Domero and Olujimi Trust.

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