Poetry from Theophilus Adeyinka

Try Smile

                     When you labor from dusk to dawn

                     Sleeping only for some hours till morn,

                     When you watch your hands tremble from cramp

                     And cold sweat makes your cloth damp,

                    When a trace of grin darkens your face

                     And in gloom blues you seek solace,

                     When you watch vain results pile:

                     Still from within, try a smile.


                     When for a thousand life pays a buck

                     And you feel nothing seems to work,

                     When you lie on the brink of desperation

                     Seeking your way through strong meditation,

                     With closed eyes, yet seeking, all you can find

                     And thousand thoughts flood your pale mind,

                     As fickle fortune ease you where you lie,

                     Invictus you are, when you smile.


                     Against the fierceness of a million raging storms,

                     And the cataclysm raining down to burn,

                     Against the future that seem very bleak,

                     And the fiascos making your bones creak,

                     As the moon reflects in perfect radiance

                     Against the damp night in sweet defiance,

                     The bitterness that engulf you like bile

                     Can you courageously fight, with a smile.


                     For I know a smile can:

                     With the fury of ten thousand swords

                     Pierce through the marrow of mocking words;

                     With the warm Aura of the sun

                     Draw you positive people for your sun

                     With the attractiveness of a maiden

                     Get you prompt help for a farthing;

                     Cause you to sing while tackling the thing

                     And do what you thought you couldn’t.





Often I sit and stare the sky,

Her colors gay and tints of grey,

Her glowing dusk where lovers bask,

All forming a myriad of shapes.


Once I saw a rider’s steed

Formed by white on blue setting.

Like secrets waiting to be freed

All seem to have hidden meanings.


I give substance to those I like

And see just what I want to see.

The soiled greyish spots I dislike

For they look like rubble on sea.


The flood-like waves with essence white

Is often shaped like white bunnies.

And when arranged in mounds of white

I say the heavens are meeting.


For some there are standard meanings

Like the silver lining in clouds

Which is a sign of good tidings

After a while devoid of hope.


Maybe I am just Ecstatic

Or just my mind doing all these stuff

But if I were an artist

The Sky’s picture seems just enough.



Time over time I see my dad

Strive to give us what we want.

He would always drive himself mad

When nothing can’t be done.


Night after night I see my dad

Lost in a fuddle of thoughts.

He would sit still wishing he had

Lesser battles to be fought.


But he never makes a budget

And prefers a simple plan.

He will never be a subject

To fiscal matters like no man.


He has a list of everyone

We owe some picayune sum.

I hear him say he’ll pay them all

From the next accrued income.


True…his sources bring forth a gem

Often more than expected,

He would withhold and fritter them

And forget the indebted.


Then he is rid of all the cash

And then all his bills fall due.

He remembers he’s thrown a bash

And his loans remain undue.


He would stare blankly into space

Like the answer’s written there.

And I often worsen the case

When I ask of pressing cares.


“God will teach us the way to act”

Is my dad’s usual response.

Will God then come down to Earth

To help us spend every ounce?


As for our most pressing cares

Trying dad can make it rain.

He would incur more gruesome debts

The cycle begins again.


Then he works arduously to earn

And one sees its toll on him.

There goes a man who works the man,

He’s trying, he’s trying, indeed!


         Let me hope

                     Here I wander on this lone road,

                     Lost and don’t know where to turn.

                     Soothing voices are rare as gold,

                     As for a friend, there is none.


                     The path before stretch endlessly

                     Laying between a stifling desert.

                     The sky above plots recklessly

                     With the sun to make me revert.


                     I hear a voice from within say:

                     “You chose this sir! Yes you chose this!

                     And a man must live day by day

                     The outcome of the choice he makes.”


                     Replying in a faint voice I say

                     “Yes I chose this! And don’t regret.

                     I’ll press forward this cursed day

                     Till that great day I won’t forget.


                     Rob me the chance to make amends

                     Rob me the soothing words of a friend.

                     Rob me the air, rob me the cold,

                     Rob me them all but leave me hope.”