Israel Akinbode Biography

Tell my mother that am gone,
Tell her with cold words how the hot earth
Peeled my soles with dirty knives.
Tell her, she needs to know.
...

Her fleshy paths laid on mat,
Gazing through her lane lustfully lost,
I want her! Take me through that lane.
Through the slippery laps of Delilah.
...

Deep down this tricky thick forest,
Every tree with fearful leaves,
Teaching fruits how to taste bitter,
Eager I am to quench all.
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The drunk night woke in his vomit,
Staggering away as the moon snores to sleep,
I heard his voice down the street,
Telling all he will come again.
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Her back:
A land so plain,
Divided by a bridge,
The bridge leads to mountains,
...