Olutayo K Osunsan Poems

At the sun's roar, African lions rise.
Brave in their crude strides in a pride,
They survey the land for what to eat.
...

How pure and true is your dwelling place,
Where the sparrows build their modest home
And the swallows release their shielded young,
By your altar, in your courts, in the sanctuary
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To hold you in my hands
And offer to you all I have;

To move the shadows of mountains
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Lotus blossoms
Bloom with the smile on her face.
Lips of hot cherry,
Face powdered with the hand fan;
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Dust climbing the sky.
Debonair in my white shirt.
Late to work again.
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I saw twilight
In the garden with a tree,
Its leaves dry and coy.
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3 Autumn sets her gaze
2 To undress the distant trees
1 Seduced by her voice
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Be the hero, the one that saved the world before breakfast twenty-four seasons ago.
The lunch time millionaire who sold his bread in crumbs and made a fortune in an hour can be you.
If its pity you want, I can brew it like fine Sunday evening tea and serve it in priceless china with affirmations.
The victor and the victim can be crafted and placed by dinner time. It will go well with blue wine and green eyed monsters, under the lilt of Masai music.
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I have roamed the night streets till its lights weaken and the moths retire. In my head, all the sad thoughts made way.
I have smiled at early morning strangers returning from sweat drenched work. In my heart I always question the subtle madness of life.

How the sunrises without a seconds delay for any soul or the moons departure without consideration for anybody's sleep.
I have searched my spirit as I search the street for an overdose of midnight gladness. It might cost, but still it takes me away from my pitiful self.
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A lion staring at the caucus
After the great hunt and the hush
And the stupid hyena coming to join
The feasting and perhaps become the starter.
...