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Comments about Popoola Debo
Look as I wither,
on my kneels, at your feel,
I see my pains through your eyes,
And your gaze drills me hard.
O lady, peace like an angel,
Roses rot at your feet.
Your mouth cruises with lies,
while lies you call them.
Shall I sip the wine that oozes from your nipple,
Or swallow the muesli from devil's table?
These eyes that sparkle.
Horror in the hollow of her hands.
O lady, methinks your name is white devil.
But you said to me, ''black angel''