Biography of Seyi Enikanoselu
Seyi Enikanoselu was born on the 12th of may,1989. A renowned playwright, novelist and poet, who devotes much of his time on pastoral creativity. He is a member of Association of Nigerian Authors (Kebbi State branch) . Some of his works include; ROMANCE OF DEATH, THE LABYRINTH, ON THE EVE OF EXECUTION, OLD CURSE, among others.
Seyi Enikanoselu Poems
My Night Grace
Night I thank you, For saving me from the laborious day, For releasing me from the captivity of the sun, For protecting me from matilda of the rain.
"You must push the pen to the column, " my father commanded, "Your paper isn't inked well, " mother yelled, Waiting and sighing in perfidy; Bending over the rough and dull monsters,
I was born like I see, an imbecile, I agreed within me, I took to my fate, I received pleasure and prestige,
HURT HEART This is the world of tragedy, A world of failure and deceit,
Tears Of Agony
TEARS OF AGONY I mourn but with silent tears, I wail within, yet I smile out,
When fire burns in the forest, We all see its smokes, When I say fire burns on the river, You all bother me with queries,
I am an ant, I live only not to die, My pocket is not to build mansions, Neither do I plan to make stables;
When the market is set ablaze, Who is the semiotician To alert the deaf of the impending peril? When a hundred souls are on sleep,
Madness Of Our Days!
Dancing to a ring point, Once he makes up like a sweated labourer, Mouth wide opened with refuting refuge, Against the podium he declares.
In the morning, tongues are seen out of mouths, Heads dangling up and down with joy, Teeth singing glorious tunes, To celebrate his arrival.
Who Is Mad?
A man pretends to be wise, Calling aking in crown and robe A fool but wears tatters, Who then is foolish?
The Haunting History
Cracked like a wailing morn, Toned up like a moderate feather, "Shall we live by history? " The sonorous mime hits me.
One Nation, More Notions
ONE NATION, MORE NOTIONS By the command of our headmaster, "Arise o compatriots, " we intoned with serenity,
Away they go two thousand kilometres, To a large pasture of barley, With their bills they plough and toil, Like torque does to engine,
When the market is set ablaze,
Who is the semiotician
To alert the deaf of the impending peril?
When a hundred souls are on sleep,
Who is the professional prompter
To remind the dumb of the anticipating menace?
Does a farmer need to be trained by an agrobiologist
That a good tree bears good fruits?
When a branch is unfruitful, won't it wither?