January 7, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION


Fawole Immanuel Taiwo






Our mutuality, the world hails;
Standing at Akimbo for a gaze.
We are engulfed as an ideology amongst a race.
My fall is no false.
With my bleeding device
I will make you conceive;
Opus I pray you to give our allegiance.


Our chumminess she nearly antagonize—
A polished ruse, euphemized Science.
She held me by my arm and peregrinated me to another phase;
I crowded with miscreants in this.
Owning to the yawp in your voice,
I unravelled my misplace.


The slacking endowment forlorned me after the monotonous days.
My heart was ablaze before being set ablaze.
Science rejected me, I did likewise. Nonetheless,
On my cradle of despair I was when I raised my face;
Your hair billows like the silk on maize
And you gave a smile, one that’s nice.


My mislaid laurel you restored, not in piece.
You clothed me with another trademark of grace.
With this weapon in my hand, I’m galvanized in solace.
Our mutuality I’ll relace.
Art, my fiancée,
In the emblem of your loves
I harbour solace.


Art Saved My Life…
Art, Oh Art, you’re my Solace Place.











Perambulate I feature in a trance.
In it I was flaunted duo phases.
In them I eye twain factions;
Differ in looks and operations,
But similar in objectives.


The first phase is an anthology of scoundrels
In black appearance as of agents of hell,
Looking ghastly when looked upon.
In hands are weapons
Desperate for directives.


They are the visitors unwelcomed
Who dare not be spurned.
With amity with night
And enmity with light.
They visit and impinge with startle.


This sect never abhor your handwork.
They are also paradigms of hard work.
Your reap, they want their part.
They are the ones who depart,
Making the sower a vanquish as of battle.

On the other phase of my trance,
Coterie of political patriots I discern in reluctance.
Though with this post they aren’t sweet.
In air-conditioned official suites
They administer their masked aspiring doom.

In hands are pens
That bleed against their yens.
The pens are approximately mesmerized
As the unsung penners through them materialize
In response for solo boom.


A pen can but be acknowledged with its bleed
When it is not styled a weed.
A poet can but be gay with his penning
When he is sung to the growing.
The unsung penners deviate the orthodox.


Through the compromised pens
They lay foundation for their yens.
Undermine, the unsung penners will reap from the world.
The pen they non-sensically broadcast a boss to sword
A perfect imperfectly flaunted paradox!







Fawole Immanuel Taiwo

Fawole Immanuel Taiwo is a Nigerian writer of the three genres of literature: drama, prose and poetry. Of the three, his dexterity on poetry is more profound. His writing experience started when he was eight years old. His first poem, ‘African Or What?’ was written in 2013. Fawole was a Science student who later forgoes Science for Art due to his love for Art. He writes his poem, ‘Solace Place’ after leaving Science to reflect his action and state in Art. The likes of Wole Soyinka, Niyi Osundare, Akeem Lasisi, Chinua Achebe and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie are his role models.


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