Ìjẹ́ Abiyamọ Ní Àríwá Àti Ewì Mìíràn | Ayọ̀bámi Káyọ̀dé

Ìjẹ́ abiyamọ ni àríwá
 
 Mo máa ń lo ìgbà mi láti há 
 Orúkọ àwọn ọmọdékùnrin tí wọn kò ní jẹ́ 
 Ọmọdékùnrin mọ lẹ́yìn ìdúngbàmù, 
 Wọn kò ní tọ́ka pé ọmọdékùnrin ni wọn, 
 wọn kò ní pè wọn ni ọmọdé tó ń fẹ́ fi nkàn-ìseré ṣeré mọ́, 
 àbí ti wọn fẹ gun kẹ̀kẹ́ ní òpópónà, àbí tí wọ́n ń lọ sí pápá 
 Nírọ̀lẹ́ láti lọ wo òréré ayé. 

 Mo gbèrò nípa Ọmọ mi nínú èéfín àádó-olóró, 
 Tí ẹkún rẹ sì jẹ́ ẹ̀dùn tó fa ọkàn mí ya 
 nígbà tí mò ń súré láti dóòla rẹ nínú 
 Iná tó gba ilẹ̀ wa kan. 

 Mo gbèrò ogun báyìí;
 Obìnrin tó ń dárò ọmọ rẹ̀ tó d'ólògbé 
 Bí obìnrin mìíràn ṣe ń wá ọmọ rẹ tó sọnù
 Lẹ́yìn ìdúngbàmù. 

 Mò ń retí ọjọ́ tí ìlú yìí 
 Kò ní sí nínú ìparun, ọjọ́ ti ọmọ mi 
 Máa dúró níwájú opó-ìdánimọ ìlú yìí láti 
 Ké orin-orílẹ̀-èdè rẹ̀, ọjọ́ ti ọkàn mi máa ni
 Àlàáfíà, pẹ̀lú ìgbàlà àwọn aláàánú ènìyàn 
 Tí wọ́n ti mọ̀ wípé ilé ayé yìí, ibùgbé àlàáfíà ni ó yẹ kó jẹ. 

Being a mother in the north

 I spend my days memorizing 
 the names of boys who, after a blast, will no longer be boys
 addressed as boys, called as children 
 About to play with a toy, 
 Or ride a bicycle down the road, 
 Or to a field where every evening, 
 they chart the world. 

 I imagine my child in the smoke of bombs, 
 His cry the ache that shreds my heart as i hurry
  to rescue him from the fire that ravages our land. 

 I imagine war like this:
 A woman grieving her dead child 
 as another woman searches 
 For her child after a blast.
 
 I long for the day this country 
 Will not be in ruins, the day my child 
 Will stand before the flag of this country and recite the anthem 
 Of the land, the day my heart will be 
 at peace, saved by the kindness of people 
 Who have come to know the world as 
 Sanctuary. 

- Rasaq Malik Gbolahan (The Other Names of Grief)

Ìyá

Bàbá kọ́ ilé sí ìgbéríko 
 Kò fẹ́ papòdà si igboro; 
 O lérò pe ẹ̀mí òun kò nì ní ìsinmi 
 Ní irú àyè bẹ́ẹ̀ tí kò tòrò. 
 O kúrò láti fi ilé yìí ṣe ibùgbé. 
 Mo wà ní ilé ìwé alákọ̀ọ́bẹ̀rẹ̀. 

 Ọdún tí o pọ ti ré kọjá. 
 O kò wá ní ìfọkànbalẹ̀ pé ó kúrò nílé 
 Léèyí tí ó yẹ kí o dúró. 
 Àjòjì ni ìbásepọ̀ wá jẹ́;
 Fún oṣù tí kò ní òùnkà, awá ń ṣe àfẹ́rí ara wa 
 Nígbà tí ara rẹ kò gbàá mọ́, 
 O pe ìpè tí ó ṣe bí ẹní fi'ni lọ́kàn balẹ̀. 
 Ọkàn mí wúwo púpọ̀
 Lẹ́yìn oṣù tó pọ̀ 
 Tí o pè mí láti bèrè bóyá mo sì nífẹ̀ẹ́ rẹ. 

Mother

Dad built a house in a rural area. 
 He didn't want to die in the township;
 He thought his soul wouldn't find peace 
 In such an unsettled place. 
 You left to stay in this house. 
 I was in primary school. 

 Now many years have passed. 
 You're worried that you left
 even where you should have stayed. 
 We have a strange relationship;
 We starve of each other for months, 
 and when you can no longer bear it, 
 You call for what seems like reassurance. 
 My heart feels heavy inside my chest 
 When after months
 You call to ask if I still love you.

 
- musawenkosi khanyile(The internal saboteur)