#Yoruba

24 posts
  • madinah_writes 2w

    Shango (Yoruba language: Ṣàngó, also known as Changó or Xangô in Latin America; and as Jakuta or Badé) is an Orisha, a deity in Yoruba religion. Genealogically speaking, Shango is a royal ancestor of the Yoruba as he was the third Alaafin of the Oyo Kingdom prior to his posthumous deitification. Shango has numerous manifestations, including Airá, Agodo, Afonja, Lubé, and Obomin. He is known for his powerful axe. He is considered to be one of the most powerful rulers that Yorubaland as ever produced.



    03.10.2021

    /////




    Sango!
    The god of thunder.
    Fierce in mind and spirit.
    Man no one could inherit.
    If a lier swears in his name,
    Would get stuck to death.

    Sango!
    The god of thunder.
    Brass crown on his head,
    Double axe in his hands, a symbol of dread.

    Sango!
    The god of thunder.
    This eyes are burning fire
    His strength are in his words, just ease.
    A standing motto for justice.

    Sango!
    The god of thunder.
    The heart of boiling gold of deed.
    He's the joy for for which the innocent are freed.

    Sango!
    The god of thunder.
    Only the evil doers at night
    Face his merciless sight.
    The wicked during the day ,
    Are left speechless on what to say.

    Sango!
    The god of thunder.
    Cast them beatings of lightning and thunderstruck.
    There is no escape, for all evil is stuck.
    Sango of rights in equality,
    Dance to him in turns of virility.







    #myth #sango #yoruba #culture #nigeria #heritage #words #miraquill #wod #writersnetwork #writerscommunity #writersbay #hero #god #gods #thunder #lightning

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    Sango; the god of thunder

    ⚡️⚡
    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 13w

    I Am...

    I am
    The dimpled cheek, black girl.
    With three tribal marks standing on my chest
    Two-handed braids interwoven through my kinky hair.
    Poetry on empty paper,
    The shy nerd in class.

    I am
    The devoted Muslim girl.
    Never missed my daily salat.
    Offering ta'ajjud from dusk till dawn,
    Till my mother wakes me for morning choirs.

    I am
    The Yoruba girl, born in an Hausa land.
    Lost on what to speak,
    I find only English Language.
    Even though I'm expected to speak Arabic Language.
    I find knowledge anywhere my eyes touches,
    And wisdom where my mind reaches.
    I say it, how my tongue twists it.

    I am
    The virgin haired girl,
    The reserved one.
    A wallflower everyone at college is pointing at.
    Ancient-mama, bookworm.
    Are you married? Why are you so fat?
    She's just a village girl,
    Claiming to be born and raised in Abuja.
    I walk away in silence.
    Thinking of where I actually belong.
    If, I actually belong.

    I am
    The loner, the narcissist, an egoist
    The tagged for being so different.
    Crazy, dull, Olodo!
    I would hear my classmates call me.
    Obese, food-monger, Orobo!
    I would hear my family call me.
    Is it so bad to be differently modest?
    When my quietness is mistaken for sluggishness.
    When my solitary is mistaken for stupidity.
    I think and wonder...
    Where do I find myself in all of these?
    When home is no longer home,
    And the society is no longer welcoming.
    Because of my size and colour and languge and dressing.
    Because of my unwillingness to change my culture for yours,
    Or myself for you.
    I thought we once said.. culture is life?

    When culture have changed over with time. I can no longer wear my wrapper to class.
    When black tradition is bleached with today's civilization.
    When culure is killed in the name of today's fashion, science and technology.
    I can no longer use my local beads,
    The ones I once cherished.
    How can I fit into a society that changes over time?
    How can I the human's mind that is insatiable.
    Lost in all these thoughts,
    That hunts me down like memories of yesterday.
    I realize... I just have to be myself,
    And nurture my heart to what I want and what I know how to do best.
    ©madinah_writes

  • jon_ukor 15w

    THE PAULIAN CODE

    O bá ẹsẹ rẹ sọ̀rọ̀ díẹ̀ díẹ̀
    nigbati awọn imọ-inu rẹ halẹ ododo.
    Ara rẹ gbọn pẹlu idunnu,
    gbona, sibẹsibẹ tutu,
    nitori ti o ti bori nipa ifẹkufẹ,
    ṣojukokoro fun aladun adun.

    Ṣugbọn nigbati o bá ẹ̀mí rẹ sọ̀rọ̀ lèkejì
    koodu Paulian tun-iwoyi sọ,
    ati ni akoko yẹn,
    o wa idi lẹẹkansi.

    [2 Timothy 2:22]
    "Run from anything that stimulates youthful lusts. Instead, pursue righteous living, faithfulness, love, and peace..." (NLT)

    ©jon_ukor

  • madinah_writes 15w

    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.

    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    When it was time for storytelling.
    Our folklores, Alo ati Orin ibile.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.
    When was the normal in the black society.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the gaint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.
    Flashing their smiles, showing off their expensive dimples.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    Bokoharam, Herdsmen attack, EndSARS now!
    A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Fake news, swimming in the air like flies in dirt.
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or are all these sufferings are permanent?
    Year after year, we await to fill another hungry lion.
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.

    © Madinah_Writes


    #Justice #Africa #folklores #mirakee #miraquill #Acienttimes #Yoruba #writersnetwork #Storytelling #prose #poetry #Reality #thoughts #democrasy #politics #politicalpower #writerbay #wriyerscommunity #pod #qod #wod

    Read More

    A Struggle For Justice.

    ©madinah_writes

  • madinah_writes 16w

    If independence is achieved on a platter of gold,
    The institution of colonialism will remain forever it strong and old.

    Yet, we dream and follow promises complain their fake-interests.
    Everybody was creating the blames,
    Nobody was fixing the problems.

    Long Ago,
    In the African World.
    The old father's the young immediately after sunsets.
    When it was time for storytelling.
    Our folklores, Alo ati Orin ibile.
    Time for entertainment and moral lesson.
    When was the normal in the black society.

    Grandma tell me this!
    Grandma tell me that!
    Grandma tell me why the tortoise have a rough, shelly back?
    Why is the dog a hunter's pet?
    And why is lion the king of the jungle?
    That was so much fun,
    The children would gather under the gaint mango tree.
    Singing historical and cultural songs.
    Alo o! Aloooo!!
    Follows another set of mind blowing riddles.
    Flashing their smiles, showing off their expensive dimples.

    The children would rack their minds to answer grandma's questions.
    Brain cracking, riddle follows.
    Then, as I heard.
    Children would laugh to Grandma's stories and ask brainstorming questions.
    With words of wisdom where everyone could think by themselves.
    So I was told...

    And now, I'm growing.
    To what our life and living has become;
    Like a bird's empty nest, that was once filled with life.
    Now, I stare at the African life of nothingness.
    What I see is failed promises and bloodshed.
    Bokoharam, Herdsmen attack, EndSARS now!
    A dark, starless world in silence.
    As the youth of today cry and seek for the best.
    Hoping for a future that like a fairytale, might never come.

    When the best is traded for selflessness.
    What are we doing?
    Where are we going?
    Who is our tomorrow?
    When today is full of sorrow.
    Are we getting wiser?
    When all we depend on is Google and the internet?
    Fake news, swimming in the air like flies in dirt.
    Are we even blessed?
    When we await betterment from our so called leaders.
    Would there ever be a change or are all these sufferings are permanent?
    Year after year, we await to fill another hungry lion.
    Or have we forsaken the gods of the land?
    Which is which? I need to know.
    What is next, we need to think.
    Why is our tomorrow,
    Laying at the end of the brink?

    War of independence,
    Seen through it's eyes.
    That sees no transformation,
    All in the name of change.
    They change for the post of power that never satisfies them.
    The war of independence is war of death!

    Lasted with several years with thousand souls, dead.
    Dusted and forgotten.
    Women and children,
    Expecting genuine freedom from colonial rule!
    The independence they promised was not real, ungranted.
    Everyone was hungry to sit by the side of the power pot!

    The rich were getting richer and the poor, poorer.
    We were made as a stepping stones for the colonial masters. 
    Those days and still now.
    Independence turned out to be opposite,
    Corruption and injustice.

    © Madinah_Writes


    #Justice #Africa #folklores #mirakee #miraquill #Acienttimes #Yoruba #writersnetwork #Storytelling #prose #poetry #Reality #thoughts #democrasy #politics #politicalpower #writerbay #wriyerscommunity #pod #qod #wod

    Read More

    A Struggle For Justice.

    ©madinah_writes

  • lola_writes 53w

    No apologies

    Why do you hate me?
    If it is because of my skin colour?
    I got no apologies to offer you
    Because my skin
    Tells a story of who I am
    It says a lot about my ancestors
    It's my history
    So tell me why should I apologise for my dark skin?

    Why do you despise me?
    If it is because of my tribe
    Then I have nothing to apologise for
    Because my tribe is the reason for my undying spirit
    The reason for my never tired bones
    So why should I apologise for being a descendant of Oduduwa?

    Why do I irritate you?
    If it is because I am a woman
    Then I can't feel guilty for that
    After all the person who went through the pain of bringing me to this world is a woman
    My XX chromosome is the reason for my compassionate heart
    So why should I apologise?

    Why do you want me dead?
    If it is because I am a Muslim
    Then feel free to behead me
    Because I have no apologies to offer for the light that shines ever brightly in my eyes
    I have no apologies to offer for the fire that burns in my soul
    I have no apologies to offer for the peace that envelopes my mind

    I am telling you
    I won't apologise for the attributes that define me
    I won't apologise for who I am
    I got no apologies to offer for the way God created me
    ©lola_writes

  • throughtheeyesofblue 79w

    Àduké

    Àduké mi, you're beautiful

    Even though you look into the mirror and don't like what you see

    Even though you struggle to fit into the world's standard of beautiful

    Even though you wish to look perfect like the girls praised on social media

    Even though you think you're at the bottom of the infamous social ladder

    Even though you struggle with your low self esteem cause of your seemingly too many flaws

    I need you to know, your flaws make you beautiful

    You're beautiful, Àduké.
    ©throughtheeyesofblue

  • psychobitch 91w

    The morning visitor

    That night
    When the moon shined on us both
    And made your skin silver
    That night when you raised my legs above me
    And used your weight to keep them apart
    That night when you dragged me
    roughly to your self
    That night when you dropped your òrôgun (stirring stick)
    inside my hot pot of amäla,
    The sound it made I can't comprehend in English
    only in the tounge of my mind
    The feeling I got...
    If I had let it out, then perhaps the walls of the room would have helpt in Writing
    But the sensation made me shut my mouth with my hands_
    it was so strong, I feared I would cry
    That night when I finally made you cum, for the first time in our two times of love making
    That night...
    Now I wish that night of pure passion never got corrupted with the morning dew
    Because with those drops came your goodbye
    ©psychobitch

  • lammideh 106w

    Aduke

    Àdùké òrékélèwa
    Omo tó léwà tó tù ní'wà
    I hope you will not deem it flattery
    If I say your smile gives me life

    Each time we elope beneath igi òrombo
    Your eyes flood my world with light like rainbow
    They enlighten my paths on the darkest road

    Adúmádan ìbàdí àrán
    Your presence makes me forget àná (the past)
    A word from your mouth is sweeter than àló ( a tale)

    Eyínfúnjówo mi òwón
    Your teeth obeys the law of total order
    Dark is the whiteness of the snow beside that of Àdùké mi òwón

    Àdùké dúdú bi kóró ishin
    Your kinky hair carries a fine sùkú
    Your beauty is like that of the omidan omi
    Linger on in my heart, Àdùké òrékélèwa
    ©lammideh

  • rayhanatoladele 123w

    Proverb

    A Yoruba proverb says “The stealthy movement of a leopard is not because of cowardice.”

  • rayhanatoladele 123w

    Proverb

    A Yoruba proverb says “What an elder sees while sitting down, a child can not see it even while standing up.”

  • rayhanatoladele 124w

    Word

    A Yourba proverb says “The king's house that got burnt, it only adds beauty to it.”

    Never despair just because of failure. It only makes the success and victory sweeter.

    ©rayhanatoladele
    (ararecovereddiamond)

  • s_o_p_e 127w

    Iya mi

    Happy mother's day iya mi
    I love you iya mi
    You are beautiful and you have an amazing heart
    Iya mi a strong and bold woman
    9 months
    3 years and many more years
    I salute you mother
    I thank God for you
    I write this today for you
    Remembering beautiful moments and memories and pray to God for more beautiful and amazing ones
    I love you iya mi
    Thank you iya mi
    ©s_o_p_e

  • dukesam 127w

    MAKANJU

    Hear these words i speak my son
    Omo mi Aremu, my bright shining sun
    You are my first and my last
    It has just been you and I since your mother's death left us aghast
    As you pace through the long walk of this solo journey
    I give you the key to fufilment; omo mi makanju
    I know that Asake son just bought a car
    And that my friend adamu daughter has become a superstar
    But i still say to you makanju
    Your quivers are still full of arrows
    But do not shoot them at the wrong sparrow
    You may think you have not pleased me but dear one makanju
    If you roll with wolves, they will lead you like lambs to slaughter
    Learn that patience is a virtue, a wise man's tool
    Greatness is never measured in time
    In as much as you make hay while the sun shines
    Even when the patient dog doesn't get the fattest bone
    He never gets injured struggling for bones with his other bros
    As i breathe my last and sojourn into the land beyond
    Never forget that patience is the key
    ©dukesam

  • dwavey 132w

    A bond (wait for the beauty of David and Rachel)

    A writer telling you he loves you... There's more to that than just love. A writer wants more than that feeling, he wants to lust, he has been lonely in his imagination, he tells you he loves you... Never believe him, cause he spends sometimes learning how to lie. He tells you he loves you, best believe he broadcasted his love to not only you but another 7, he's bored and thought about your nakedness, he's trespassing into your innocence... he's given his family, his character and his literature as a whole the love it needs, he can't love you anymore. He's deep in another world.
    What's love? My nuclear family, my characters, my literature... I had to leave myself out of my love, I've harmed myself knowingly, I've pierced my innocence. Then I tell you I love you... I just want your warmth on my bed... If my love is trying to extend its limit, I'd let it move away from my life.
    No love even for me
    ©The journey to tell

  • thequestpoetry 136w

    Love Series

    My Love
    My best supporter
    My greatest rejection

    My Love
    My Unity
    My Diversity

    Ife Mi
    Emi Mi
    Aya Mi

  • dwavey 144w

    How would you feel?

    Eyes connecting, a strong degree of boldness as we exchange feelings.
    Let me slide into your insecurities, you just sit there wearing a short skirt, with your permission; I'll use my hands to go deep into where only the loved one has the audacity to go, I'll put my finger deep into that garden that makes life sweeter.
    With your permission; I'll bring your head closer for a heavenly tongue on tongue action. Gently I'll remove your clothes, gently, calmly, softly I'll remove your bra and suck on those beauties.
    With your permission; slowly ill thrust into you, I just love that sweet and calm moan.
    I just want to know how you'd feel, when I share with you the angelic forces that has been housing in me.
    ©David Tells

  • blacktalker 148w

    **"ODO TO BA GBAGBE ORISUN RE, YO GBE'' IS A PROVERB FROM THE YORUBA TRIBE OF NIGERIA IN WEST AFRICA.

    IT SIMPLY MEANS; WHEN A FLOWING RIVER FORGETS ITS SOURCE, IT WILL DRY UP.

    #origin #yoruba #poetry @writersnetwork @mirakee @tomorrow_is_amazing @redpaint

    Read More

    NOWADAYS, WE SHED OUR CULTURE, FAMILY BACKGROUNDS AND HERITAGE

    ALL TO HAVE A TASTE OF THE LIE, SOCIETY CALLS CIVILIZATION.

    I GUESS THEY NEVER HEARD THE WORDS OF OUR FOREFATHERS

    WHICH SAY "ODO TO BA GBAGBE ORISUN RE, YO GBE''

    @BLACKTALKER

  • dwavey 153w

    When David listens

    I see something not just beautiful, but artistic, like a village mother beating a child, the way the child cries is so beautiful to me. Or a group of nursery and primary school children coming back from school all dirty (the boys though) chatting and playing on the road. Or a group of old men chatting and drinking beer in a local bar. To me it's something, or me talking to someone particularly a feminine and she smiles, laughs or giggles, I find art in it.
    ©David Tells

  • fragilewords 176w

    EFA

    Brought forth from Adam I became Eve
    Not to compete with him
    But to fulfill a need Adam couldn't,
    Can't you see I am a necessity?


    ©fragile