Wuraola you never told us you were seeing someone
The late nights you kept, we thought were spent in the library
The nights you never came home, we thought you went for a vigil
Again, and again, you kept saying no!
To the suitors that bade your hand in marriage
The young men that seductively sought to befriend you
And the lascivious friends who desired the pleasures of your flesh

Wuraola the daughter of Ogundele son of Akinwale
Why have you decided to soil the family’s good name?
Why have you torn to bits the nobility of your father’s appellation?
Why have you poured scorn on the dignity of your mother’s linage?
Why have you chosen to dance the tune of shame?
Why did you choose to be known as the black-sheep of Ogundele?
The impetuous and reckless child
That dragged her father’s name in the mud

Wuraola, you said it will never get into your head
The cheer and yell of your many admirers
You promised to protect with pride
The awing beauty Eledua gifted you
Which was once spoken off in the village square
Afore the twilight gaze of the blooming moon
Your presence bedazzled young men
And cased maidens to spite in envy
But you said it will never get to your head

Wuraola, like your mother Adepeju the daughter of Adetola,
You were supposed to be brave and strong
You were supposed to be a model to others
You were supposed to go to school,
Get decent education and one day make us proud
Your purity was to be celebrated on your nuptial night
But you chose to heedlessly shame us all

Wuraola you never told us you were seeing someone
When you sat in the dark giggling blithely
We never knew you were not alone
When you leaned on that iroko admiring the solemn stars
You never told us it was because you had fallen
Like soldiers of the mythical Trojan war
To the warm deceitful embrace of a doomed love

Wuraola, when you started vomiting without restraint
We thought you had fallen victim to food poisoning
When your morning sickness began to blossom
You made us believe it was signs of a stifled malaria
We prayed and wished you a quick recovery
Little did we know our dreadful suspicion was right
That you had begun reaping the fruit of forbidden pleasures

Wuraola, the apple has fallen far from the tree
You have forever tainted our pious history book
How do we recuperate from this bewailing stigma?
How do we explain to the soul of your departed parents?
That you chose pregnancy over virtue.

If you like this article, please share with others
3.5 2 votes
Article Rating
Notify of
1 Comment
Newest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Oyindamola Oludipe
Oyindamola Oludipe
September 25, 2023 7:37 pm

A beautiful Poem☀️❤️