Babatunde Alaran
2 min readJul 22, 2020

By: Babatunde Alaran


The night circumvents the sun

And spew to an unsparing gods;

Before the deluge comes in the noon

For a profound goodbye

And there is an incantation by the chanteuse

To the reflection of the facade cloud,

Then it fleeces upon the shadow of

A tendril leave at the burial rite.



She dies with a significant —

Or is there a soul in the ephemeral of joy

Bliss with a cupid of ill-fated death

Orchestrating the night birds in rhymes

Even as the night unfolds in drum

The cedar crux for an impending road,

Rough with grief and suddenly, we

Hear gun in the gauntlet of Tolulope


And sometimes in the dew, satyr,

Comes with a throng and, its harvests

For a haunted memory to come

When the tragedy shines with the

Silhouetted evening to wraith

As the moon marries her with wreath

In a nebulous way so to refrain our

Thought with whimper

That tomorrow has died in our smitten sinew

Oh — Death!


Although, night comes in Arotile’s crest

Proved obedient to law: sacrificial lamps

Recumbent posture of an impulse needle

That takes a pilot to her fit;

Then, I begin to plunge; deep in mindless

Trance, to give dirge for the obstructed view

With a fragmented wreath.

Today marks one week after your tragic depature.

Adieu — Flying combatant

Miss. Arotile Tolulope (1995–2020)




Babatunde Alaran

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