THE DYSLEXIA CREED by ‘Bukola Ibirogba

THE DYSLEXIA CREED by ‘Bukola Ibirogba


by ‘Bukola Ibirogba

I am dyslexic     

     It is neither a walk in the park, nor a picnic

This is what the world says I am.

In my heart however is deep calm.

I refuse to be ashamed

For this, I cannot be blamed.

I refuse to be overcome by words,

I have strived to be free from its cords.

Letters, dancing alphabets,

The harder it gets

To learn anything except new languages,

Forgotten instructions and muddled images.

I refuse to be defeated by not

Knowing which is left or right,

Or not telling which is dark or light,

Which is before and after,

Is it the first or the last chapter?

Cognition, recognition, recollection,

Are not the brands of motivation,

That help me grow, understand,

Learn, be fulfilled or boldly stand.


I am dyslexic,

It is neither a stroll in the park or a sweet picnic,

That is what the doctor told me at the clinic,

Please, remember that my inability is in fact an ability

To see the world differently,

To touch lives differently, but more intimately,

To change situations more constructively,

My eyes see the wonder in the world,

Even when others have their senses dulled.

The perched flies, the shining sun, the blooming flowers,

Sandcastles, even the mighty towers,

All the wonders of creation,

Things that make great a nation.

My greatest gift; my imagination.

I refuse to be ashamed,

For it, I cannot be blamed!

I am not defeated,

Despite the failures, repeated,

I stand tall amidst all pains

Of being different, and I reap the gains

Of uniqueness and distinctiveness.


I am dyslexic,

I accept who I am,

In my head is quiet and calm,

I refuse to be ashamed,

Yes, I cannot be blamed!

I am the definition of creativity.

My head filled now with dreams of what could be reality,

My mind is such a wonder to behold,

My hands building legacies to hold

On to, for generations yet unborn.

Einstein, Whoopi, Da Vinci, Beethoven.

Dyslexic; all they could have been,

As their teachers vowed; was a waste to the world,

A shame to education, wisdom and knowledge.

Over others, their gifts, their hands gave them a greater edge,

Their minds, their creativity; became legacies to hold,

Onto for dyslexic generations yet unborn to be proud and bold.

They refused to be defined by their inability,

Their disability which was in fact; an ability.

                                 To turn the world around differently,

And change the status quo, greatly.


I am dyslexic,

I am assured that it is neither a frolic in the park or a romantic picnic,

It is far beyond if I am Western or if I am ethnic.

I refuse to be ashamed,

I definitely cannot be blamed

So, I refuse to be defined by not,

Knowing the difference between cold and hot,

Or left and right,

My intellect, brawn, will and might,

Directed now more realistically,

Towards blessing lives differently,

Changing things more creatively.

I am you,

A part of the fortunate few,

The ones who get to see each day through eyes born anew,

The lucky ones for whom great ideas come like the morning dew.

Dyslexia is what gave me my name,

It is what will grant me my fame.

I am all that the textbooks named

I know I should never be blamed.

I am dyslexic, proud and unashamed.







Bukola wants to live in a world filled with delicious food, constant power supply, amazing people, beautiful music and interesting books that are carved out of the stereotypic academic setting.
As a recent law graduate, five years of legal presentations, research and assignments at the University of Ibadan, have taught her how to put her thoughts into words and express her imagination in writing. She is a part-time sound engineer, artist and a regular contributor to Kreative Diadem; a creative writing website. She is also a social media enthusiast.
When Bukola is not writing, saving the world in her daydreams or having series of conversations with God, you can find her singing along to Bethel Music, Lucky Dube, Nathaniel Bassey or Omawumi.

DEAR DADDY by ‘Bukola Ibirogba

DEAR DADDY by ‘Bukola Ibirogba


by ‘Bukola Ibirogba

Dear Daddy,
Mommy does not smile anymore,
Her eyes no longer light up with joy.
I remember nights when she cried herself sore,
And I have realized that,
We would go on,
After you,
Without you,
We would go on.
Though something beautiful dwells inside us,
all has turned to stone.



Dear Daddy,
It has been eighteen years and counting.
I can barely remember your face,
Ivie is an adult now and doubting
if she ever heard your voice or felt your gaze,
It is hard but, we shall go on
after you,
Without you, through the years
of pain and raw bewilderment,
brutal and angry tears.


Dear Daddy,
We struggled to eat from day to day,
Pangs of hunger, the scourge of kwashiorkor.
We had no place to lay
our heads,
and we thought you would walk through that door.
We survived and
we shall go on
after you.
Without you, we will heal,
Though love may labor in the heart,
The loss conceals the joy.




Dear Daddy,
I am grown now, and I cannot forget
How other children laughed at me,
Prize-giving days when you were absent,
Birthdays you did miss, tears you did not see,
So much pain, but
we shall go on
after you,
Without you, life goes on,
But neither hope nor happiness
may undo what you have done.


‘Bukola Ibirogba is a recent graduate of Law from the University of Ibadan. She draws inspiration for her poetry from her love for God and everyday issues.


DEFYING GRAVITY by ‘Bukola Ibirogba

DEFYING GRAVITY by ‘Bukola Ibirogba


We fall on our faces,

Time and time again,

Those moments when we fall in great places,

And bow our heads in pain,

From deep inside our hearts,

We begin to learn to find

Will; to strengthen our weakest parts,

Energy to enlarge the mind,

To see the possibility in impossibility,

And perceive the plain behind the mountain,

Conceive from the rain, the fountain,

We learn to rise from the rubble,

Heads high, shoulders straightened,

In spite of all the heavy trouble,

We begin to feel our senses heightened.

Photo credit:

Photo credit:

When we finally conceive positivity in negativity,

And clearly see the possibility in impossibility,

There we find strength to rise.

Time and time again,

With a step begins the journey of a thousand miles,

Our heads no longer bowed in pain,

We boldly walk out of our hiding places,

And finally freed from the broken pieces,

We realize that tomorrow never comes backward,

The only way is forward.

Walking the path to discovery,

Basking under the sun of recovery,

Moving from negativity to positivity,

Refusing to be held down in mediocrity.

KD poem plate 26

We rise, we stand, we trudge on,

We smile, we laugh, our fears gone,

The poison becomes the remedy.

That moment is when we begin defying gravity.

‘Bukola Ibirogba is a student of the Faculty of Law, University of Ibadan. She draws inspiration for her poetry from her love for God and everyday issues.
METAMORPHOSIS by Bukola Ibirogba

METAMORPHOSIS by Bukola Ibirogba



Breathing in, breathing out
Time stands still for a bit.
Calmly, it resumes in a minute.
Something has changed; a lot in fact.
A new identity has emerged.
The human has grown.
Ideas sprouting like beads,
Knowledge, that on which he feeds.



Slowly, the change occurs.
Life happens and the boy,
A boy he no longer is.
The boy becomes a man.
Time moves rapidly.
Life happens and the girl,
A girl she no longer is,
She becomes a woman.
Breathing in, breathing out.
The last breath heralds the end.
Metamorphosis occurs;
The change is made permanent.
Transcendence completed.
The human changes no longer,
Metamorphosis ends.


‘Bukola Ibirogba is a student of the Faculty of Law, University of Ibadan. She draws inspiration for her poetry from her love for God and everyday issues.
MUSINGS OF A SINGLE LADY by ‘Bukola Ibirogba

MUSINGS OF A SINGLE LADY by ‘Bukola Ibirogba


In a corner, all alone
In pairs, people pass me by.
Hand in hand, smile to smile.
I am invisible, faded into the background.

I sit and ponder.
Is it my fault? I wonder.
Maybe I’ve been too hasty to dismiss,
Eager young men asking for a kiss,
Time weighs heavily on my mind,
Age seems to no longer be on my side.

Maybe, it’s time I threw in the towel,
Maybe, it’s time to give up, or grovel,
I sit here, all alone.
Left with my hopes and dreams, all alone,
Single, not broken, yet full of hope

musing of a lady

And so I sit once again,
Full of hope, also full of pain,
Pain so raw that it grips my very soul,
Hope so great that my heart’s bells toll,
It’s easy for them, it’s hardest for me.

The geese, the goats, even the insects,
Have followed nature’s course with great effect,
In twos, they move, each with a mate,
I smile, pretend, saying there’s a lot on my plate.
Only I know the tears I cry behind closed doors.

My laughter has become mirthless
My careful looks have become careless.
I ask myself if anyone pays attention,
To the fact that my face is now tight with tension
Day after day, I feel my hope fade away.

Single was I born into this world,
But will I leave single?
The fire of hope burns less brightly now.
I have accepted that not everyone is destined,
To spend their lives with another.

I sit again,
Without hope, I am numb.
Pain increases so greatly, my heart is dumb,
Never again will I sing the song of hope.
I wait single, broken now, waiting to be healed.


‘Bukola Ibirogba is a student of the Faculty of Law, University of Ibadan. She draws inspiration for her poetry from her love for God and everyday issues.

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