Posted in Dear diary, Imaginations, Inspirational

My imagination. My strength

It’s very funny when I solve problems with my mind
And find drastic solutions just with my imagination
It’s very funny when you crush on someone
And you picture yourself dating the person
It’s very funny when am hungry
And I imagine that perfect delicacy my mum makes
It’s very sad when someone hurts you
And you can only keep quiet about it
It’s very sad when someone breaks your heart
And you imagination becomes shattered
But think of the possibilities
Think of the power of imagination
Think of the strength it yields
And think of the impact you can make to your generation.
#we are rising
#Diary of a young poet
Sanyaolu Olubunmi (Mcbumnik)

Posted in Anthology, CAP (Campus Association of Poets), Guest



I’m the wordsmith of the night,
when the night fox howls
with its entire might,
I dip my pen in ink
and find my muse, for tonight,
I want to punch my name into history,
Even if it’s for this one night.
For I’m a wordsmith,
Straight into your skull,
My words will hit.

Mr Waduud.



In the furnace of a blacksmith,
Spawns the roughly fine sword;
Finely processed by the swordsmith;
A tool in the hands of sages and inklords.

The sword leads, cutlasses and hoes follow;
Father of all harmless weapons.
Inform the sparrow to give tongue to morrow,
And morrow to take barrow from bimbo.

A shout out to all my sons abroad;
Tell them to sip from my pot of knowledge.
Use me as an antidote to save lives,
As I lie beneath the poetree.

Poetry is a double edged sword,
Piercing the souls of readers and bards.
A word weaving machine,
Dispensing the thoughts with poetic cards.



We Need Help.
soft made hard
rough made smooth
sinky made strong
thanks to the puncheon

we, like raw gold, thirst for a refining caress from the creator’s puncheon
so our acts may towards morality pave way.

our garden,  green and white
now dust-turn-brown is on the verge of a “pitiable pismal-dismal”. like noon handing over to dusk,  we have uncontrollably fallen off the high-heel that made us once a giant.  we need the savior’s touch!

our societal ills are resistant to pills
our heads are knaves
we need a clean shave
with your puncheon…
harden our land and make it not turn to a grave!
look not away,  for these we crave.


My pen, my sword,
Weaving to the clock’s tick,
Penetrating blocks,
Dividing bricks.

My pen, my megaphone,
Announcing to passers-by,
Breaking bones,
Soothing lullaby.

My pen, my music,
Appealing to my soul,
Enriching tonic,
Alluring tole.

My pen, my mystery,
Twinkling set of clusters,
Creating history,
Amazing wonder.

My pen, my muse,
Supplying my motive,
Providing clues,
Enhancing additive.

My pen, my puncheon,
Wielding with creativity,
Mending truncheons,
Mystifying captivity.



I lie to myself
When I say my poems do not depict my thoughts
I lie to myself
When I say I don’t get hurt
I lie to myself
When I say I like being alone
I lie and I know
But I also say the truth

They say the truth will set you free
So I lay down my truth
I love and I hate
That’s what makes me human
I feel jealousy because I care a lot
I have a lot of heartbreaks which is really sad
But I hide it under my smile

The truth is I smile so you won’t know my weakness
The truth is am not proud but I have a functioning Ego
The truth is i want my name to be written in history

But all I do is write in my diary.

Olubunmi Sanyaolu (Mcbumnik)



His quill is his sword
The parchment, his shield
The words he writes on it is authority
With these instruments he fights battles and wins wars,
Against the evils of this world
Revered by all and disrespected by none
His words are law for nations
He stays true to his art even during times of adversity
Making sure to uphold the truth and nothing else
He is a poet who shapes the world with his pen.



The crooked road has been punched
Thus made straight
Thanks to the punch
That makes way

For the society has danced
Into flame of shame
And all that snarled
Through the punch came
To witness the fame
In the fist’s name

In the field of thorns
The punch waded through
Now a road of torts
The punch made full

Thanks, the punch
The society renders a bunch




I am the mace,
I stand as your alibi of unity,
I am the gavel of morality,
I am the voice,
That speaks of your ‘heels,
I am like liver,
That metabolizes your nutrients,
I live,
You exist.

I am the wind,
That blows truth in the world,
I stand, when some minds want to bend,
I do not jubilate at a sight of immortality,
I do that, which will uphold the society,
I am alive for criticism,
I detest racism,
I represent every conscious minds,
I speak nothing but the truth.

I am poetry,
The one who speaks with authority,
Mother of creativity,
Father of morality,
Friend to a moral society,
Enemy to the follies of politics,
I am the symbol of your conscious minds.



Punch on me
As little as the sun rays
A touch so soft
Yet so destructive to blaze
Far above the reach of human thought.

Punch on me:
The raw metals,
The shining gold,
the glittering diamond petals
The beautiful emerald unfold

Punch on me:
Your nature no such felt
All creatures worth
The beauty of what’s ought
And my search will be all sought

Punch on me
The golden knowledge
The axe of fire
The sword of justice
The boldness of heat

Punch on me
For I am here to receive
The punch of transformation
To fight the fight of truth
I am desperate for the punch.

Justus Ogar.



Affirmation from the elders I seek
Considering the knowledge he has gained
Widely, then was it revealed to me
The mystery behind what I seek
The affirmation is the delight I get
Ye from the bleeding of my own pen
The confidence I derive from my hands
The pleasure I derive from adding
Oh to my own knowledge

Thou art the affirmation I need
Now that it’s been known by me
What I ye needed to do
Is work harder and build on it
Lest I become a better personality
And incoming generation can also seek
Affirmation from me thereof


I do express my words in pen
I do expose the deeds with words
I do make imaginations wide
I do make sake fake seems realistic
I do configure your thought to resemble mine
I do more than you can think with my pen
I do know for sure my own is mightier than the sword
I do need to remember it needs to be sharpened often
I do need to make sure its life is retained
Hence make
I do refill my ink
I do make sure it never hours dry.




Where they
Subtract one guilt
Add some ironic sugar
A bit of rhythmic ointment
Then garnish it with salty words
An image here and a symbol there
Personify it with the ills and norms therein
Then state their problems and woes a-lyrically
Proverbialise their thoughts or- state in clear terms
Then add Shakespeare without shaking the Sphere
Osofisan becomes the hoe to sow the sun
You know
In that place

That multiplication will be the shortened version of addition
So economic paralyses becomes historical euphemism
There is no room for defending epic successful failure
Then the hyphenated characters there, forever is lost
This is how you know that poetry isn’t just a diviner
It is a seer not just to command or demand
When it reprimands, that is the result
Of intellectual provocation
Then they enjoy in happiness
Drink this glass of wine ‘cos
Poetry is just extremely divine!




In the beginning, God created poetry.
Poetry birthed every thing.
First line ever would  be:
Let there be light.

Never of His words would go unfulfilled He said.
His blessings and rebukes through His words.

Prints became immortal sister of words.
Piercing the soul or soothing the heart.




I write in the wilderness of anger
Where i command the pen
To speak, write and proclaim
What it sees, feel and think.

Poetry sets from the North, East, South-West,
It is the mother of every children,
The one who does not have father
Yet, with many unborn generations.

Poetry is the voice
That does not have mouth
But with a melodious tone
‘Cos it wont sees not to tell but the truth.

Poetry is a soothsayer
That tells the truth
And proclaim authority
With a manifest audacity.

Poetry is a composition of verse
Exhibiting conscious attention to problems
Through the minds –
The ink through which it tell.

Poetry is the bile
That liveth  in the heart of the personnel
To correct ill manners of the society
And foster credibility of the moralities.




The prison is also for human beings
Saith their crappy voice against ours
And we thought we brought them on
So very better we Re-think
Forever seeking freedom; humans
Never running dry; our pens
Only tool they hate; our minds
Their first antagonist; the poets.

The long term memories
The day changing secrets
The sooth revealers
All God’s works are all ours
Powerful to rip apart
Unashamed to mend souls
Hope for the weak
Medication to the mind
Medievalist we are

With just a message, she’s off her feet
With lullabies in poem, he’s won over
With emotional poems, we stopped crisis
With written texts, we are all over
Got the keys to the locked gates
We hold the stamp to  blueprints
Alas, the voice of a poet resounds
The works of a writer talks
The beauty in our poems shines
And behold! Poets don’t die!
I’m a poet
I’m an icon
I’m a puncheon.




You were there,
Announcing yourself like the town crier,
And passing a message,
Like the sound from the talking drum.

You are here,
Bringing words together,
Creating a platform,
One that would project what you speak.

You will continue to be,
For words will not cease to be,
An edifice,
You will forever make out of them.

Whether you stand or sit,
In paper or in voices,
You will execute the purpose,
For which you exist.




Lines, stanzas – emotion
All in one, words flow
Anthology – attention
They are one in spirit – the glow

Never underestimate poem’s power
It always work where it could save
It’s nothing but a life saver
The true nature is a heart safe

I speak seventeen syllables
All combined to give a haiku
Five – seven – five words syllables
All fused in three stanza-coup

I’m a coup mastermind
Punching words to pierce the mind
Never scared of using metaphor
To cause my opponents fall

I’m just a learner who spew poetry
Although I can’t spell onomatopoeia
Or differentiate innuendo from irony
I’m not a faker but a word wielder

I write rhymes but worries about rhythm
Wondering if they could add up to create sonnets
Plus if poetry could be sung in church like a hymn
Maybe poetry will breed a lot of Saints.

To who that refuses to see beyond,
Survival of depression without expression
Is like driving a car with no petrol!
Poetry is my expression and petrol!

Emaculate Ife.



And who says a poet can be put into a dungeon?
When he has not lost his poetic lines,
Neither has he lost his muse,
He possess puncheon,
Forever with his bleeding pen.

Living with the memories of when poets are neglected,
Kept most poets in emotional trauma.
Their pens remain in everlasting oubliette,
So rusty and dusty,
Only the brave ones survived the agony of the atrocity.

Poets are meant to be celebrated,
Appreciated and not deserted,
For from their celebrations,
Come muse for more word masturbation,
Which produces life beautification and titivation.




Dark and frozen mysteries
You lighten and turn up stories
You unleash hidden truths
And teach mighty fools
You crawl into deepest thoughts
And make minds courts

You cut through noisy hearts
You rule over gentle minds
They rejoice in meeting their kinds
And they bring nature into art
They bring kings to meditate
And write even on slate

You hold famous legends
And can predict a good end
You exist to help souls
If they are ready to act their roles
You do no racism
For You join Euphrates to Mississippi

You are not god
But every poets knows your eulogy
For you are the voice of the poor
The lyrics of every couplet
And the power of greatest minds.

You are a puncheon
That sink through every mind’s
And you never cease to exist
For I heard Solomon wrote you an ode
And shakespare borrowed from thee
And I read of Oscars lines
And am sure you’ll travel till the world folds
And until the earth ceases.




Deep down am lost,
feel like am shredded,
but you found me and gave me hope
of years to come.

I wallow in nothingness,
you supported me with your loving ness,
day by day I’m charged towards my slate
wherein my life dwells.

when am dejected,
I find love in you,
you know the every me,
even the darkest side is like mirror to u.




Aged Golden Rod held  highly by world’s wordsmiths,
Powerful sturdy stamp that commands both kings and slaves.
Purely colourless translucent drinkable water of the wise,
Unsavory tasteless unswallowable solidity for fools.
Faceless faces breathing heavily with bodilessness,
Call it the immaterial substance that covers space,
Call it the whispering winds in hollow sphere,
The immortality of gone mortals like Shakespeare.

Should I say it is Fairy Power or Real Authority?
Or should I simply call it what it is; POETRY!




Give me this sword
Let me hold it by its neck.
Only this can show to the world
That it is I that has been ordained.

Just this I crave to have
A symbol of hope
For the nation that I have
Been ordained to dominate.

Give me my strength; our strength
Myself and Shakespeare’s
This poetry is our blood
Myself and others.
This poetry is our own authority.


Posted in Dear diary


I lie to myself
When I say my poems do not depict my thoughts
I lie to myself
When I say I don’t get hurt
I lie to myself
When I say I like being alone
I lie and I know
But I also say the truth

They say the truth will set you free
So I lay down my truth
I love and I hate
That’s what makes me human
I feel jealousy because I care alot
I have a lot of heartbreaks which is really sad
But I hide it under my smile

The truth is I smile so you won’t know my weakness
The truth is am not proud but I have a functioning Ego
The truth is i want my name to be written in history

But all I do is write in my diary

Olubunmi Sanyaolu (Mcbumnik)

Posted in My Love Story


Can someone help me out?
Help me with the meaning of love
I have seek and failed to find
I stopped searching yet it did not find me
I have seen things which may seem like love
Or could it all just be lust

The perfect curves of Omosalewa drives me crazy
Looking at her blessed structure has ran men mad
The view that destroy homes is what she bears
And her uncontended nature is not what I need
Should I say I love her because of what I see?
Can someone help me out?

Fatima is also a pretty and fun to be with lady
You both can talk and never get bored
The sad part is that Fatima has a “But”
Which makes me sad and sick at heart
She gossips and backbites and never hold secrets
Should I say I love her because she is fun and pretty?
Can someone help me out?

Adepeju does not look bad either
She is light, fresh and rich
Am not bad either but her standards are pretty high
She doesn’t care if my account goes empty
As long as she is happy
But I love her or so I think
Can someone help me out?

Pelumi looks perfect for me
But my heart says all ladies are the same
And my head says “you haven’t been lucky with these beings”
So I am deciding whether to sit this out
But anytime I think of the meaning of love
I think of Pelumi
Should I let her go because am scared?
Can someone PLEASE help me out?
Olubunmi Sanyaolu (MCBUMNIK)

Posted in Dear diary, Inspirational


Dear diary,

Boy wake up its time to go to the farm
Sleeping all day will only do you harm
Take the basket and hold it by the arm
Its the harvest period and we need to dig up the yams

Papa I just one more hour
I need to finish my dream
Lying under this cozy blanket is like a dream come true
The dream is sweet and I don’t think am through
Please just one more hour i beg of you

Mama already said I’ll join you later
I’ll do my chores and make the house look better
I’ll be fast because I know time is all that matters

Am scared to get out
Get out of bed
Get out to work
But If I don’t then I’ll probably die of hunger
Olubunmi Sanyaolu (MCBUMNIK)

Posted in Inspirational



Alabi told you of his failure
You laughed and giggled at this downfall
Alabi is in pain and is struggling
Yet you just walked out like you do not care
Alabi gave up and took to the lines and trees
But was saved by a Good Samaritan
He gave Alabi a second chance
He told him, keep moving up
And do not give up


Omolewa needed someone to love and care for her
She found you and you seemed perfect
Not knowing you were the devil’s incarnate
Omolewa was innocent and she gave you her precious heart
She saw you as her charming prince
She gave you all she had except her dignity
Which was her pride and her beauty
It was her life and her soul
But you did not think of her feelings
You came and plucked of her happiness and ego
You stole from the soup pot and you never looked back
Now the pot is open and going sour
Omolewa is in pain and never to love again she swore
All she can do is to keep moving up
All Omolewa can do is to never give up


James took loan to start a proposed business
A business you introduced and you knew would never strive
You were interested in collecting his money
And hand back to him mourning
James was living in hard times and needed a quick way out
A way out of his suffering, grief and misery
He placed his family house on collateral for loan
You duped him and stripped him of all he had
You even stripped him of his life
John killed himself and could only move down
His last chance of survival you took away from him


You better give up your evil ways
And start giving people a chance to have their way
Stop wickedness, stop sharing pain
Do unto others as you want them to do to you
Stop the flow of tears and start giving happiness

Posted in Drama and Poetry, My Love Story

Valentine Special – Letter to my Queen

KING: What do you want again; don’t you know how to stay away after pain? It’s obvious you have nothing else to gain.
MCBUMNIK: Staying away is a sign of defeat and anytime I fall I stand back on my feet, I may not be a General with a lot of fleet but I’m a guy who never quits.
KING: The last time my dad almost cut off your head is not memorable enough? Or do you want a case where an angry man puts you off.
MCBUMNIK: My act is a sign of love and at this point my heart can’t be shoved.
KING: (sigh) Ok, I’ll help you pass your letter to my sister, but at the end if you dare not treat her like a star I’ll make sure your head is used for tar.
MCBUMNIK: (jumps happily) Here take (hands over letter). Thanks a lot, if I have my way I’ll buy you a plot or even build you a fort. (Leaves)
KING: This dude claims he loves my sister but all I see in him is a cheater and his attitude a player, let me read his message and know what secrecy he hides before I peel off his hide and stab him from behind. The letter even smells good; he has probably sprayed perfume on it, this is what a player would do. (Opens and reads letter)

I saw you and I sighed
Indeed a beautiful sight
Like an angel all I could see saw light
And like an achiever I must surely fight
I prayed to the one lord
That I would obey his word
If he creates a cord
That would connect both our hearts
But anytime I see your dad
My heart skips and becomes sad
Because he does not approves and sees me like am mad
The lord has shown me how to play my card
But all I have is my guard
And my ability to work hard
And in my possession my swag
And apart from that a water gourd
That mama gave me as a gift from abroad
I’ll work hard till I can afford
A benz for your dad and for you a ford
Blessings shall be mine in that accord
That’s why I keep praying to the lord
And sticking to his word
You are my emerald
You are my silver and gold
My life I will live for you
But first let me solve issues with your dad

Posted in Drama and Poetry, My Love Story


King: Bro! I haven’t seen you in a while, I heard you were busy.
MCBUMNIK: Busy? What could I have been so busy doing that wouldn’t make me get in touch with you? Lately, I have just been feeling a bit dizzy.
King: (laughs)so I heard.
MCBUMNIK:(surprised)I hope its not something that has painted me as a part of the herd?
King: Well we could say it has since you are part of the herd of those falling in love. Anyways, just give me the full gist😁
MCBUMNIK: No, sorry this is personal so am just going to write it down in my Diary. All I can do is to keep putting you on twist.
King: That ain’t fair. (whispering to himself) I’ll just have to steal that diary and read it out loud.😈 I’ll show that am the one with the fist.

I met her on social media
As if she was just standing there
Waiting for me to come find her
Then just like a race car driver
I met her standing at my destination
As if she was the one that sent me on my mission
I was stuck on the spot like I was hit by recession

Then gradually I realize
That she wasn’t full of lies
Like all other ladies in my past lives
Different thoughts cross my heart like busy flies
I hope I won’t be the one full of lies

This is the moment of my life that I have lived
Not because I had prayed and focused on my belief
But because I believed
Is this the best thing I have achieved?

All I think of is “hope I won’t be the cause of her sadness?”
All I want for her is happiness
And a moment of her gladness
With her in my arms
And I in hers
Smiling as we fly to mars
And await the day we become ours

We hurt each other
And plead for one another
There are days we witness war and order
And there are nights we hang up on each other
There is a power in the skies that keeps the order
And gives us another chance to love one another

There are bound to be days of war
And nights of peace
That moment I think of “what should I have worn?”
To the place where I want to see the lady that I dare not wrong.

Posted in My Love Story


In every man’s life there are bound to be heartbreaks, I wrote this poem during one of them… So it was purely inspirational… You can get inspiration from any corner of life, sometimes its the inspiration to do evil, we all know that inspiring oneself to do evil is never profitable but it’ll only bring the person down, so why don’t you channel your inspiration for good and check the result.


Oh! What heaviness
It feels like a million stings
Tears build up in my eyes
Sorrow fill my soul
I love you but you don’t love me


What a painful feeling I bear
I told you how I felt
Because they say a man should be courageous
Only to hear the strangest words
I spent time with you
I stabbed myself and pulled out my heart
I gave it to you and you collected it
Just for you to drop it on the cold hard ground


I asked why
You replied it could never work
Because you are already taken
I felt betrayed
All these while I gave you my all
But you never told me you were someone’s else


Is this what the Saviour planned
You hurting your fellow man
You could have told me when I told you how i felt
But you kept it a secret until now
I cherished all our times together
I bottled it in an iron bottle
Which won’t break when it falls
Until I heard those words
Words of how you felt
I had to let you go
I never gave anyone so much of me
I gave you my all
But you never gave me your one.
Olubunmi Sanyaolu (MCBUMNIK)
Diary of a Young Poet

Posted in My Love Story


If you read my first poem on this blog you will understand that this poem is more like a continuation, the funny part is that this piece is just ok without the first, but you will get a complete picture of what am saying if you read my very first post “MY DIARY BEGINS”. After all its a Diary and there is no way you will understand a diary from starting from the middle. Enjoy 😉😁😊

My story is a very strange one
Shebi I don talk am before
Let me tell you about one time
When I met this Damsel
She gave me a gaze
That went through my body like a race
Ahh! My head turned
I became a Zombie
Then at a time I was like, is this really me?
Omolabake, what have you done to me?
I was expecting a different story from that of Amoke and Asake
Why did you leave me like Abike did?
And broke my heart like Omo Igbo did
It’s strange how I dream all day and night
And wish to have another day to fight
But am I doing what is right?
By putting my heart on the line
Chai! Na only me waka come?
I was duped in matters at the heart
By various ethnic and religious groups
Hmmm! My story is really strange
But you have not heard the end of it
This is still the beginning.