Author Archives: James Ogunjimi

About James Ogunjimi

A poet, blogger, activist, social crusader, revolutionary and apostle of change

Chained Tongues, Imprisoned Minds

Chained tongues, imprisoned minds,
People who have lived their lives their humanity trying to find,
People who would rather give up than stand up and fight,
People who have lived too long in darkness they can’t see the light.

Chained tongues, imprisoned minds,
Birds of a feather; they’re one of a kind,
Burdened with problems, living daily in fright,
Freedom seems now distant, there’s no hope in sight.

Chained tongues, imprisoned minds,
In rudderless ship, the blind leading the blind,
What else will unite us if not our plight?
When will we understand that in unity lies our might?

James Ogunjimi

When the gong of duty is beaten

When the gong of duty is beaten

When the gong of duty is beaten,
Some will hear, some will not.
Some will understand its message while others will wait for it to be written.
Some will agree with the message while others will find fault.
But we must arise and act even if we were sitting,
When the gong of duty is beaten.

When the gong of duty is beaten,
When it calls us to lift up the standards that are falling,
Even if it’ll take us across rivers and lakes,
Even if our last dime it’ll take.
We must arise without lingering,
When the gong of duty is beaten.

James Ogunjimi

No Door is Ever Closed

If This Is My LastPoem: No Door Is Ever Closed

Life is full of disappointment; life is full of pain,

Life is full of challenges that would threaten our faith,

But no matter how many times we are left in life’s cold,

If we look well, no door is ever really closed.


Life is full of people, who don’t care where we’re from,

Life is full of friends, who won’t be there to break our fall,

But no matter how many, “Sorry, no vacancy” we are told,

If we press on, we’ll see no door is ever closed.


There will be ups; and yes, there’ll be downs,

There will be times when we can’t help but frown,

But when we accept that we are all travellers on life’s road,

We’ll understand why no door is ever really closed.


James Ogunjimi

Ogun State, Nigeria

February 2014

Public Servants

If This Is My LastPoem: Public Servants

We call them public servants,

They are meant to tend our lands,

But it’s here that the servants eat and are fat,

While their masters look lean and sad.


We asked for food, we asked for shelter,

We asked our servants to make our lives better,

But rather than give us meat they threw to us bones,

Their only answer to our requests is NO.


For how long can the masters bear the insolence of the public servants?

Will the time ever come when the masters will take their stand?

It does not have to be tomorrow or a later date,

The first step to freedom can be taken today.


James Ogunjimi

Ogun State, Nigeria

February 2014

The Writer’s Balm

If This Is My Last


The Writer’s balm

If Every time our souls are barren, we pick up our pen and write,
We would give up trying to be as famous as Wilbur and Orville Wright,
For whether we turn to the left or to the right,
Whether we end up being wrong or right,
In the final analysis, the end of man is a funeral rite.

If every time we sit and think,
While trying to find the break in the link,
We can either cry our heart out in the sink,
Or we can choose to pick up the pen and use the ink.

If tempted we are to hide our head like crabs,
If we are made to feel like guinea fowls in the lab,
We can our pen gently grab,
And in that moment we’ll realise, that covering us is a writer’s garb.

If while daily working our lives away on the farm,
If the scorching heat of the sun has taken away our peace and calm,
If we suddenly feel like ending it all in the dam,
We can find solace in writing down a psalm,
For then we’ll discover that right in our palm,
Lies the writer’s balm.

James Ogunjimi
Ogun State, Nigeria
February 2014.

Enough of Mere Men

If This Is My Last
Enough of Mere Men
Conformists fall for anything,
Driven by others’ opinions like a leaf in the wind,
The world is full of men who just want to blend in,
Men who would sell their voice even if the world’ll come to ruin.
History has its heroes, history has its villains,
History has its record full of men who lived in vain,
Men who cannot think for themselves or play their own part,
Men who would rather walk in shadows than forge their own path.
The future will not be built by men without spine,
The future won’t be built by men who only want to wine and dine,
For history you see, has had its fill of ordinary men;
The future has no place for mere men.
James Ogunjimi
Ogun State, Nigeria
February 2014

Even If Our Blood Is What It’ll Take

If This Is My LastPoem: Even If our blood is what it’ll take

The poor getting poorer, the rich getting richer,

Justice benched on the sidelines,

The lofty dreams of our youths they have marred,

While they live their lives daily with no dime,

But we’ll not quiver or shake,

We’ll reclaim our land even if our blood is what it’ll take.


Death tolls growing daily,

Youths murdered with cut-short destinies,

Dare we hope for a better society?

Dare we dream of a better tomorrow?

Words and pleas will only make our options narrow,

What it’ll take may be a rain of bow and arrows,

For we must take back our land even if our blood is what it’ll take.


We may sit still and watch them complete our dehumanisation,

We can stand with arms folded watching them destroy our nation,

We can look on and watch them sacrifice our lives to attain high positions,

Or we can be resolved to make them shake,

We must be resolved to get justice or make the land quake,

We must get back our land even if our blood is what it’ll take.


James Ogunjimi

Ogun State, Nigeria

February 2014

53 Years From Now

53 Years from Now

Nigerians want change, but they don’t want pain.

Nigerians cry for better lives, but they leave it all for fate.

“E go better, e go better”, is the age old slogan,

53 years from now, we’ll still be singing the same song.


53 years from now, frowns will still crease our brow.

53 years from now, our youths will still get slaughtered like fowl.

53 years from now, our anthem will still be “E go better.”

53 years from now, we’ll still be at the rung of the ladder.


53 years from now, our oil will probably have dried up.

53 years from now, our crops will probably have died off.

53 years from now, our treasury will probably be empty.

53 years from now, we’ll still have to live with impunity.


53 years from now, war may have ravaged our land.

53 years from now, we may have spent ourselves fighting a selfish battle.

53 years from now, we’ll be looking back wishing for what is long gone.

53 years from now, our children may grace our graves with spittle.


We have waited for a messiah for long enough.

We have sat still living life just the way it was.

Nigeria must awake from its slumber,

Or 53 years from now, there’ll be nothing left to remember.


Footnote:-The poem is dedicated to the nation called Nigeria. 53 years and still crawling. 53 years and still strung to Mama’s (the west) apron strings. 53 years and still bedevilled with wrong leaders and cowardly citizens. It is a call to Nigerians to awake and not wait for another 53 years to act.

Alas! The gong has lost its voice

Alas! The gong has lost its voice

The change must come,
The looting must stop.
This impunity must end,
If the nation must regain its strength.
The gong has sounded faithfully for so long,
But now, its voice is gone;
Alas, our gong has lost its voice.

The wife at home, bickering.
The children hungry, waiting.
Will your endless babbles bring us money?
Will the constant rambling about change pay the landlord’s fee?
The gong is lost in thought,
And now, our gong has lost its voice.

Tell it to the rulers who have no compassion,
Tell it to the followers whose constant mistakes have enthroned the wrong.
We have stayed silent for far too long,
The world is in dire need of more gongs,
For this our gong has lost his voice.

Ogunjimi James Taiwo
Ogun State, Nigeria
September 2013.

Listen to the Whirlwind

Listen to the Whirlwind

I will consume; Oh yes, I will
I will ravage; don’t doubt me I plead
I see blood even though the world can’t see.
I see death when life is what your preachers preach.
I feel it approaching, the consuming anger of the wind.

They want us in chains; will we allow them I ask?
They like us jobless; should we sit under their tables praying for crumbs to fall off their laps?
They thrive on our fear; should we not dare to take up the fight?
They like us fighting ourselves; should we not forge our path?

The world stands watching; waiting to see if we’ll get it right.
The helpless kneel praying; hoping we’ll neglect our fear.
The enslavers sit in dark corners watching; keen to see if we’ll bring our words to life.
The one question lies hanging: Who will bell the cat?

Listen to the whirlwind as it speaks in clear tones.
Listen to the whirlwind as it promises to sweep through and pull down their poles.
I will come when the eyes of the people are opened.
I will sweep through, visit the oppressors and break their stranglehold.

I will not come when timidity still reigns supreme.
I will not come when your voices are not united in tune.
I will come when your minds are made up.
I will come, I am coming, and they will fall.

Listen to the voice of the whirlwind as it promises to the oppressors death.
Listen, they say, or thy tongue will keep thee deaf.
The anger of the People will come as a whirlwind; it will cleanse, it will consume.
Listen; oh listen to the voice of the whirlwind as it calls out in revolutionary tunes.