Barnabas Ìkéolúwa Adélékè
Born 1990 in Okuku, Osun State, Nigeria
Living in Ile-Ife, Osun State, Nigeria.
Apart from writing haiku, Barnabas is an artist who majors in realism. He hopes to be one of Africa’s best hyperrealists in the nearest future and a renowned haiku poet. He is currently studying to bag a degree from a Nigerian University.
For biographical information on Barnabas Ìkéolúwa Adélékè, see the Haikupedia article: https://haikupedia.org/article-haikupedia/barnabas-ikeoluwa-adeleke/
spring cleaning . . .
a free space for echoes
in the basement
Winning Haiku [Haiku in Overseas], 19th Haiku International Association HIA Haiku Contest
summer house . . .
the mango tree we planted
old enough to climb
Hedgerow, Winter 2017 Print Issue
thick fog . . .
the merchant drops his bell
and calls out his wares
The Heron's Nest, Volume XIX, Number 4: December 2017
brushing dust
off my old guitar —
spring breeze
Presence, Issue #59
long twilight . . .
a scavenger sorting out
rubbish from rubbish
Modern Haiku, Issue 48:3
July flood . . .
no fish left to ripple
the pond
Chrysanthemum #22, Fall Issue
a hollow
where the mango tree once stood . . .
strangler fig
Runner-up Haiku, Haiku Masters, Week 4, October 2017, NHK World, Japan
September rain . . .
the sacred river floods
its shrine
Winning Haiku, Akita Chamber of Commerce and Industry President's Award, 6th Japan-Russia Haiku Contest
my new neighbour smells
of a lost love's cologne —
winter solitude
Acorn, 2017 Fall Issue
Ramadan dawn . . .
the sound of pestles
pounding yams
The Heron's Nest Award, The Heron's Nest, Volume XIX, Number 3: September 2017
first thunderstorm . . .
the sharp taste of dust
instead of rain
Haiku of Merit, World Haiku Review, August 2017
a blind boy says
the loons are flying north . . .
rising summer sun
Haiku of Merit, World Haiku Review, August 2017
summer sky . . .
cattle egrets gather
near the mower
Haiku of Merit, World Haiku Review, August 2017
July rain . . .
the stray cat snuggles up
between my legs
Under the Basho, 2017
a girl learns to plait
using her granny's hair . . .
summer evening
Under the Basho, 2017
December cold . . .
with her mouth she sucks mucus
off her baby's nose
Under the Basho, 2017
long rains . . .
grandpa teaches the mailman
how to play ayò*
(ayò: a traditional mancala played by the Yoruba people in Nigeria)
Under the Basho, 2017
summer heat . . .
on the slope a worker fights
the barrow's pull
Modern Haiku, Issue 48:2
summer sky . . .
the sound of creaking roofs
with each sunburst
Shamrock, Issue 37
Crossing the Bridge*
long rains . . .
the bamboo bridge strewn
with new debris
distant thunder . . .
the stream almost flooding
a bamboo bridge
long rains . . .
the village's bamboo bridge
becomes driftwood
* A haiku sequence published in the Mamba, Issue IV
Yoruba Hills
thin out in the distance —
rolling thunder
àwọn òkè Yorùbá
parẹ́ ní jìnnàjìnnà —
àrá t'ó ń kù rìrì
on the island
where seabirds summer —
prison walls
l'órí erékùsù
tí àwọn ẹyẹ òkun ti ń lò'gbà
ọgbà ẹ̀wọ̀n
deepening drought —
treasure hunters flood
the ancient lake
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ —
àwọn tí ń wá ọ̀ṣọ́
ya bo odò àtijọ́
that trait in her
in all her friends –
beach pebbles
ìwà ọmọ yẹn
tí àwọn ọ̀rẹ́ rẹ̀ náà ń hù –
òkúta etí'kun
drought . . .
the smell of petrichor
from distant thunder
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ . . .
òórùn ilẹ̀ tútù fẹ́ wá
láti inú àrá
drought . . .
the babbling brook losing
its voice
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ . . .
híhó odò t'ó ń sàn
ń lọ'lẹ̀
Tokusen (2nd Prize), 21st International 'Kusamakura' Haiku Contest, Japan
gunshot . . .
a flock of birds take cover
in the open sky
ìró ìbọn . . .
àwọn ẹyẹ sá lọ fún àbò
sínú sánmọ̀
a falling leaf —
the sun claims one more spot
in tree shade
ewé kan ń jábọ́ —
ìmọ́lẹ̀ oòrùn yọ ní’bi kan
nínú òjìji igi
Honourable Mention (International Students Category), 5th Japan-Russia Haiku Contest, 2016
picking wild berries . . .
she wanders past the reach
of father's call
ó ń sa èso nínú igbó . . .
ni ó bá rìn kọjá ibi tí
ìpè bàbá rẹ̀ dé
Culled from the haibun ATAVISM
Cattails, September 2016 Issue
sultry day . . .
the sun empties a pothole
of muddy sky
ọjọ́ oru . . .
oòrùn lá sánmọ̀ dídọ̀tí kúrò
nínú kòtò
savannah fire . . .
a gazelle escapes
into an ambush
iná pápá . . .
ẹtu kan sá àsálà lọ sọ́wọ́
ọdẹ t'ó gẹ̀gùn
*Co-authored with my Dad, James O. Adeleke
Editor's Choice Haiku, Cattails, September 2016 Issue
unending drought . . .
a butterfly perches
on my paper rose
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ . . .
labalábá kan bà s'órí
òdòdó pépà mi
withered stem
poking passersby —
the beggar's arm
ẹ̀ka igi gbígbẹ
ń gún àwọn tí ń kọjá —
ọwọ alágbe
Ibadan *
the horizon takes rest
on rusty roofs
Ìbàdàn
sánmọ̀ sùn s'órí
àwọn òrùlé
*Nigeria's largest city
Cattails, January 2016 Edition
harmattan
one by one, leaves
desert a tree
ìgbà ẹ̀rùn
l’ọ́kọ̀kan, àwọn ewé
kọ igi sílẹ̀
midday shower
a cow's hoofprint quenches
the dove's thirst
òjò ọ̀sán
ojú ẹsẹ̀ màlúù rẹ̀'ǹgbẹ
àdàbà
after the muezzin's call
a market din turns off
shed by shed
lẹ́yìn ìrun pípè
ariwo ọjà kú
ní ìsọ̀ ní ìsọ̀
harvest home
an ant carries the last
breadcrumb
ìkórè
èrà kan gbé èrúnrún búrẹ́dì
tí ó sẹ́kù
earth tremor
the beats from my neighbhour's
woofer in my chest
ìjì ilẹ̀
ariwo ìlù sítíríò alábàágbé mi
nínú àyà mi
river ripples
the man I am keeps
staring at me
ojú omi ti dàrú
irú ọkùnrin tí mo jẹ́
sì ń wò mí
daybreak
a cock's crow drowns out
a cock's crow
àfẹ̀mọ́jú
kíkọ àkùkọ bo kíkọ
àkùkọ mọ́lẹ̀
summer clouds
a wayfarer's shadow
resumes its journey
kùrukùru
òjìji arìn'rìnàjò tún bẹ̀rẹ̀
ìrìn àjò
rock shelter
a shepherd's song
sings back to him
ihò inú àpáta
orin tí olùṣọ́ àgùntàn ń kọ
ń kọrin padà síi
cotton harvest
a farmhand's toddler picks
a green mamba
ìkórè òwú
ọmọ ọwọ́ lébírà kórè
ejò béwérẹ́
summer drought
a farmhand's sweat
wets the sod
ọ̀gbẹḷẹ̀
òógùn lébírà ń kán omi
sí orí ilẹ̀ oko
shortening
my long shadow —
the rising sun
ó ń mú
òjìji mi kéré síi —
oòrùn àárọ̀
tempest
I drift into
a thrush's song
ẹfúùfù
mo sọnù sínú
orin ẹyẹ
harmattan fire
I share my hut with
a squirrel
iná inú ẹ̀rùn
èmi àti ọ̀kẹ́rẹ́ kan
jọ ń gbé inú abà