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/
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spring cleaning . . .
a free space for echoes
in the basement
Winning Haiku [Haiku in Overseas], 19th Haiku International Association HIA Haiku Contest
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summer house . . .
the mango tree we planted
old enough to climb
Hedgerow, Winter 2017 Print Issue
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thick fog . . .
the merchant drops his bell
and calls out his wares
The Heron's Nest, Volume XIX, Number 4: December 2017
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brushing dust
off my old guitar —
spring breeze
Presence, Issue #59
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long twilight . . .
a scavenger sorting out
rubbish from rubbish
Modern Haiku, Issue 48:3
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July flood . . .
no fish left to ripple
the pond
Chrysanthemum #22, Fall Issue
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a hollow
where the mango tree once stood . . .
strangler fig
Runner-up Haiku, Haiku Masters, Week 4, October 2017, NHK World, Japan
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September rain . . .
the sacred river floods
its shrine
Winning Haiku, Akita Chamber of Commerce and Industry President's Award, 6th Japan-Russia Haiku Contest
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my new neighbour smells
of a lost love's cologne —
winter solitude
Acorn, 2017 Fall Issue
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Ramadan dawn . . .
the sound of pestles
pounding yams
The Heron's Nest Award, The Heron's Nest, Volume XIX, Number 3: September 2017
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first thunderstorm . . .
the sharp taste of dust
instead of rain
Haiku of Merit, World Haiku Review, August 2017
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a blind boy says
the loons are flying north . . .
rising summer sun
Haiku of Merit, World Haiku Review, August 2017
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summer sky . . .
cattle egrets gather
near the mower
Haiku of Merit, World Haiku Review, August 2017
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July rain . . .
the stray cat snuggles up
between my legs
Under the Basho, 2017
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a girl learns to plait
using her granny's hair . . .
summer evening
Under the Basho, 2017
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December cold . . .
with her mouth she sucks mucus
off her baby's nose
Under the Basho, 2017
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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
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summer heat . . .
on the slope a worker fights
the barrow's pull
Modern Haiku, Issue 48:2
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summer sky . . .
the sound of creaking roofs
with each sunburst
Shamrock, Issue 37
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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
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Yoruba Hills
thin out in the distance —
rolling thunder
àwọn òkè Yorùbá
parẹ́ ní jìnnàjìnnà —
àrá t'ó ń kù rìrì
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on the island
where seabirds summer —
prison walls
l'órí erékùsù
tí àwọn ẹyẹ òkun ti ń lò'gbà
ọgbà ẹ̀wọ̀n
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deepening drought —
treasure hunters flood
the ancient lake
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ —
àwọn tí ń wá ọ̀ṣọ́
ya bo odò àtijọ́
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that trait in her
in all her friends –
beach pebbles
ìwà ọmọ yẹn
tí àwọn ọ̀rẹ́ rẹ̀ náà ń hù –
òkúta etí'kun
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drought . . .
the smell of petrichor
from distant thunder
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ . . .
òórùn ilẹ̀ tútù fẹ́ wá
láti inú àrá
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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
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gunshot . . .
a flock of birds take cover
in the open sky
ìró ìbọn . . .
àwọn ẹyẹ sá lọ fún àbò
sínú sánmọ̀
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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
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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
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sultry day . . .
the sun empties a pothole
of muddy sky
ọjọ́ oru . . .
oòrùn lá sánmọ̀ dídọ̀tí kúrò
nínú kòtò
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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
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unending drought . . .
a butterfly perches
on my paper rose
ọ̀gbẹlẹ̀ . . .
labalábá kan bà s'órí
òdòdó pépà mi
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withered stem
poking passersby —
the beggar's arm
ẹ̀ka igi gbígbẹ
ń gún àwọn tí ń kọjá —
ọwọ alágbe
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Ibadan *
the horizon takes rest
on rusty roofs
Ìbàdàn
sánmọ̀ sùn s'órí
àwọn òrùlé
*Nigeria's largest city
Cattails, January 2016 Edition
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harmattan
one by one, leaves
desert a tree
ìgbà ẹ̀rùn
l’ọ́kọ̀kan, àwọn ewé
kọ igi sílẹ̀
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midday shower
a cow's hoofprint quenches
the dove's thirst
òjò ọ̀sán
ojú ẹsẹ̀ màlúù rẹ̀'ǹgbẹ
àdàbà
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after the muezzin's call
a market din turns off
shed by shed
lẹ́yìn ìrun pípè
ariwo ọjà kú
ní ìsọ̀ ní ìsọ̀
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harvest home
an ant carries the last
breadcrumb
ìkórè
èrà kan gbé èrúnrún búrẹ́dì
tí ó sẹ́kù
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earth tremor
the beats from my neighbhour's
woofer in my chest
ìjì ilẹ̀
ariwo ìlù sítíríò alábàágbé mi
nínú àyà mi
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river ripples
the man I am keeps
staring at me
ojú omi ti dàrú
irú ọkùnrin tí mo jẹ́
sì ń wò mí
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daybreak
a cock's crow drowns out
a cock's crow
àfẹ̀mọ́jú
kíkọ àkùkọ bo kíkọ
àkùkọ mọ́lẹ̀
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summer clouds
a wayfarer's shadow
resumes its journey
kùrukùru
òjìji arìn'rìnàjò tún bẹ̀rẹ̀
ìrìn àjò
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rock shelter
a shepherd's song
sings back to him
ihò inú àpáta
orin tí olùṣọ́ àgùntàn ń kọ
ń kọrin padà síi
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cotton harvest
a farmhand's toddler picks
a green mamba
ìkórè òwú
ọmọ ọwọ́ lébírà kórè
ejò béwérẹ́
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summer drought
a farmhand's sweat
wets the sod
ọ̀gbẹḷẹ̀
òógùn lébírà ń kán omi
sí orí ilẹ̀ oko
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shortening
my long shadow —
the rising sun
ó ń mú
òjìji mi kéré síi —
oòrùn àárọ̀
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tempest
I drift into
a thrush's song
ẹfúùfù
mo sọnù sínú
orin ẹyẹ
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harmattan fire
I share my hut with
a squirrel
iná inú ẹ̀rùn
èmi àti ọ̀kẹ́rẹ́ kan
jọ ń gbé inú abà