By Olaniyi Abdulwaheed Penmind


Tell town crier of the day and cock to crow at dawn

There is in my room Mushroom

The one which witch wishes,

Much there is in Mushroom


Who says you are not much in pot?

Tell them there is much,

To those that do not know this world, even

If thousands cannot full their will

Tell you are the source for sauce

Swelling husband’s head

To swallow mounts of yam; pounded

For those who know not

Tell you are the ingredient

Of wife in her spouse’s house

No sauce without you

Mushroom more source

Source for sauce,

A woman without happiness

When much is not in the room


Who says you are not holy?

Tell them your cloth is white

Tell them you are a saint

Purely you appear to your beggars’ wishes.

Not you, they only taint themselves

With their haste, just to taste,

Even thousands of your legions can’t

Quench their greed,

Say you do not unholy


Who says you are short?

Tell them

You are the compass

That architect thrill;

Your taste is taller

Than others on the tongue

Much there is in Mushroom!


In our homeland

Mushroom is more holy

Sacred than priests

Much there is in Mushroom

You swell the men’s head

Shrink the stream of women’s emotions

A man is he who knows your names

A woman is she who sees, you,

Tagged with a man

A man with no much

Is the one without mushroom.


*It is a type of Mushroom, very short and white in color; hundred of it is not enough yet often demanded.

About the author

Bada Yusuf Amoo