Ayopo Kudayisi


When will you work, O lazy man?
Will you wait till evening comes?
When men retire from their labour?
And the day’s wages are being paid?

When will you harvest O slothful soul?
Will you wait till the husks are fully brown?
Till the harvest is overripe?
Until the birds of the air find sweetness in the fruits?
When others would have profited from the sales of harvest?

When will you pray O man of God?
Will you wait for hills to become mountains?
Will you allow small rivers become mighty oceans?
Will you allow evil tares grow and mature?
Will you watch Satan become king in your affairs?

Shake yourself from the dust,
arise; Sit down, O Jerusalem!
Loose yourself from the bonds of your neck, O captive daughter of Zion!
Strengthen the hands which hang down, and your feeble knees
make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be dislocated,



Ayopo Kudayisi

money-talking-0.jpg money-talking-1.jpg

Of what use is money that is telling how to be spent?
and of what use is clay that is dictating how to be moulded?
The father has got monies, but they don’t want to be spent
They want to stay on the shelf for beauty

Who are these ‘servants’ that don’t want to serve?
Who are these ‘workers’ that don’t want to work?
They are the ones we find at feasts
Eating food and drinking the king’s wine
Neglecting the master’s work all day

The master himself came here to be spent
“Sacrifices and offering you did not desire
… a body hast thou prepared for me
I have come to do thy will, O God”
‘To be spent… completely with no life left’

The father still has his search on
For monies ready to be spent
For clay ready to be moulded
And for labourers ready for the harvest



Ayopo Kudayisi


The father has built himself a mighty edifice,
A glorious house, of beauty of colour and of splendour

We cannot describe
O man of God,
The glory of the rubies, the beauty of the sapphire
The grandeur of the goldstones, the silverstones
and all other stones
that make up the house

But I heard too…
We have wood, claystones and chaff in this mixture
Where are these my lord?

Don’t you know?
The clay, and wood and all that is ugly
are reserved for the toilet
For the wastebin and refuse house
where there is neither glory nor beauty
Where no one likes to behold

Have I not said, O man of God?
Flee these things
Flee unrighteousness, flee iniquity, flee unfaithfulness
Make yourself pure
Make your vessel, of gold or of silver
So your life will form a part of kingdom beauty.

2 thi 2:20-21



Ayopo Kudayisi


The story of the converts…Answers to the prayer of the evangelist
We have heard their words they mean nothing to us,
They sing at times they’re just melody to us
They preach at times they’re just stories to us
What are they going to say this time?

We will yet go as before
In our beautiful dresses, we would find our seats in front
I will ensure my steps are graced with glamour
but this time, it shall be my last
Before I make my pact with the world
but That day our tears accompanied our crying
We were pleading, sobbing, and praying… in genuine repentance
Those same words were like fire in our hearts
Piercing into the innermost of our being

Suddenly the saviour appeared
Brighter than the sun… with love in His eyes
He walked about comforting the repentant

But who will forgive our terrible sins?
Our lies, our immoralities our jealousies?
These are too much to be overlooked!

Then He showed us the hill…
flowing with precious blood unstained.
The blood is able…
The blood is able…
The blood is able…
To purify even the conscience stained with the dirt.

Heb 9:13-14

Silhouette of Unrecognizable Man Praying Outside


Ayopo Kudayisi


Prayer of an evangelist
Oh Lord, give us your word…
A word for those in rebellion
the ones who have heard, but will not follow
they pass through your house but don’t love the household
They speak the language but don’t have the life
Oh lord give us their word…

They’ve heard our words and they know the lines
They scorn sometimes, and never realise,
They even complete some of our verses
the psalms, the proverbs… just poems to them

Oh lord give us their word.
Except we speak your words, except we show your power, except we reveal your person…
They will laugh at our preaching

Anoint us oh lord… touch our lips, let your fire ignite their heart
So they won’t be destroyed…like he that has stiffened his neck.

– 1cor2:4