KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY by Mo Adejumo

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KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY by Mo Adejumo.

KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY by Mo Adejumo

PROLOGUE

My mother, she is a hopeless romantic I love her very dearly. She believes anyone should be given the benefit of a doubt; she would always try to fix and put together anything broken or brittle. She is my true mama bear, fierce and feisty.

I dedicate this book to my lovely mother Alma and my beautiful sister Betty, she loves tea.

PREFACE

Over the years I knew I wasn’t much of a talker. I was one of those kids you’ll never see having her words all put together and I didn’t catch on fast enough with the other kids at school. I just knew I knew the words to say but very little ability to put them down in writing. But as I grew older and started to construct my words little by little even though they may haven’t been the correct spelling or diction, still I was sure I had to keep on writing for I had so much to say. A wrestling of words in my head I felt I’d lose my mind if I conveyed them and left them bottled up.

 And so what you see here in this book is a series of poems and short stories literally diamonds out of the rough. It took me believing and unbelieving and then again believing in myself to write a book or put together a collection of some of my poems. This is me unfolding, becoming and knowing well that somewhere in this big cold world is a girl once like me who is yet to know what it sounds like when she talks and when admits a crowd of people who might not agree with her personality but she would however careless because now she has my poems.

mo adejumo.


CONTENTS

Prologue………………………………………………………………………1

Preface………………………………………………………………………..2

Little girl has a dream                                                           6

In glorious war                                                                       8     

Ijeoma                                                                                     11

Black boy                                                                                14

Sons of soil                                                                              18

Wake up                                                                         20

Diamond boy                                                                 22

Mirror mir

ror on the wall                                                    25

We die young                                                                 28

The old man on papa’s staff (short story)                             30

Search your soul                                                                     33

College crime                                                                  36

Stone casting                                                                  39

1960 something                                                                      42

For every girl is a broken boy                                               45

Beauty is black                                                                       47

It                                                                                             50

Ocean blue                                                                              53

A sergeant opportune                                                   57

The couch (prose)                                                           61

Beautiful boy                                                                  65

Sanctuary                                                                              68

She and Eden                                                                  70

Noughts and crosses                                                              72

Foreign exports                                                                     75

Love came tumbling down                                            79

Goody goody good for you                                             81

8(eight)                                                                           83

Love that knows no bound                                            86

The power of scent (a very short story)                               88

Perfect imperfection                                                              99

Death the leveller                                                           94

Afro-punk                                                                              97

Heaven sent                                                                   99

Peace officers living in cosmopolitan era                             101

No man’s country                                                          104

Afro beat presentation                                                  106

Wild wild hair                                                                        107

No good girl alive                                                          110

The traveller (short story)                                            113

The soul of the church                                                    125

Little country dreams                                                   127

Put it in my jar                                                                      130

Inglorious war (II)                                                         132

Moonlight kisses                                                                 134

Sleep                                                                                   137

Broken people                                                                139

Blind at Bethsaida                                                         141

Pecks of religion                                                             143

Everything Nothing                                                              146

Epilogue…………………………………………………………………..148


Bonus poems

Salvaged thoughts

Water melon

Little girl has a dream

Little girl

Sweet, fine and pure

She has a dream

I wonder what her mother would think about that

A good guessing

She might say:

Whatever she would aspire

She would have to walk ten thousand miles prior to her destination

Whatever feelings she might encounter

Must be selfishly processed and evaluated

You must not trade your dignity for otiose emotions

Whatever is worth dreaming

Must be worth paying with blood

She would find misery

If she must know peace

Inevitable!

I’d swear her mother couldn’t tell it different

It’s a big cold world you’re living in

Little girl

Sweet, fine and pure

She has a dream

Narrative

This illustrates what we all look like as early enthusiastic dream chasers and ambitious cats. We face the world with nothing but the values handed down to us by our parent and then we head on our way with optimistic mindsets hoping we’ll touch our mark without the world hitting us with a blow, but then we all come to face the later truth. Yet lucky for us we realize the essence of those values to put them to use so we could get back up again and move forward.

Used words& terms

-‘walk ten thousand miles prior to her destination’: faith

-‘otiose’: useless purpose

-‘paying with blood’: sacrifices

In glorious war

Ellie! Ellie!

Unleash! Unleash!

For without you

I cannot come out to the open

My pretty pink cheeks

Blushing in tears

My pretty pink cheeks

Black little girl

I wonder in despair

For my love lost in glorious war

He fights for my honor

But how I wish

He was but a common man

Toiling the farm

And bringing me flowers by night

Weary of a firefly

But still my knight in shining armor

Unyielding to my tenderness

For he fears I might put a spell on him

But he’s touched my flower

And given me one for keep

So he’s certain there’s no going back

Ellie ellie

I would never come out to the open

For I am weary of the sun

Less it dries my tears

Taking away my agony

For I must mourn

I must rock time away

While I wait for my love

For you see he fights to earn my pride

He fights for my love

In glorious war

Narrative

A poem about a little girl calling her mother to come out and play with her cause she cannot on her own without being watched as their village faces war stricken times. But her mother is resistant for she mourns the absence of her lover missing in action.

The little girl cries and is filled with sorrow as her mother Ellie insists she would never see the light of the sun, never leave her rocking chair, till her lover comes back to her.

Used words& terms

Lost: missing in action

‘Rock time away’: sit by her rocking chair as time goes by

‘Touched my flower’: taken her virginity

‘One for keep’: given her a child

‘Put a spell on him’: fall deeply in love with her

Unyielding: resistant


Ijeoma

Ijeoma

Like all the geomancy in the universe

She had dreams spread like wild fire

Reaching even to the lines drawn outside her box

A little orange one she cased round to hide the black inside

If only she knew orange was now the new black

Same as yellow and blue

However you’re feeling inside

If only she knew she couldn’t hide

Ijeoma

Like all the hurt she built inside

They’d sing to her

Like a mass composed by a unit of broken hearts

She’ll forget herself in misery to

Camille Saint’s ‘Danse Macabre’

That violin pomp! pomp! Play in her head

Tick! Tickling! The xylophone would wickedly tease her

The army of matching legs

They’re coming for her

She thinks misery yet again

Not even the piano’s soft solo could save her

Ijeoma

Like all the green beneath her foot

Still she can’t see

Still she is familiar with the unknown

She is dancing

Up and down like a ‘Mariachi’

Sweating and panting really fast

Her sack clothing slowly coming off

Her hair slowly turning afro

Still in misery

Yet not in fear, but now understanding

None but herself can free her mind

Ijeoma

Like all the stars that’s in the sky

There’s one for you

There’s one that’s you

Ijeoma

Like all the Ijeomas in the world with her name

None can be like her

None can share her misery

None! But Ijeoma!

Narrative

Ijeoma, like every other girl around her and even far with dreams to fill the earth with wonder, and each phase she steps there is a lesson ahead, she’ll learn to depend on herself.

Used words& terms

-‘geomancy’: divinations connected to the earth

– ‘box’: mind

– ‘green’: possibilities

– ‘sack clothing’: pain

-‘mass’:  a choir

Black Boy

Who killed the black boy?

The wood pecker did

Who knows for what cause?

His skin was just too black

Such a thing as too black?

Don’t ask me

Ask the wood pecker

Oh black boy!

If only the sun

Could rest forever on

Your rugged skin

Perhaps you have hope for glory

If only the air was fair

And you weren’t in the jungle out here

Perhaps you innocent cub

Wouldn’t appear so beastly

But you are a Black Boy

Aren’t you?

It’s only safe

Till the sun is down

And the night is stalk black

Still you shine

Shine shine shine

You shine so bright

You terrify the wood pecker

Oh Black Boy!

Perhaps now we know for what cause

Who killed the black boy?

The wood pecker did

Who knows for what cause?

Don’t ask me

Ask the wood pecker

Don’t ask me

Ask Officer Darren Wilson

Narrative

On August 9, 2014, Michael Brown Jr., an 18-year-old African American boy, was fatally shot unarmed by 28-year-old white Ferguson police officer Darren Wilson in the city of Ferguson, Missouri, a suburb of St. Louis. Brown was accompanied by his 22-year-old friend Dorian Johnson who accounted the awful incidence in an interview with the press as reported on Democracy Now! According to Johnson Wilson had pulled them over by the sidewalk for no reason as they made it clear they were only few blocks away from their destination. Johnson stated that Wilson initiated a confrontation by grabbing Brown by the neck through his car window, threatening him and then shooting at him. At this point the two boys fled the scene i.e. Dorian and Brown and according to Dorian, Brown shouted that he keep running as already injured Brown followed behind him. Dorian stated that Wilson then ensued in a short pursuit after which also charging at Brown shooting the teenager multiple times until he fell to the ground. Wilson had fired a total of twelve bullets. It is still recalled today the hand gesture of Michael Brown; the raised hands showing a sign of surrender as the people try to keep his memory alive. The settlement for the lawsuit still remains undisclosed.

Used words& terms

-‘wood pecker’: writer uses it to describe the white police officer, Darren Wilson

– ‘jungle’: the world

Sons of Soil

He sits and crosses his legs

On a firm plank of cultural misdemeanor

While she, dangling back and forth

Carries a keg of cultural dilution

They are in twine.

It’s the seventh time now since she carried the last keg

And yet he, still as steel shares no hustle

He sees himself privileged

Son of the soil

Born and bred in the land of ancient history and beforehand

He finds himself accustomed to its norms and ways

No questions asked, who needed answers

Just another obedient son

But why not

Why scratch silken backs?

Why question the King’s offer for a sit at the table

Befitting to the best

Armor to his hairy, sweat dripping chests

Fortification for his ego

Comfort to his soul

Ebony of sunrise to his native naivety

Native man!

He thinks himself privileged

She pays the price while he takes the price

Son of soil

Sits on a firm plank of cultural misdemeanor

While she, innocent as her Virgin before

Carries a keg of cultural dilution

I see they are in twine

Blind Bats!

Asking no questions, seeking no answers

They find themselves accustomed to their abrupt cluelessness

Sons of soil

Narrative

A woman often plays her role behind the scene and less attention is given her. Her role is far beyond neither obligation nor historical custom, we are in a new age and we need new standards.

Used words& terms

-‘misdemeanor’: a crime less serious than felony

-‘abrupt’: sudden

Wake up

Wake up!

The world is at speed

Wake up

The world can be still

If only you’d see

You ought to

Wake up

And make yourself a dream

So you won’t be left behind the scene

Wake up

And admonish the times of your youth

The times mistakes are due

Wake up

Make yourself a routine

And let determination become

A restless devotion to achieve

A dream

However you may conceive

Wakeup

And marvel in the power

Of your imagination

Free at your disposal

Why then be afraid

Of a free expense

Wake up

And make yourself a dream

Dream Child! Dream

Narrative

Who am I without a dream? Who am I without ambition? Even God’s son knew to use his hands while on earth how much more you whom much has been given?

Used words& terms

-‘due’: expected

– ‘marvel’: awe

Diamond Boy

He’s that type of guy

You know, I mean the one that sits around the corner acting unnoticed

You think he’s not there but trust me he is; every bit of it

Every bit of your existence around him, he knows it

He tries to come out but is held down by the beauty of his finesse

His body, his specialty, his wantedness!

He is beautiful

But he is beautiful and he knows it.

It’s hard for him

He tries to love you but he is just too beautiful

The field is green, bearing beautiful flowers;

He is needy! He finds himself a flower but still stands wanting

Wanting more than just a beautiful flower

Why have one where there’s plenty more the field I came from”

He loves you, trust me he does;

But he is beautiful, so beautiful he knows it

For at his feet lies green grass,

With plenty of flowers that bears

He tries to pluck one but the grass is much too green,

The flowers are much too beautiful;

He stands hesitant!

He thinks his hesitation is hope for perfection

But the fact is, he is cursed!

Cursed with a beauty so bad

It blinds the eyes of its very possessor

The table is wide, the cards are ready

He finds himself playing the game

Playing it so good, he is smooth as a feather

Slink is his talk, enchanting are his ways;

They call him Diamond Boy!

He is beautiful, so beautiful its only painful he knows it

The grass is green but the waves are raging now!

Though bearing flowers but for how long?

The table is wide, full of anticipating cards;

But for how long would this game play?

You know, He’s that type of guy,

I mean the type that acts

Like he doesn’t love you when actually he does

He is beautiful

So beautiful it’s only sad he knows it

Slick is his talk, enchanting are his ways;

You can’t but not love him

I call him, diamond boy

Narrative

Typical of boys when they are younger and full of life, the world seems to be at the palm of their hands and they’ll play it to the moon and back, yet when it’s finally evening it all appears a lesson.

Used words& terms

– ‘wantedness’: being desired.

– ‘flowers’: signifies females.

– ‘cards’: also girls.

– ‘slick’: smooth talker.

Mirror mirror on the wall

She has a lip stick on

It would wear off in a minute

So she makes it even thicker

They don’t make it easy these days

This beauty thing is a hustle

Bustle, better tighten this girdle

Before she reveals the chunk left after dinner

Someone might tell by the morning

Expression is lately a deserted friendship

She’ll make her loose her glitter

Among her friends

So she lets them know she has no opinion

And mutter unclear words

In a background of loud chattering

I wonder what it sounds like when you speak clearly Mary

Speak up

Record a few words or practice before this same

Mirror you seem to picture your life

And have for yourself at least an imagination

Of how it is you might sound like in a loud space

Good gravy! I bet you don’t even know how you sound

In a quiet place

Oh good wonder!

If all you gave a hoot was the way you feel

And not the reflection of this glass

Not this seemliness purpose you’ve disposed yourself

Would you Mary?

Be a little selfish like ever in your life

Dry your eyes

And quit starring at her

She is nothing but a reflection through a broken mirror

You decide what she would appear

You Mary are the girl before the mirror on the wall

Narrative

This is for the girl who is yet to decide whom to pick among the multiple personalities she embodies. Mostly unconsciously cause she seems to find herself torn in bits, constantly a reflection of what she suppose is required of her by people and society, mostly overburdened, mostly ends up broken.  

Used words& terms

– ‘good gravy’: an expression of anger or surprise.

– ‘gave a hoot’: to give all care to something or someone.

– ‘seemliness’: considering for others.

– ‘deserted’: abandoned

We die young

They were watching the fireworks

From the green lawn

Behind them was a battle scene

Guns and fire arms

Illegal kinds

One the government was yet to approve

But maybe only on special aids

The sad song playing

The blood fest

Stolen bride from her dead lover

A child is born

It knows to cry on purpose

The world is full of evil

No mercy is left for the innocent

Only dead men living

We may survive

But death is paramount

Narrative

The fact that we survive is the only reason we stay alive. We may not be unlucky to find ourselves in war stricken environments but the war is all around us, even spiritually.

Used words& terms

– ‘the blood fest’: the shedding of lots of blood

– ‘dead men living’: men who are certain to die

-‘death is paramount’: death is inevitable

A very short story

The Old Man on Papa Staff

Papa called him the witty old fellow

That just wouldn’t die

Even in his death his wish

Was for a wood carved in his image

And placed on the forefront of the

Family house so people could see

He wasn’t going to be forgotten.

Granted, the piece was made

But as the years passed by

The old fellow began to age even in his lifeless state

With bugs and spider webs adorning him like jewelry

And when it came time to renovate the house

Old fellow was tossed into the cellar

Alongside other stuff to be put on sale;

The old fellow would shake in his grave’.

And as if the dead could speak, it rained all through the night,

Leaving the whole house flooded with water

It required no medium to explain this mystery

The old fellow was witty enough in this sign.

Years went by and families scattered abroad

Papa found himself on the streets of the city that never sleeps

Only to find old fellow on the forefront

Of an antique shop that sold African art

In astonishment, Papa busted

Old Fellow!

Only God knows the hands this old man had to travel through

Before he returned to his rightful honor

He just wouldn’t be forgotten!

And after constant refusal by the new owner to release the piece

Papa decided to make new carvings of the old fellow

‘This time in different forms and designs’

‘This time with he looking like a king’

The old fellow would smolder with pride in his grave.

Narrative

It’s the things in the past we must hold dear for without it the future we cannot create, be it negative or positive it gives us the experience we need to move forward. We must value the things that tell the story of who we are and who we must become. It will hunt us and never leave us, until we find it to embrace it, we’ll never settle.

Used words& terms

-‘The old fellow began to age even in his lifeless state’: the wood carving began to get rusty and worn out.

-‘the city that never sleeps’: Newyork city.

-‘old fellow on the forefront of an antique shop that sold African art’: Papa found the piece in front of the antique shop.

Search your Soul

Lost and found

Lost and found

Search your soul cause you might be without

The passion of a sharp fruit

Lies beneath the orgasm of its milky drop

Dripping through the lines of its bare skin

I pray for an awakening!

Awakening of souls

Wake your soul

Bleach the mind, glow in pain,

Free from fear!

Free from soliloquizing thoughts!

Break into expression

Expression!

Express your soul my dear

Fear they say demise on the clear sight of

Expression!

Express your thoughts my dear

Staying quite kills thy pride sweet child

Express your heart my dear!

Drink for yourself a wine

Of freshly brewed berry balls, my dear!

Express yourself my dear!

Your glory my dear

Lies beneath the tent of your pride

Express your feelings, my dear!

Sing

‘Who’s looking for a soul?

Lost and found

Lost and found

I find my love

Little love little love

Pain is a game that you play

When you’re hurt

Bleed in this one

Little love

You will heal’

Narrative

In the past I thought conveying my feelings meant I was considerate of others and overall not showing what I was thinking or what was going on inside was the right way to live, I felt I’d be peaceful that way. But with a lot of conveying brought a lot of sobbing instead of tears, lies instead of transparency to cover the truth, and in turn a low self esteem. I know better.

Used words& terms

-‘bleach the mind’: cleanse your mind

-‘glow in pain’: have courage

– ‘brewed berry balls’: signifying confidence

College Crime

Lost Bouvardias

It ends as quickly as it starts.

 The great, yet sour damage

 Leaves its prints like that on sands of time,

 Or maybe so they do, telling vividly through the eyes of regretful witnesses.

Silly amateurs, torn hearts, weary souls.

 I think of them as the very enthusiastic ‘Bouvardia,

 In her prime, her virgin, zest for life.

Lost and found among thorns, polluted air and peasant savagery

What is it they do this for?

To whose honor lies their cheap solidarity and needless sacrifice?

Lost Bouvardias I thought of them,

 Falling in selfish ruthless hands, thwarting destinies,

Leaving generations yet unborn a lineage of pain and wealth in its filthiest kind

Babes the Holy Book would call them

Still to be under their mother’s breasts,

Clueless, yet pure as little infants

We must find the high sounding cymbals!

To call them,

Alarm them if necessary

Remind them, lost Bouvardia, yet to ripen,

Still in her prime, like passion fruit in her passion flower

You’re yet to grow!

You’re branch cut off from its stem

Mama weeps because she dreads the sight of a strange human

Posing before her, calling himself her child

She is weary, in search for her baby

Surely! This was an impostor

Lost Child!

Why is it that you wander in bloody wilderness?

What is it that you seek?

What senseless burden and confusion you lay on yourself

Come home!

For tired eyes awaits you,

Warm embraces is delayed, for your lost touch

Would you come home to love and live?

Or would you die to bloody war, a Lone Ranger!

Narrative

We can account counts of gun shots in my college every year, be it once or twice a year there’s an incidence that triggers such violence, most of which involve the young adult, students against lecturers, students against cadets, students with civilians. We might blame the government but many of these youths have lost their way and are found in crowds they shouldn’t be; seems to me they ought to find their way back home.  

Used words& terms

-‘wilderness’: lost in confusion

– ‘Bouvardia’: zest for life

– ‘like passion fruit in her passion flower’: prime

-‘you’re branch cut off from its stem’: out of guidance

-‘lone Ranger’: lacking companionship

Stone Casting

An eye for an eye                                      

A tooth for tooth!

Sadly! Even the ones with smelly decayed tooth

Are present for a portion

A proposition!

Why don’t we leave casting of stones to the oracle?

The ancestors

Surely they were here before us,

Tasted life before our milky mouths could ever know the taste of

Boiled beans, or the sauce to which we romance it

One could even make a symphony of words that rhyme

As to the times gone before

Before War!

We are way too young,

Way too infant to suggest what stones to turn

What verdict given

“Little Lucy was brought before the king;

She had committed a crime

And therefore needed to be punished”

“The infants hailed for terror!

Hailed for judgment”

A convention!

Why don’t we leave casting of stones

To the one who is without self?

The one before us

One to whose hands fined little Lucy and the rest of us

Infants begin to diminish, reminded of the times gone before them

Reminded the epitome of the one who spoke these things

One even thought to say;

Why don’t we war and then in turn submit

War against self

And submission unto love

Surely this would let us to our father’s bosom,

The ancestors,

Oracles looking through the skies

The ones turning the stones and casting the lots

Narrative

The infants found a scapegoat, Poor Lucy, she shouldn’t have been there, not that time; the time to which lied throwing of stones, ill justice and men who found it pleasing to persecute and point fingers. But if she would hold on a little longer the King’s palace was just few steps away maybe there she’ll find vindication, maybe the king would teach them these things and they adhere maybe not.

Used words& terms

-‘ones with smelly decayed tooth’: hypocrites

-‘milky mouths’: infants

– ‘aconvention’: a call to assembly

1960 Something

When was it though     

 I think it was around

1960 something

The time we swayed off

Our independence in the faces

Of the foreign merchants

In mockery of their illicit purchase

But a sad laugh on our faces

The one we didn’t know was to come

But now is here

Freedom is sweet

But the world is laughing

And their jokes are on us

Freedom is bitter sweet

But I’d rather we taste it

As it truly is

Sore!

Like the backs of our fore fathers

As they worked the freedom fight

Working it out

So we could place our bets

On society’s chess

But to which we lost

For our lack of common reasoning

Sore!

For I see we are yet to be free now

We have declared the war over

Yet now waged against ourselves

Freedom is sweet

But we have since

Wallowed away from its power

Dealt with it so brutally

It has become a useless value

Years have passed

And we still celebrate

It is true freedom is sweet

But the jokes are on us

Narrative

There are diverse ways the jokes tell on us. The way we treat our people, the way we handle our time, the way we love, the way we give, the way we share, the way we rule, the principles we follow, the way we fight and don’t fight, the way we tell our stories that make it unheard and have the world pick it up and tell it falsely, the way we never seem to care regardless.

Used words& terms

-‘swayed off’: showed off

-‘foreign merchants’: colonial masters

-‘illicit’: illegal

-‘common reasoning’: mutual understanding

For every girl is a broken boy

By the water fall

Sally saw d’angelo

There are rainy days

There that lay bound men

For beautiful flowers to set free

But there is death all around him

She’ll loose herself to save his

What purpose has she

If not for love and sacrifice

She summons strength to help unbelief

If I never had to die for love

I’ll die a slave to passion

My mother never knew hope

My father never knew grace for a second chance

I might have lesser fate

Unless I learn to take what love has for me

Narrative

A few miles away from her home was a waterfall, there she made the decision to elope with her sweet heart, an escape from her broken family so she’ll make a new one with him. Yet all she had for hope were his words. She walks on water. 

Used words& terms

-‘rainy days’: signifies tragedies

-‘death’: trouble

-‘flowers’:  girls

-‘she walks on water’: uncertainty

Beauty is black

I am dark coffee

And somehow when the sun sets

I am like sweet fine caramel pudding

So sweet you could

Taste the milky mint out of my raw essence

I am beauty so bright and bathe

No soap could wash clean

But only tender my already flawless

In built, God given beauty

Shades of my beauty

You say it’s hard for you to define

Or put into colorful sketches

You say,

I wear off with time

And loose my truthful glow and texture

You lose faith in its future

The future of it rising again

Its scattered pieces forming

Wait a minute!

What am I talking about?

Oh! Yes!

My Beauty!

Simply hard to define

Or come to actual count 

Of each strand of hair that sprouts

Through the pores of my skin

Nor the mystery behind

Every curl on my head

Or the finesse to which

You see I walk majestically

You find hard to keep up

With each steps that my legs tread

Nor the banter at which

My heart beats every effortless breath

I am beauty definition

Trust! No need to search for a better diction

Mine I have found is best

I am Oh my God! She’s so fine

Look at her gut! 

Yes! My gut

My effrontery

To walk into a room

And command control saying;

I have arrived

Make way while I take place

I am beauty simply hard to define or compare

I am black beauuuuuuuty

Sweet sweet caramel pudding

I am black, I am beautiful

My beauty is black

Narrative

A little eulogizing makes for a little confidence and self esteem. Don’t wait for the world to tell you how important you are and more so what significance you can make on it. Say it;  I am everything and more…

Used words& terms

-‘caramel’: dark tan color/yellowish brown

-‘bathe’: light

– ‘sprouts’: grows

IT

Curtains turn open

A love tragic scene unfolding

Every face turned deathly pale

Here comes a sweet sad ballad

But a solo cause my love is gone

Tragedies inevitable traits to love

Leaving no remedy for my sore

No healing for the pain

Nothing but a swirling wind of terror above my head

This boy might be my nemesis

In the days to come

Yet in the days to come I might come to understand it

It!

As in the feeling

I know am sure I love him more than I love myself

I shouldn’t, but I could

So I did

Did love him than I loved myself

I still do

But then I did say this boy might come to be my nemesis

Yet there you still find me waiting

In the corner of his constantly drifting shadow

Praying I might come to understand it

It

As in the hate

I think I hate him for making me hate myself for loving him

Calling him undeserving, undemanding of my love

 I was willing to give freely, easily!

I shouldn’t, but I could

So I did

Now I pay with blood, sweat and a sheet load of heart pouring

Yet no regret

This boy would be my nemesis in the days to come

But again with him I’d go on a long ride

Across the streets of ghost town

With black and white as our love scene

He traded me lust for love

Pain for passion

But still with him I’ll lay at night

And then rise to a morning of loneliness

With me without him

And me within it

It!

As in my nemesis

This is my nemesis

Narrative

Ever had the feeling something or someone was no good for you yet you find yourself gravitating towards them. The pleasure of the thrill and constant longing for them makes you excited and full of butterflies. You feel the sense of an impending crash still for some reason you think it’s time for you to be a hero, their hero, and then the crash comes; and you’re a hopeless romantic.

Used words& terms

-‘deathly pale’: in fear

-‘ballad’: narrative poem

-‘swirling’: spinning

Ocean Blue

It’s exactly 6:34pm

Exactly the time the sun goes down

And the time for deep blue skies to color

It’s a familiar picture

An assuring blue

A romantic breeze conversant with my body

I can tell

A blessing to those who can’t behold but see

And a curse to ones who behold but cannot see

Search for me in castles built up to the skies

But you won’t find me

Search for me beneath city lights,

Grand sights and distant heights

But you won’t find me

In what’s left of the open

There I’ll lay my head to dream,

Of the sun

Its color left behind for me to shine

Making me dazzle

Like sun cream coco butter

In a universe of wild hearts and out casts

Misfits that can’t fit into tiny stereo boxes

Our light, my light out grows

The four corners of its paved walls

Yellow on the inside

And black on my outside

I’ll color my way up

Color my way out

Till it’s late

So I could lay my head

And dream again

This time of the ocean

In hope my love would make it blue

Narrative

I love the outside. The world and its advancements try to steal the pleasure of nature away from us sometimes and pollute the air. But once in a while is an opportunity to experience her beauty.

Used words& terms

-‘those who can’t behold but see’: the blind who are able to feel and sense the beauty of nature

-‘ones who behold but cannot see’: the ones who have sight but can’t feel nor appreciate nature

– ‘Grand’: impressive in sight mostly worldly

– ‘dazzle’: shine bright

– ‘Yellow’: happy

A Sergeant Opportune

To the officer who needs not the permission

Of the government to exercise his duties

I say you aced it

Good job!

You lose your job as a sales attendant

And macho man by default due to poverty

And failed retention

You decide your best option is to join the force

I mean its only one pen and piece paper away

And conceited zeal will do the rest

Your intentions are not in any way to help the people

Your motive is farfetched from being patriotic

Hoping to hold the justice motto to serve and to protect

You’re are hungry

But of a different appetite

You crave blood pudding

Sliced human thighs

Unarmed teenage child

Cause it reminds of all the things

You never had the courage to be

Gun possession for gun violence

You are hungry and society is your chosen prey

To fill your blood thirst anger

You are the product of thug father and an indifferent mother

And all the things your community is to take blame for

Here is your revenge to buy away your misery

Here is your revenge

You miserable man

You fulfil your desire after your selfish resilience

You earn yourself a vacuous barge

You find yourself your first prey

And celebrate your first kill

You soak yourself in your cigarette

One down, a society more to go

You roam the street begging for arms

Claiming the government isn’t doing their part

Therefore the masses must share in your suffering

You are a thorn in the justice’s ass

But they are helpless cause they are of the same feather

Maybe slightly, but still they won’t get you out this streets

Cause you are a weapon of political please

You are what they call a problem child who must be tolerated

But God knows you are well on your way

God knows you won’t give up

Until you have yourself a blood bath

And men of your kind is still vast

Fostering a legion of illegal arms and terrorizing coups

God knows we are on our way

To being a society with massive outlaws

And overseas patriots

Forced to live and build in another man’s land

Where security is a little more secured

God knows it’s time for the scab to fall open

For our wounds are still fresh

And there is a need for an end

To make way for a new beginning

We the youths are in need of a future

Worth our education and degrees

You force our minds to believe will bring us

Safety and harmless living

In this nation you say is over fifty

Yet we still run down a mile constantly drifting

Because we keep developing yet remain under developing

Teach these broken men

So they will know to do better

And uphold what’s left of our honour

Teach these miserables

Teach

Narrative

I knew a boy once who wanted to be an officer and quite frankly his motive is nothing to be accounted literally. I figure he is not alone in such ideology of what it means to serve, who could blame him there is no proper standard to debate otherwise.

Used words& terms

-‘legion’: association

-‘you are a thorn in the justice’s ass’: a burden

– ‘miserable’: abject cowardice

Prose

The Couch

This couch formed the foundation of our love story. The very first sleepover that transitioned to the very first kiss, the very first love making, the excessive drinking and most of all a gateway to a road of uncertainties. A strange fever overwhelms me I turn blue. I could see every color of my vain, I could see each pores open out of my skin, I could feel the heat of my internal organs bursting out of my body, I could feel my very life walk out on me.

This is true. The very reason I left you. The very reason I left these brazen walls that cautioned through every crack assuring we were broken beyond repair. And now it’s clear there’s no going back, there’s no going home. There’s no going home to the false hopes we thought were fun memories we were building together to someday call fate bringing us close to becoming one and maybe someday live to tell to our supposed children was our love story.

And now we sit back on this couch and realize, were too grown for that. Reality caves in and sweeps us off our childish foolishness making realize how short time was but yet how quickly it ran by leaving us to choose whether or not to walk with it or lag behind. After all it was our decisions to make, our destinies to hold, our futures to create, our eternities to face. For when we come face to face with God there is no immaturity, no apologies for youthful exorbitance, and no excuses for nothing, there’s just us and our souls. Because at that moment there is no body to behold our youthful glow that gloomed our eyes making us blind to the truth that they were all vanity, upon vanity, ashes to  ashes, dust unto dust that eventually forms the earth crust to which was the fate no man could escape.

But who were we to be blamed. We were childish as so were our ways; we pretended to know but God knows we were clueless. God knows our relationship goals were built on the ones we saw through the television screens. The romance of TVs’ telenovelas or telemondos and what not, were the founding bricks our love lay bare living us at the receiving end of a catastrophic tale. Once again we find ourselves on this couch with a terrible amnesia on how it was we got here, this far, in this place, this so unfamiliar space with nothing but regret yet a sudden restlessness to forget me as I you, to forgive all our mistakes and run as fast as we possibly could to fall deeply in the hands of our parents in pursuit of remembering how it felt so darling to be a child again, with no responsibilities to cater for or answer to, just nothing but the redemption of poor little infants who forgot their cradle in search for empty clouds.

Alas! Do you remember what I told you about time, how quickly it flew by but how regretfully short it were? Well this is so in our case; we thought our beautifully glowing skin would never turn pale, we thought those three little word ‘I love you’ would never seem overrated. Overrated in the sense that when at some point all I needed was food on the table yet you tell me our love would see us through but news flash it won’t and it didn’t! Because you’re not a man and I’m not a woman, we are young at least our mind is. We were too eager, too hot blooded, too way above the moon we failed to reach the shores of the river before we dived in, we failed to realize one is first a child before one becomes an adult; we went chasing stars and lost count. And so here we go again with this collective amnesia on how it was we got here, this far, this lonely place, this so unfamiliar space, your face so unfamiliar I could barely recognize you, you’re not the man or better yet you’re not the boy I used to know. Suddenly all I see is a face absolutely strange to me and for some reason I find myself praying to God for a new verse to this chapter showing crossed bridges with water underneath them we ought to be careful less we fall. Then you walk out the door and I forget; and watch closely again these walls that bore little cracks that laid cautions we failed to adhere, pray I may not repeat. Still sitting on this old couch as I wait for the sun to come up so I could begin to grow slowly yet surely fresh new memories; eyes closed.

Narrative

Kids want to grow up fast; adults want to be forever young. Kids at their prime ought to know to work with time before they run out of chances for more. Everyone wants a happy ending yet rush towards a sad one; too much careless living spoils the sprouts.

Used words& terms

-‘amnesia’: memory loss

-‘telenovelas or telemondos’: romantic movies

-‘exorbitance’: outrageousness

-‘darling’: dearly loved

Beautiful Boy

I had forgotten

Lady love didn’t tell me

He was in love with me

I do not love myself

Nor see myself the way he sees me

I hope he wouldn’t hate me

When I tell him all I wanted

Was a boy who would smile at me

At a walkway and not come back for me

For long conversation

Am sorry!

I do not know too well

To get to the end of a sentence

I swear am terrified of his presence

I just might pray the earth open

And swallow me from my feet

Up to my chin and fill

I am a poor petrified girl, running from falling

Beautiful boy

His mother raised him proudly

And so I stand

In a crowd of auctioning girls

At his beck and call

With dresses like dolls

Beautiful boy

Would you remember me?

Whilst you’re walking home from school

Or watching a fairy whisk to glory

Reading Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet

Would you remember me?

The girl behind your every shadow

Beautiful boy

I love you

Narrative

This sets the tone of a beautifully gorgeous yet shy girl who would only come unless you call, whose words come in glitches, who would never learn to live magnificently until she runs out of her shell.

Used words& terms

-‘lady love’: imaginary fiction

– ‘petrified’: dazed/stunned

-‘magnificently’: impressively beautiful

Sanctuary

Inter denominations

Tears off the body

My brothers scattered all abroad

Wears off salvation

I can no longer dream of freedom

I used to

But now am caved of your selfish visions

It’s the new craze

Everyone wants to grow a farm

Yet lack the expertise

Now am a confused rebellious

Craving solitude

So I could work out my own salvation

In fear and purpose

Shouldn’t that be the grand; Purpose?

But you all want to make followers of yourself

Yet lie under your nose it is for the course

You know the truth

I pray you are brave enough to agree

So your mouths could be less salty

As you water down your words

Praying for togetherness

Yet print posters with your faces on it

The centre for our attention and more so distraction

We all don’t live the same

But at least we know whom we all appeal

I set my mind free

Narrative

For a long time I wondered why there were so many denominations among the Christians faith, could it be that God didn’t want us to be together, I mean the apostles went near and far moving the course and we all saw the results. So why are things different now, why are there so many men with visions of sharing the gospel. Curiosity or should I say quest led me to do a little research nothing serious and I found, the only reason there are so many denominations is actually nothing special but rather superficial and under the simple fact that people just never get along and what makes or breaks a church; People!

Used words& terms

-‘less salty’: provocative

She and Eden

It was his world before, and then she came

Sharing his power, sharing his existence

It wasn’t supposed to be but she was a need, of necessity

He found loss without her

I believe he was lost of his pride

But then she came and gave him order

Then she came out his might to give him sight

I thought a sight of Eden

What it really looked like, or better!

What magnificence she could make of it

It was his call before but then came her debate, her opinion

To count, to consider, even to agree

Power now was democratic, suggestible and opinionative

I thought she brought segmentation, growth,

Balance!

Fine as ancient wine, essence to compare to none

Fire in her eyes, she could make anything possible

In a single wrinkle of time,

I thought she is possibility

She can, she wills, she does, she conquers,

It’s possible!

She is possibility

Love like hers is Godlike

Unconditional

Righteously

Jealously

Heavenly

She is a god

She is a force

She is Woman

Narrative

In the Garden of Eden there was Adam and eve, in the Garden of Eden there was life and death; she saw opportunity.

Used words& terms

-‘magnificence’: richness

-‘segmentation’: boundary

Noughts & Crosses

Paddle my back

Kiss me but don’t tell

We never seem to win

I think it’s because we keep

Playing noughts and crosses

I keep trying to swing low on this rollercoaster love

But you prefer hippy roads

Undefined destinations

Winter cold nights

You’re weary too much of the future

And all the places you fear

It may not take you through

But darling

Who needs chariots?

When we could ride on trust

On love

My love we would ride longer

If you linger on

And quite playing games

You know I’ll never win

And even then yourself

Let us find a common ground

Make love until sun dawn

Fall asleep in our arms

Then wake me up to feeling sick of your silly jokes

The ones you try so hard to tell

To make up for your sloppy love making

But end up caught in your own

Pool of misery

Lost in your pile of cigarette

You local man

But still I fall in love

Over and over!

Over and over!

Over again

Narrative

We never really win or lose in the game of love, its either you love me or you don’t even want to try. Its either you fake it and lose even though you meant to, or you don’t even want to try. It’s still good; you don’t have to, its love not war.

Used words& terms

-‘rollercoaster’: unsteady

-‘sloppy’: carefree

– ‘misery’: unhappy

Foreign Exports

I suppose when they arrive we’ll know

When they are done misplacing priorities

And leaving us victims

To this abomination

They call civilization

Perhaps then we may converse

I am a local at heart

Blood and sweat too

Where have you put my charm?

Where, to what region

Have you lost our funkiness?

That which used to tell us apart

And tell the others were a nation with a six pack

Iron mask too

And we could not be bamboozled by mere steroids

And artificial bodies claiming to have given us independence

Yet won’t leave us alone

Forgive my crudity

I am no preacher of disunity

Or disengagement of the united world agenda

But how about our local region

Before the world

We are getting too current

Lost in global evolution

What about mama Africa

What about soil and green land

What about trees and wild life

And things like that that make us feel at home again

And not just a modern throwback from slavery

How about the little

Black girl whose waists

Has been demoralized

And sexualized for knowing

To honor the essence of an old African beat

A gan gan solo

Her ever ready ‘mele pa mi lo yo’

You people are the ones that

Have taken her groove

And given her a trunk

Where she could hide and shy away

For she is no longer an innocent

Black little girl

But a public commodity

With elusive advertising

Shipped up with a price for sale

There goes our future

Still enslaved

I hope what’s left of our dignity keeps us from trading

The people

Narrative

This makes me nervous in so many ways because it attracts so many different scenes when I read it over and over again trying to figure out one exact thing to round it all up but I am shattered to pieces. Still, I can try to find a common ground to assembly them all; the way we treat our freedom makes me feel we never understood its value, sometimes it feels as though we lack a mind of our own. And so we trade unconsciously, speak unconsciously, fight unconsciously, elect unconsciously, and even our value for life; unconsciously.

Used words& terms

-‘bamboozled’: fool

-‘steroids’: enhancements

-‘crudity’: wildness

-‘united world agenda’: cooperation

-‘demoralized’: less hopeful

-‘elusive’: difficult to understand

Love came tumbling down

Head over heels

Were we in love

Comforted by the emotions

We shared the most

Fate we said had brought us close

Never a doubt came too close

Our immature minds

Were filled with fantasies

Fantasies that came to torture

Torture that became a battle to fight

Then came it tumbling

The tumbling of all the lies

Then came it tumbling

The tumbling of all our hopes and dreams

Then came it tumbling

The tumbling of all the fantasies

Then came it tumbling

The tumbling of all the lust

Lust!

Lust we professed as love

Lust we built up castles in the air

Then came it tumbling

Love

Love we didn’t even have a clue

Of what it meant or how to love

Then came it all tumbling down on us

Love

Love came tumbling all down

Then came it tumbling

Love came tumbling down

Narrative

The media a lot of times make for countless teenage pregnancies, single parenting, broken homes, drugs and other vices. For how else can a teenager seek to escape the strictness of parental guidance and discipline if not to the world of luxury the media paints and presents to them. It claims to give them possibilities for their dreams yet ends up leaving them lost and suicidal.

Used words& terms

– ‘tumbling’: falling

Goody goody good for you

Goody goody

Good for you

I sure hope you’re satisfied

Oh how I’ve waited to sing this all night

Goody goody

Good for you

So you think that love

Is all about the ride

But I disagree and rhyme

Cause am raining halleluiah

You bet it’s getting to you

Don’t you know it?

Goody goody!

It’s goody good for you

And goody good for me

Good love is all you need

You can take it for a ride

And I hope this satisfies you

Goody goody!

Good for you

Narrative

‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander’, my old grade school teacher used to say; what was her way of sharing equality among the boys and girls in the class. The boys will fret for their busted egos but the girls were ignorant early bloomers.

Used words& terms

– ‘am raining halleluiah’: symbolizes rain of ideas

– ‘fret’: agitated

-‘early bloomers’: maturing faster

8

So, it happened that I found myself

Compelled by the sayings of Agur

And it inspired my resolution

There are seven things that are too amazing for me

Eight which I do not understand:

Still I cannot find such color

The way of the clouds through the skies

– ‘Ours is a milky galaxy’-

Still I cannot find such grace

The way of light slashing through the dark

– ‘Geophysical’-

Still I cannot compare

The way of a mother to her child

– Unconditional’-

Still I cannot know such peace

The way of a virgin in her pride

– ‘Lily of the valley’ –

Still I cannot find a better institution

The way of a man with a woman

– ‘Eden’ –

Still the world is yet to know a farther woe

The way of man with Lucifer

– ‘Cursed’ –

Still the war is yet to be finished

The way of good and evil

– ‘They are in twine’ –

‘The good detest the bad, the bad detest the good’

Still I may never understand

The way of God with man

– ‘This is the way of love’ –

‘In sin yet still in love, He says; Come’!

Narrative

As I was having a quiet time I came across the chapter enlisting in great details the sayings of Agur, literally. And as I read through it inspired me not only to write on my own humble view of the world but also understanding the position and state of mind Agur had spoken those words to Ithiel . I imagined a state of humility mixed with awesome reference to a flawless being only possible embodiments of a God. Now I don’t know much but I know what great peace it brought to know I may never truly understand certain things that go on in the world but its okay cause there is a God, and I am barely an ounce out of the great magnitude of the universe and what it is still to unfold. I am humble

Used words & terms

‘Milky galaxy’: the earth is often referred as the milky way due to the way the galaxy disk crosses the sky in a company of bright milky light.

‘Geophysical’:

‘Grace’:

‘Lily of the valley’: {s.o.s 2;1} ‘I am a rose of Sharon 

                       A lily of the valleys’

‘Eden’’: a reference to the Garden of Eden where it all began

‘Cursed’: woe to the inhabitants of the earth which the devil

‘In twine’: similar

Love that knows no bound

Bound by blood

Bound to love

Here in this one, I’ve found no escaping

No breakups or let goes

With you is forever, never ending, only evolving

We are more than friends, sisters, or even brothers,

We are companions in the dark,

When the lights come off, with you I still shine bright,

Your love for me is love for self

Lasting bound that never ends

Even till our dying day we still hold strong,

Living and dying together

Love for you is love for self

Lasting bound that never ends

Here in this one, I’ve found a love that has no bound

Narrative

Self love for me is a love that has no bound. It sounds selfish but how I see it is; my ability to love myself first, makes it easier and less troublesome to love another. That is how we first love. We might say the love of a mother is the ultimate and it is, yet that really won’t get us through to loving a person other than the ones we have close ties with, makes you know am talking not only about the love of an opposite sex, but love as ‘Everything’. And how I see it also as a believer is, love for myself is the love for God as he is inside me, even more fantastic.

Used words & terms

-‘dark’: loneliness

-‘With you is forever, never ending, only evolving’: eternity

The Power of Scent

They say there is power in a scent

A concoction of enchanting potion

Strong enough to attract half a nation

A mixture of impelling substance able to penetrate

The mind of the one to which it is served

Well this is true;

Cause a certain smell flew across my nose

And almost instantly it threw back memories

Of a boy, an old white house, and a slight regret

I wanted to meet him

I wanted to tell him the smell of his cologne took me to Paris

And some other days London

I wanted to tell him smelling His cologne alone

Made me fall in love with a total stranger

We didn’t even have to have the same dreams

 Yet through a few trips down fairytale

We could make history, together

Two strangers falling in love over the power of a scent

There was very little to put together about him,

 All I knew was he was a boy with a hat on and a dashing fragrance

I was young and I knew better it was typical of me

To vulnerably fall for the smell of an unknown face

And on a certain Sunday I went and got myself a cologne too

So that one day he walks by my house

 He’d smell me and then realize

We both could make a splatter of everlasting

 Lasting! Love scent

I kept waiting in the presence of his constantly drifting shadows

Wishing for a Shakespearean miracle

A scene of our own Romero and Juliet

But then again they say wishes were for beggars

And yet he was a prince and I was a dreamer

I forgot I was chasing thin air

The perfume of the one to whom I could not reach out to

Restlessly dancing with the wind

Then one cold Harmattan night

I knew I heard his voice whispering to a girl

Swearing he’d die for her

And all of sudden my clouds turned grey

With a green light slightly

Pointing down the edge of a star light

And right there I knew, I was free

Like yellow!

Narrative

The longer we hold on to fantasy the longer it rubs us of reality. It’s sweet to dream but it’s also wise to learn to appreciate our own environment and seek to find ways to  make it beautiful and even magical if we want, long as we’re present.

Used words & terms

-‘And on a certain Sunday I went and got myself cologne too’: she started to make herself obvious to him

-‘green light’: reality

Perfect imperfection

Where lays it?

Where lays it within the sheets of your heart

Beneath the glares and stares

Of your piercing eyes

Between the bursts and growls

Of your roaring laughter

Along the tears and dents of your ancient scars

Across the edge of your burning desires

Within the echoes of your waging anger

Underneath the mourns and groans

Of your hungry soul

Opposite the dimensions of your empty motions

At the verge of your already drifting body

Where lays it?

Where lays the sanity in all your madness

In all the crows and brawls of your divided emotions

In all the taunts and hunts of your painful regret

In all the scares and depths of your warring memories

In all the corners and bunkers

Of your tired mind

At the crux of your surrendered retreat

I say there lays it

There lies the hope of your pending tomorrow

There lies the passage to your delayed liberty

There lies the lyric to your songs of redemption

There lies the bridge to your narrow escape

There lies a surge

Oh yes! A surge to your redefining

Your redefining divinity

There lies the divine you in all your imperfection

Mining you into your perfection

For in your perfect imperfection lies

Your perfect perfection

So perfect imperfection, just perfect

Narrative

While you would have yourself drenched and weighed off in feeling sorry for all the things you aren’t or the ones you are but isn’t just about worth it or enough to be counted worthy of love, forgiveness or even peace with your own self; think about God the one person so perfect that even his almighty perfection can’t give him the faith of a lost soul.

Used words & terms

-‘growls’: angry utterance

-‘crows’: shrill sound

-‘brawls’: noisy quarrel

-‘surge’: sudden rise

Death the leveler

How do we carry on?

We that thread the earth

At a safer distance

We watch our steps,

Counting each seconds turning to hours

So we might not be left behind

We prepare

Like a bridegroom waiting by the lamp

We are very sure not to covet

Not to converse this same topic

We dread is inevitable

One day my soul

One day my body

One day by night my spirit

As greedy as the grave

Death is never satisfied

Never negotiating enough

To push or pull time

When it comes

It must have its fill

Less it be unsatisfied

Never compromising as to the heart that’s felt

For the absence of a love once was

But now is

Well, eternal

So how must we carry on?

We that scatter the earth

In loss of our loved ones

The ones dearly beloved to us

We hope it’s only a dream

For reality seem all so vague

And void of colour

We lose our sensitivity to the things

That once brought us joy

And priceless peace

We watch ourselves

Grow used to the taste of our salty tears

Listening closely to the sound

Of our hearts breathing

We hope it will stop

And end our misery

Like death

We want it to know

We are unafraid

Unafraid of it being inevitable

We too will be unsatisfied

When it comes

We will be ready!

Narrative

Whether or not we choose to discuss it, it is an indispensible fact attached to the human existence. I don’t know about you but the thought of eternity makes death even less direful. 

Used words & terms

-‘covet’: yearning for something belonging to another person.

– ‘vague’: lacking clarity.

Afro-Punk

People

Places

Poverty

Pain 

Death

Fine art but still

They can’t measure up

Greenland but still they scatter thorns

That silly sentiment

That old time but void religion

It’s not the gospel

You blasphemers

Jesus wept

Hence the truth

We are no longer in the dark

We are no longer afraid

We will no longer run at the sight

Of your false prophesies

False prophets

Jesus died

Hence the new beginning

Narrative

We are the rebellious generation. Most of us to good use, so we could break free from society’s chains, separate the gospel from religion, break boundaries and create a new epitome; others, simply noise makers. Which side are you?

Used words & terms

-‘sentiment’: perception/conviction.

-‘people, places, poverty, pain’= Death.

Heaven sent

Dearly,

To you and I

Our paths have not crossed

Until we reach our crux

To you my hands will reach

To touch your heart

For us to meet

For us to be and become

The very existence which without me

You cannot create the future

We have since known one another

In our life before

Not the one before us

The one to which I think we had lived

For now it still feels yet as if I know you

More than just this little space

To which our paths have crossed

It still feels as if I’ve loved you

Way before

Now to which our paths have crossed

I remember you

Strangely likely more than I did before

Now to which our paths have crossed

We’ve touched

And it feels yet as if we’ve touched heaven

Perhaps a piece of it in me and you

For now I see you understand this strange chemistry

You see you feel

It is heaven, my Darling

We’ve touched heaven

Narrative

Even if it were to be once in a lifetime I think we all pray for that one person we could share some type of weird connection with, spiritual if you like; very little talking, only feeling.

Used words & terms

-‘crux’: most important point

-‘strange chemistry’: special bond

Peace officers living in cosmopolitan era

When I see a police car

I immediately imagine

The raging sound of shots fired through thin air

A massacre of my blood splatter

Through the ground

Leaving no traces

To track me back to where

I should have been

But cut short by wild wolves

In prestige black clothing

I all of a sudden smell fear close enough

To know they will come for me

Should I not take the other route

I haven’t done any wrong

But so didn’t Kolade Johnson

Or Akeem Akinsanya

Anita Akapson

Ada Ifeanyi

Or the rest of us out here

There are days I want to play tough

Cling onto Fela’s strength

And say I refuse not to put up a fight

I insist to fight today

And live to die tomorrow

Throw my chest out and scream;

‘You can kill my body’

‘But you can’t kill my soul!

But I must be wise

To remember my mother’s words

Never to put up a fight if I must live

To survive a next run

I must run for cover

And find safety in a little cowardice

For gone are the days

Crime had on saggy shorts, singlet and a colored handkerchief

Hanging out their back pocket

There is a new crime in town

And it works for the government

Narrative

Were living in a society where the face of crime isn’t only beholden through the appearances of the thugs and hoodlums as you’d have them but rather in our supposed crime fighters and justice upholders. We no longer fear and run only from the hooligans but also from the popo’ as some folks call them. It’s sad but it is the sore truth.

Used words & terms

-‘massacre’: savage killing

-‘cowardice’: lack courage

No man’s country

I am from no man’s land

I am from a planet out of this world

I am a prophet on mission

No culture can keep me bound

I would grow

I come from all over the corners of the world

I can learn to love my culture

Eventhough it does not fit my education

I can learn to understand its origin

Its ancientness for me to revere

I must learn to know my place

And own it!

If I must claim an heritage

Still I am wild and growing

No history can keep me running through old visions

I am too wild in imagining innovations

To succumb to old time glory

I am from a planet out of this world

I am from no man’s country

Narrative

I am never one to want to feel stuck or dependent on a thing, person or place, I am no addict to anything man made or artificial. I want to believe I am one with a free spirit and a much carefree human being, a passerby, not fully belonging, only owning. Owning my existence, owning to its inevitability, owning my surrender to a higher power, and overall, owning my truth whatever shape it may come. I am a traveller at heart, mind and spirit too, I am never one to stunt in growth and refuse flexibility for life in its fullness.

Used words & terms

-‘revere’: respect

-‘succumb’: give in

Afro beat Presentation

Enter in patient

Yet madness in your thoughts

Face ethnically painted

With intention and purpose

Proceed to annihilate

Any suspect to the idea

You came to play

Wiggle the pant palazzo around

But slowly so they could see every print

Mindless of the band

So they know you have the keys

To their souls to make them function

Precisely and perfection

Be conscious of your tongues

As it is a symbol of your identity

Claim it!

Be it, the only education they get from your parade

Do not fail to express it

The freedom on how you express it

Would tell whether or not they dance to it

Be sure to make them dance

And be slaves to the sound of liberation

Only your presence can serve

This will tell whether or not you live or die

A legacy

Narrative

I believe every African is an artist. Be it you’re dancing, singing, chanting, writing, speaking, or be it the fact that you’re just a part of the hype team, you play a role.  Long as you’re not sitting with the others and watching us continuingly build legacies one show at a time. It is our identity, we are show stoppers!

Used words & terms

– ‘ethnically’: tribal

-‘annihilate’: wipe out

– ‘parade’: show

Wild wild hair

Wild wild hair

I am not my hair

Wild wild hair

Watch the way you turn

Wild wild hair

I am not to blame

Mystical as it seems

It does belong to me

It grew right through my head

Crazy as it seems

God knows every curl

Wild wild hair

Tangle away

The world is much too straightforward

Bless it with wonder

Wear it with power

Black power!

Narrative

However we choose to express our own kind of beautiful as it best suites or fit us, it is our own prerogative. Very often we see black women being measured by how their hair appears to be very unlike what is thought a woman’s hair should look like; just like her skin having a natural hair is yet another medium the society seeks to question her nature.

Used words & terms

-‘Mystical’: beyond ordinary

-‘too straightforward’: unadventurous

No good girl alive

They say she is a fallacy

A myth that could never exist

They say when she returns home

To her comfort zone

All hell breaks loose

There is no good girl alive

All are wolves in sheep skin

She finds herself on the ground

The world’s weight on her shoulders

Who do I become?

So I could be loved and understood

Who do I need to emulate

A preceding order

So I could seize to be the centre of your attention

The one you seek to slowly put out

And then piece back together

To become the exact product of your illusion and speculation

You’re right and am wrong

There is no good girl alive

All you have are virgins by heart

And of course we know the truth!

We know you

Like every other girl here that has walked these streets

Claiming to be introverts

But are actually wild cards in the scheme of themes

Themes vividly reflective on screens

Portraying girls as puppets and sex toys for fun and toiling

Never too much educating

Mostly girls in lingerie and very little activity

They say she belongs on the scene

Where she could be seen

More adventure less becoming

Who needs honesty these days?

There is no good deed in anyone

She hits the ground even harder

Uncertainty hits to the teeth

The world’s weight still unyielding

Her mind now glitching

It suddenly dawns on her

She is upset

Torn into two

Lonely and abused

She now works the street at the palm of her hands

The way the world intends

She comes home appease

Now she realizes what you need

A girl without her truth

Narrative

Generally, some people expect the worse in a person because for some insane reason it makes them less confronted by their own conscience. No one is perfect they say, and yet one striving is only pretending to be what they’re not.

Used words & terms

-‘fallacy’: delusion

– ‘preceding’: past

– ‘introverts’: antisocial

– ‘themes’: subject matter

–  ‘glitching’: malfunctioning

A short story

The Traveler

I often wonder where I would be buried when I die.

That hopefully somewhere even in my death would feel like home,

Hometown

I mean everyone is always talking about where they spent most their lives growing up,

Where they hid their first broken tooth,

What streets they road their first bikes,

Who their first buddy was

But me,

Am a traveler

I threw my first broken tooth by a bush at a relative’s home, swung my arms open, took to singing a self composed hymn;

‘my teeth has broken, den! den!

de! den! de!

my teeth has broken, den! den!

de! den! de!’

Smiling what was left of my milky teeth

Buddies were for losers. Why have them only to lose them.

At first we meet on mutual grounds but then end up on crossed roads. Little telephone calls might stitch to the other end of the line for a while but cuts through long distance breaks our fragile connection, and then we become history.

And a bike, I never technically rode one. I just watched as the other kids rode by the streets one summer at a friend’s home waving their kites through the skies that seemed like spiting flies through my eyes.

The sun would always shine on them.

Shine on the metal strings above of their sprawling wheels and make them blaze flashing lights. But never on me.

Never on my spotting little eyes. What a mean Sun!

Its discriminatory of shy daisies, it craved wild life. Wild like those other kids running up and down the hippy streets, worse than jack and Jill, worse than Turbo.

I did have a home of three before, just me, my Ma and Sis.

Beautiful as could be, sharing a love so pure as the very God that bound us.

And even then we were broken. Breached with a distant gap life’s course marked on our way, on our destinies.

It tested our faith, our heart, and our commitment to love as a family. But we did find some way to mend our hearts back together. We did find some way to remember love.

But never our home,

Never hometown.

Now my Sis is in the uptowns, and am with Ma, downtown!

Now like a ripped painting I feel my Sis running away from our colorful artistic chemistry, our family painting on the wall, ancient but forever love strong.

Why is she ripping her beautiful fair color away from this painting? Why is she running from this beautiful chemistry, why is she running away from home?

Why is she not downtown with me and Ma? I know we were broken before but we did find some way to mend our hearts back together.

Home is incomplete, with Sis in the uptowns.

Although it’s still home with Ma in it, but without us complete it still feels like traveling.

Without neighbors like friends and friends like family it still feels like a walk through.

No long contacts, just packed bags, and long prayers for the next trip.

Travelling back it was harder to keep up with events, and emotions, worse. They were like rushing wheels in motion both descending and ascending one after the other.

Even in my sleep they would haunt me down. Like a chase I was the catch. Never really heading somewhere specific yet running like one with a goal, with ambition.

Probably an ambition to finally settle. But how could I possibly when I was always running away from the catch, running from the final destination, wherever that was.

I realized how much faces differed, as well as their actions.

A synergy of my mind and body I invented through my travels. I even got to ascribe colors and images to actions.

Like for example, when am shown love, I picture the sun’s fiery moist dripping into the puffy clouds as they would pop and glow in abundance.

And when love would hurt and pain piercing, the clouds would fall in grayish agony, as the sun would eclipse, opening the flood gates, then my tears would follow.

I could hardly keep memories. Memories without Ma and Sis in it. Each event just seemed to wither away from my mind, but somehow never the bad stuff, never the awful experiences the Hosts put Sis and me through. It was hard to forget those. Never my tearing eyes, it was hard to forget how I remembered my vain lifting through my head, or the painful chills that would grip my tender skin and cover them with bumps.

I couldn’t control it neither could I stop it. It was always rush hour every hour. You couldn’t count seconds that turned minutes. The sun is up and then suddenly its dawn.

Even in my dreams I would picture myself a running car, sometimes in it and sometimes it. The running car, the gear, the wheels, the force, the speed, again the running car. I had opened doors and reached places I’d never even been before or probably places Ma was yet to take me.

Yet somehow I loved the rush. Somehow the pain was bitter sweet. Probably because it made an excuse to run when it required I stayed. To escape tragedy even when it required I fought.

Or maybe it was Ma. Maybe it was the way she always said I love you through every heart ache, every “Am sorry but you have to stay here for a while”. Or the promises she could hardly keep but always recovered through every kiss on my burning cheeks.

I sometimes made wishes in hope they’d come through for me on days I couldn’t pray, because even in my prayers I could hardly utter clear words as they would sound like tongues.

And unlike some people I believed in them, wishes!

Wishes like racing horses even I could ride if I dreamed, if I believed.

Still if you were to ask Ma she’ll tell you I was a handful, well most times. Cause my scars and stitches made these scripts more easily. Even I could remember the pestles and particular hand swings Ma took for a specialty. Yet as tough as iron as I was Ma invented a mechanism as she knew my weakness.

Biscuits.

Trust me if biscuits were weapons, then I think we might have ourselves an infant revolutionary.

I was a sucker for biscuits and Ma knew it too, so she’d bribe me on every occasion she got, whatever she possibly wanted me to do she could.

But Sis! She was a different ball game, she was bullet proof, and nothing could get through her, not even biscuits. And Ma knew it too, so she’d scold her, probably because she wished she could just like biscuits, or sweets, anything possible to make leaving easier.

Sis knew too well how to convey feelings, she still does. Her master craft. Is like the movie ‘Cinderella’. ‘Have courage and be kind’ was her slogan and was still even at daunting moments with her wicked step mother and lunatic sisters. I remember Sis would be so pissed and wouldn’t eat for days after Ma had left and unfortunately for her the Hosts could care less. But though Sis hated to see Ma leave each time, deep down in her heart she knew Ma had to go places without us so we could survive and someday be independent. It was bitter but it was the truth, we were dependent.

The Hosts would say I was stronger than Sis cause I could take Ma leaving, but the truth was, I just loved biscuits; Well most days! But other days, biscuits could go to hell and bake. If I didn’t want to stay, the whole neighborhood would know there was a new kid on the block. And Ma knew that too, so she’d spank me, and then pet me to sleep, and when I would wake, she was gone.

Oh boy! How that used to hurt like hell. It would hurt so bad I couldn’t even cry but mope and promise myself never to sleep again, or better yet never to trust Ma again. Even my infant mind knew the word was betrayal. Ma had fooled me and it felt like Dad.

But there were some days ours was like a Spartan movie. You know when the parents leave their kids to some combat instructor and they have no choice but to be brave for their parents plus the whole of Spartan even though it’s highly hysterical cause they’re just kids, but then it’s like the tradition. Yes! Picture that.

Still even in that scene I would always cut and stare at Ma with the most child manipulating look there ever was, expecting she’d feel guilty and take Sis and I with her.

I would hold her hands for long, pierce my eyes into hers that maybe for some reason she might see my hurt and change her mind. But her eyes would pierce in mine even stronger and then I’ll know.

She was helpless and I ought to pity her.

Then all of a sudden courage would rise within me to be strong for Ma. Letting her know I would only stay because she was helpless and I loved her. Gosh! I hated to see Ma leave.

Most of the Hosts were never as nice as Ma was. And they would treat Sis and me very badly but I knew I had to be strong for Ma and I knew Sis knew it too even with the firm look on her face.

That was Sis.

That was her way of hiding her weakness, because when Ma was far gone I know she would cry in the shower and at night when everyone but I, laying beside her was awake.

I’d pet her but her tears would be contagious and before I said ‘Jack Robinson’ we both were crying like bells. And when our heads ache we would take a break, dry our tears, cuddle each other, but our cuddling would trigger memories, so we would cry some more all through the night until we slept.

There was this time Sis broke into singing admits our crying, I reluctantly joined in and before I said ‘Jonny Walker’ we were both laughing, singing, and still crying.

Silly Sis! Of all the songs in the world there possibly was to sing, she picked ‘Sweet Mother’. Perfect!

Now singing amidst crying was rituals to me and Sis, there were even times certain lyrics would skip our minds but we will hum and say a whole lot of rubbish through the rest of the song. We knew this too, but we could care less, long as it flowed and our hearts were close, we were singing.

I remember I once told Ma I wanted a job as a singer in the big city where she worked so I could help out and make us stay together as a family but in response she laughed and said I was going to be her ‘Miss World’ when I grew up. Silly Ma, still trying to fool me, even I knew that wasn’t a real job and she would only say that to make me smile and see myself special.

When summer came they were like a break in Heaven from hell.

With angels singing and warmly welcoming Sis and I to yet another leave from terror. I mean it! The Hosts were not nice at all, not even a little. There was this one that would make us use hand fans on her till she slept, and when we fell slightly as sleep thinking she was asleep, all we heard were rushing slaps on our faces waking us back on duty, the duty of putting the old lady to sleep with our bare hands. Am talking back scratching, mosquito repelling, keeping the breeze from blowing the blanket off her royal highness, keeping an eye up for snakes, other reptiles, lions, you know it’s a jungle out here, a whole bunch of lists, time won’t permit me to remember other relative duties but we did work magic, even that Host would tell you. There is nothing like having a bunch of kids surround you like a bouquet and treat you like a flower in need of protecting. Crazy Human!

Only the mornings lived to tell the bitter story of the night. When we first moved in with this Host Sis and I thought it was a onetime thing and tomorrow would be better, normal. But then tomorrow came as so did weeks unto months, until it became a routine, a job!

Here I was looking for a job and I did get one, not what I wanted but at least I was helping Ma, for the thought that Ma was still alive and I could make it back to her was a hope not deferred.

Every home Sis and I lived always tried to make us conform to their ways and beliefs. Which is relatively understandable, but the twists and turns in trying to adjust to new norms and notions still in stunt recovery of the previous was literally breath taking. It was certainly impossible to have a personality with all of the constant relocating.

And now our new home is proof of the meaninglessness of a mapped architectural building. They say a home is what you make of it, but tell that to Sis whose down in the uptowns and won’t come downtown, it’ll take an entire manuscript to have her convinced she needed time with her family, an obligated need.

I know she feels her trace isn’t marked on the four walls of this new building but if only she’d look deeper, look beyond the structural architecture of this house and realize every brick laid were platforms of our memories beforehand. She is always here. Her beautiful fair color is still on every family painting both physically and whole heartedly. She is loved, irreplaceable. Not even my chocolaty dark skin could compare to her chocolaty vanilla. She should be adorned. It’s easy to love her cause Ma made love our first foundation. God first, family second. And since God was love and Ma made us know love it was easier to know God, easier to love him. So when Dad was gone and Ma was our only parent I never felt alone. People would tease me and say I was incomplete without a masculine figure in my feminine family, but I never for once felt alone or needy. And for some this might sound cliché but these types of things seemed special in my world. Dad had to leave cause he went chasing after a life he thought was better but couldn’t share with us and I never blamed him, doing right just wasn’t his thing, and I suppose you never lose what you never had. Still over the years I tried to build tension and hate towards him as the world expects me to but the love in my heart won’t make space for it, it’s like healing before hurt, I already knew what to do and how to feel before it happened, remember that synergy of my mind and body. So letting the thought of Dad not being in our lives slip through my mind very lightly was as easy as typing these lines on my notepad.

For me, love is all. Nothing human can separate me from Ma or Sis. Ours is like eternity, till death do us part. And yet again these aren’t just a platitude of words but actual truth. There was this song Ma always made Sis and I sing to her and no matter where we were, no matter who was around, we had to sing it. Back then it felt like singing just a normal poem but when I started to grow older I realized each syllable had a tying oath coined into every line of words.

‘I love my Mama, my Mama loves me”

No circumstances can change my opinion

There’s no denying, there’s no defying

Ours is forever until the end’

And indeed over the years there have been circumstances but none ever strong enough to break through.

And in my life’s distractions I have often considered taking a trip to my father’s land, but I get stuck in weary isolation I didn’t belong there or anyway else for that matter, cause there are no memories to hold unto there, no soil to trace, no stories to picture in my imagination of where it is my blood line is from, none but self made promises. Promises to make to my future bunnies, promises of a soil, a neighborhood, a bike, a street, Hometown.

But me,

I still question where it is I could actually call hometown, being a traveler.

Am somewhere in the middle of nowhere, still trying to settle and when time lapses, and Jerusalem is only few travels away, I fear I might be buried in a strange land and not my father’s, now I’m in a state whereby the thought of death, judgment or the grave sent no fear down my spine rather the inevitable thought of been buried in a strange location makes my heart restless.

Although it’s very often I find myself with the resolution I’ll never stop running, never stop searching, just like King David said ‘a chasing after wind’. Maybe there is no final destination, not for me, not for Ma, Sis, or even anyone. Maybe the word home was just a fictional term cooked up by Tom hanks when he found himself on a strange island and sought to conceive a fable he wasn’t alone so he could keep from going insane. Maybe home is me, pieces of myself I mould into a structured building, not of Ma, not Sis, not of anyone. Cause when they’re gone for a while I still remain stuck in running motion and no matter how long I keep seeking to settle I’ll never find content, I’ll never stop travelling, going places, meeting faces, seeking answers to questions I might never find, which is all good, but when I find Jerusalem,  maybe then I’ll settle.

Ok! Am getting too deep; this is about me been a traveler.

Narrative

Life is the most beautiful situation that could ever occur to man. I believe our bodies are just as free as our souls and spirit. I could be in a daunting situation at some point but then in a split second my spirit is far travelled to a safe haven it seeks to explore. So unless I give in and follow through to where its leading me because I know it is always right and truth giving I would never truly experience the universe and how beautiful and more so powerful I could be in it. Therefore my thoughts are covenanted to seeing the world as it truly is; all of it belongs to me. No culture, no past, or hometown could hold me down from truly experiencing its fullness. I would always be a traveler. Truly!

Used words & terms

-‘Hosts’: guardians

– ‘bunnies’: symbolizes children

-‘Jerusalem’: heaven

The soul of the church

Born again

Like born supremacy

We live like royals

While our brothers’ wait for tables

I know we all can’t ride horses

And the sun can’t rise on the suburbs

The children are too ghetto

To know to walk on plain landmarks

The earth is marked

And the lots have been cast

For richer the power

For poorer the good God

Mercy could override wealth

But the church has been made perverse

The world could purge from sin

But the good preacher is antisocial

Hence the lost sheep has no tail

Once there were some as the beatitudes

Who knew to fellowship with sincerity of hearts

No possessions held back

Just angels working the earth

They pushed the good word

Fought enough for us to see

Enough to share the ultimate suffering

For the soul of the church

Is the revival –

Narrative

Nothing in itself is living for its self Paul said; whether or not you believe in God. That goes for us too that believe; to understand the concept of togetherness and even more equality in the eyes of the Universe. So when you start to feel in control and resolute you can take a step back and check whom you’re pulling along.

Used words & term

‘Suburbs’: outskirts of a city

‘Override’: rule against

‘Beatitudes’: blessed

Little Country Dreams

Darkened by the sun

Weighed by the moon

Kissed by a star

Along the see sea ship

Silly rhythms

Flaky rhymes

Deadly dreams

For I am planting seed

Still in autumn

It will rain this morning

Stone cold water

But I can’t remember the last I saw your face glow in beautiful wonder

Smiling like the world could seize forever

If you deprive it of your kindly tender

Special kind as you are

Lost in dreams

Of modern aspirations

And found in fatal coincidence

No longer the girl I used to know

One content with the simple things

Her city had to offer

No longer the girl and her little

Country dreams

But kadara

The typical African girl

Sold to over sea men

On a see sea ship

With nothing but a box of ideas

Of the American dream

And a note of prayer from her mother

In hope she’ll remember

Where she came from

To know where the ship will draw the water

But it’s raining now

Stone cold water

Yet alas I remember

Why I had those little dreams

And cherish them

Narrative

Little country dreams would save a life. It’s not to say having big dreams is something to be feared or avoided but let your intentions and motivations be made known to yourself in clear honesty in order to be responsible for future outcomes; just so you don’t mistake anxiety for desire and greed for adventure, just checking on you.

Used words & terms

‘Flaky’: unusual

‘Planting seed’: taking steps

‘Autumn’: a season when leaves fall from the tree

‘Ship will draw the water’: stop ship

Put it in my jar

Lonely asses

Shabbily filling in this hazardous role play

You can make up all the terms in the world

Encyclopedia and all

But you still can’t put it in my jar

Am penny wise

Even I can’t believe this savagery discipline

I mean a craving of barbaric splendor’

I suppose it’s my relentless star gazing

Am dreaming too much

I can’t tolerate non fiction

Am too fixated in feeling

The worldly heights won’t be enough

When I get tired of its limits

I promise I’ll make my own

I pray I’ll make you feel my groove

And let the earth be moved

And displaced from its place

For I put every consciousness

And understanding into my jar

To know what’s worth keeping

Worth feeling

Am the best version of me

Scars and all

This I could know to always treasure

More so what Ma said

‘Whatever you want to be baby girl; you can’

Here’s one worth putting in my jar

Narrative

I am my mother’s daughter. Nothing is special if Ma says its trash, which is all it’ll be in my eyes. Cause unlike many I see through them. When am worn out and pressured to a fall, she’ll pick me up and be my divine seer and unlike mine they’ve known time.

Used words & terms

-‘shabbily’: mean/ungenerous manner

-‘asses’: fools

In glorious war II (he)

He prayed to the Oak tree

The one he looked unto

Amidst the battle spree

The barracks is no home

For a man who works the soil

He’ll meet his demise

On till floor

Wet!

He confesses to Mother Nature

‘I am not a hero

I sold my soul to war

So I could seize to be my father’s son

Sir Sidney Black

An extreme Nazi

I know this is no glorious act

But of hateful motive

I have a lover back home

Whose heart I placed on hold

And hope she’d learn to forget me

For I cannot return home

And have the town celebrate a bitter man

A hero who had their good intentions

I must accomplish my sole mission

For the battle grounds are not only tales of zealous men

But also the broken ones

Who have found a sinless way to suicide

In the battle spree

I swear my beautiful Ellie

I fight till death

I was no coward to my enemy’s pursuit

I made sure he made it count

Until my end I knew to pray

For a space for me beyond the stars

So I could know to shine

And glory past sorrow

For a new life

In a whole new world

My dreams will taunt me

Who am I to fool?

Your love hunts me down

Narrative

A continuing poem on ‘In glorious’ war but this one takes a turn as it is the ‘Inglorious’ war which connotes something without honor. It shows a man in between the battles of his dreams and reality with no courage to fight through either.

Used words & terms

-‘zealous’: active

-‘pursuit’: following

-‘nazi’: intolerant

Moonlight Kisses

Dark nights

For long walks

Sunset sky

For peradventure love

Smoke out of our fire now

Milestone built for this silly show

We’ve made a fool out of love

Cursed it to the moon and now

Back again by the sunset

Where it all went sideways

This little boy says he is in love with me

Wonder what chronicles wrote such

Scripts as the ones for

Coincidental love

Created here, just now

By the moon

I can’t trust this stimulus

It won’t last us till morning

Maybe it’s the moon

That cast a spell on us

And made us stars to this mesmerising scene

Were shining now

This is too scary for romance

Your mind is too tired from sweating and courage needless to spare

You’ll grow grey hair

And I will grow children that’ll make me old and grey

I suppose we could find where this two fates meet

So we could free ourselves from this misery

And go home

Where reality will save

Narrative

I am never one to live for the moment if am truly honest with myself, am too obsessed with my future being bright and free of consequential regrets; like the fate of an unborn toddler. I don’t know, maybe I ought to learn that.

Used words & terms

-‘peradventure’: by chance

-‘mesmerising’: spellbind/hypnotize

Sleep

Sleep before food

Food before pleasure

Sleep is friend to the soul

It will grant you rest only death can permit

Peace beyond solemn kisses

Tears off old skin for new

Sleep is treasure to the uncanny

Makes for a pathway

Transacting evil and good

Sleep is priceless for dreamers

Gives room for more of the impossible

Sleep is like gold

Even golden by how well you line your sheets

Sleep like meeting God on a subway

Riding to a diner for a sandwich

Before getting a quick coffee from Jesus by the counter

But still wake up in unbelief

Ye of little faith

Narrative

Sleep is my favorite food. I strongly believe it’s a gift from God to rest our soul, body, and spirit from the troubles of life once in a while. Sleep is everything.

Used words & terms

-‘uncanny’: extraordinary

Broken People

Your father told your mother

You couldn’t walk round the park no longer

As if he knew your heart

Will lie gently on my side porch

When the moon was up

My mother told my sister

To tell me

She’s all we have

Don’t let a silly boy run your life

Like your father did mine

But Mother do you mind

Am terrified

Am too far gone in love

I fear I might runway

And make you cry

But were broken people

Living on the edge of fateful circumstance

Our hearts are built with gold

But shattered through immorality

Immorality long before

Our eyes knew the sun

Long before the stars knew to tell what was to come

Long before death knew first love

Romeo and I, Juliet

Broken people

Broken souls

But how can two broken people fall in love

Unless they fall apart

Narrative

Some of us come from the other end of the sun. You know I mean where the sun sets from behind and you could only see its shadow and not its glow. It’s not that it fails to shine for all its cause we don’t see it from where we stand; we’re built differently.

Used words & terms

-‘run’: ruin

-‘-mmorality’:

Blind at Bethsaida

Rabbi,

I see people

Walking like trees

Seeking pasture

Wandering in vigorous ambition

On a purposeful mission

But destined to fatality

We all could die today

The sun could seize to shine

Wither like saw dust

Leave the earth purging in beautiful ambiance

Must I forever vision immortality?

Or favour the believe I need a reason

To position my mind

In a way my spirit can relate

‘There must be an end to this body’

‘There must be a reason to die’

I want the world to end

So I can be forever young

I want heaven just as much

As I need saving

Maybe now more than likely

I see the light

The sun is shining

The sky is blue

I can see clearly

I know hope for glory

Narrative

This was the man at Bethsaida in his own term but this is me if you picture a person once blind as to the way things are and have been. A mixture of trembling and not truly understanding fellowship through my own eyes but the one the world explains, because I know they do so of their own context and guiding. And the fact that am seeking and searching for myself doesn’t make me resentful but truly in love.

Used words & terms

-‘vigorous’: physically active

-‘ambiance’: influence of an atmosphere

Prose

Flaws of Religion

What is it some of the Christians say about religion that saves them from persecution. I know, they say they do not practice religion but Christianity. I find that hard to comprehend cause if you were someone like me once lost in the four walls of some of these Christian gathering today you realise the vagueness of that debate. Come to think of isn’t religion the practice of Christianity and more so the general term for different supernatural practices. And by Supernatural I mean whatever your God is and whatever makes you sleep at night. Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, etc are all types of religion. But here we have some of the Christians who have chosen to follow the short and wide road almost to the full and righteous conviction.

Let us not confuse ourselves all in the name of civilisation and have ourselves to blame. There is nothing wrong with being a little religious, however you choose to pick your personal code of conduct to your style of living could be a form of routine you religiously follow. Every religion has its principles, dos and don’ts that they live by in order that they truly fellowship with their divine order without any opposing body questioning its existence.

It is true some religions have contradicted from their source and blown up to rather extreme degrees, living like servants in church buildings when they ought to be kings in palaces. But it is not to say diminishing one person’s religious activities lessens the strife from the other cause each one has its flaws.

At the end of the day it’s a choice between good and evil. You may choose evil and feel it’ll make your life easier (good luck with that) and you may pretend to choose good and then water it down to make it feel less sacrificial.

But I guess for some I might say laziness and lack of willingness to subject themselves to rigorous and true fellowship as oppose to living it to their spiritual advisors causes them to funkinize the gospel a little bit. Well am a believer and not a Christian myself so I suppose we all might go to hell.

Narrative

Excuse the last quote if it makes you itch but I suppose realizing the thin line between life and death makes it less breathtaking to use the word; and yet no one can make the decision for either fates but ourselves. Christianity is a type of religion same as Islam, Judaism etc. Most of the time I notice  how Christianity takes more blows as regards its entire existence and beforehand and I realize how people result ways to lighten the weight on how the world sees it; like a simple misconception.

Used words & terms

-‘vagueness’: not coherent in meaning

-‘rigorous’: strict

Everything Nothing

Everything! Everything!

Nothing!

Says the teacher

Everything is nothing

For souls return to the hands

Of the one who bares them

Everything is nothing

To we that surf the earth in haste

Living like super humans,

Our best selves we hope to explore to the limit

Everything is nothing

Gaining power rival to none

And sitting on worldly seats

To suppress the truth of extinction

Everything Everything

You see, is nothing

Purge yourself from forgery

Of thoughts of special humanness

Nothing is of much value

If you look down from space

Every everything

Everything is nothing

Who am I to fool?

Expecting that I could live in peace

In a world slowly passing me by

Each passing time

Everything is nothing

Everything everything

Eternity

Everything is nothing

Narrative

Everything nothing, everything is vanity. I am an advocate of a better world where we could live in absolute peace and harmony and I sometimes even get too overboard in dreaming things only possible in the afterlife. But either ways my conscious awareness of the meaninglessness of life makes me understand what’s worth dying for.

Used words & terms

-‘extinction’: no longer in existence

-‘forgery’: altercation

EPILOGUE

They say what we seek is seeking us, but how about I tell you what is seeking you needs your courage and persistence to believe it’s meant for you and that the fact that its meant for you doesn’t mean it can’t be taken from you if you don’t follow up with it. It will leave you and go unto the next, it’s a gift but it works with time. ‘Knock before you enter for the love of poetry’ is me seeking the knowledge behind truly seeking and finding purpose in the process and how that might not often make sense in the making I hope the universe sees my pursuit.

Salvaged thoughts

When I close my eyes

I see tiny lights

Thousands of them

They multiple

The space is black

I go up and up

Never a destination

Only ascending

I wonder if it’s a curse

Or a channel to God

A pathway to Him

Only I know

Only I can see

I might tell you to close your eyes

But I know you may not see it

I pray you may not see it

So it could be special

A light to my world

Or maybe it’s all in my head

Maybe I go up because I am falling

Maybe from where I stand is upside down

In a concede position

That I am only illustional

I close my eyes once again

But I couldn’t see it

It disappeared

It comes when I least expect it

I don’t know what to make of it

But I want to see God

Water Melon

I think fruit tastes better

When you’re in love

And love seems less complicated

When you know God

I suppose the thought of not

Feeling the sense of doubt in the other person

Rises from the conviction of the need for sacrifice

Everyone should be willing to give up something

Or the phrases bear fruit

Even in place of desert grounds and dry bones coming to life

Long as you understand the concept

Of water

A little tear

A little laughter

A little more sharing of the simplest things

Like a slice of watermelon

Mo Adejumo
#OpraDre

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