Could you recognise the silence?

That is what it feels like

when Zenitude and woe swirl around in a chalice

when crickets chirp louder, nearer

when it’s too soon to speak up


The silence is the stillness of a waterless dam

it is the look in her tearless eyes

the doleful journey that’s a lucid trip

It echo like ghost in the wind

that’s why they call her Aura


Yes, the silence is a person

She breaths in, and out

if you listened, you would her arterioles pump

swoosh swoosh swoosh

in the hallowing darkness


She loves the word vindictive

she embodies it, so it is her

For wagging tongues told a classified lie

And she believed them

Immersing in their dripping fallacy


speak and you will be heard, they said

roar and you will command valleys

but her silence echoes to frosty mountain tops

Why speak when hearts will brawl

why talk when no one cares


She invites numbness to all she meets

And like ants to a picnic

They’ll flock around her

Then she performs her best trick

the disappearing act, as she calls it.


Who are we really kidding?

Our chattering minds will never seize

when the heavy drizzle on rooftops halts

Her voice will drown us

In a seething ocean of solitude


We believed it when they said;

speak and you will be heard

roar and you will command valleys

but like Zenitude mixed with woe we’ve found love

In the Aura of withdrawal and silence









The Great Shepherd

Unto us a child is born

A heir to the throne of David

We have waited for so long

even with our eyes we are blind



Remove us from the mortuary

and lead us into your Sanctuary

Our  hearts begged and wailed

So he poured in abundance the Spirit of truth



Oh how he loves us

Oh how he yearns for us to accept him

no amount of poetry can express

the suffering he’s endured for our sake



He heard my soul cry  out

from my mother’s womb

So he went down to the dungeon of hell

That the innocent could live.



He glorifies the weak

he humbles the proud

from his mouth pours wisdom

he gives freely, without a second thought



The source of our very breath

Science says energy can only be transformed

but you create and destroy energy

The provider of Breakthrough



You remain the centre of gravity

Rulers of the world bow down

to the Lord of Lords

For you alone are the great shepherd.








Hey Baby, won’t you come in?

Before the brazen sun dehydrates your Ebony sheen. Come and I will take care of you, take you to a restaurant and pay for a room to rest your pretty head.

Please sit with me, a beauty like yourself shouldn’t be outcha.  There are wolves and sharks, and even mammoths, I pay your fare to wherever you wish to go.

Tell them. When you get there, that we are not all the same. We do not use race and religion to destroy each other.  Tell them we have become advanced humanoids. Tell them there is a life beyond recession.

 We are like Israel, God’s holy nation.

I send you to Aso, the rock on the hill.  Wherein lives the most incompetent leader in the world. We let history repeat. All of which; the famine, the suffering, the killings could have been avoided.  Ignorance is truly a disease.

Try and try again to uproot the corruption. fluid lies quakes a united nation, If we are as united then why is there  an uprising in the North, the Fulani’s slaughtering and conquering the Middle belt,  apparently cows are more valuable than Humans.

A leader that enables such destruction, he turns a blind eye.  Then calls the youth redundant. The same could be said of his children, oh wait! they are not counted amongst the average youth.

The agenda has always been Religion.

Brother killing brother. Pastor making coins off the back of docile congregations.  In this land, nothing grows, they only wilt into coma.  The youths flee, to take refuge in another man’s land, so they may not die of vigorous  hunger, and be thrown into a mass grave where no man mourns.

Behold I send you a lamb amongst wolves. This curses we suffer are yet unnumbered. The world moves forward and we slide deeper into the forsaken ages. While some powder their noses behind shades. “Utopia,” they say, ” we’re coming home”.






                                   year gone by

                                   Nights on hold

                                     Her eyes have yet

                                         to behold his face like once before

                                             when he cupped hers between his hands

                                     so warm, so soft and white

                                                                                            No not like hers were brittle

                              like the sword smith

                                for she toiled much to bloom

                               in the summer’s unbalanced glaze.




An angelic

ethnic muse

This Adonis that is hers alone

   and the wind whispers a pleasing melody

   of his victorious home coming

                                                            That day there will be dancing in shopping streets,

young men will march in a band

Old widows will wave their flags

and doves will adorn the holy skies

as she melts into heroic viking arms,

and he sways her left right, then left again

never to be separated,

not by war, famine

and pain

not even by a second death




               his  name

                      fills her heart with hope,

                      like chariots descending from acrylic clouds

                            blending with purple acid, evaporating from burning roofs.

                        She’d mouth his name in every day

                         and say a prayer in solemn silence

                     Though sunset dawns

                 and blood moon hums

               in soulless flames

            his name remains

                  on her jewelled tongue

                                                                                      ’til their last wisp heralds away.



Who broke

 her armoured walls

a dare devil he is

   for he wilded his  sword that bore an insignia

He rescued her from a dubious nightmare

covered her skin with tapered textile

for this, she dubbed him knight of her heart

and lord over her soul

truly he has risked it all

                                                                                 to insure that he may dare

       graze his lips upon her ebony cheek



    O’ how she yearned

for his touch and kiss

                                                                       to hear his voice, bare and thready

The voice that lingers in her soul

and compels her to light up

like a million fireflies on a beach shore

His voice was like her soul, dainty and mystical

and his soul like her voice,

lost in the sea of desire

   and peace.




Freewill or what?

Anyone that knows me knows that I’m an advocate of freewill, a trait that is frequently misconstrued as stubbornness.

I am not a rules person. I’ve had minor clashes with authority figures and I will question anything that seems ehhh non-Linear and shady.

Because I suffered behind the tinted glass of silence most of my life, like not speaking up when I was raped. Apprehensive feelings that arose in my mind were unfortunately buried there too.

Therefore it is better to fly on the scrutinising wings of stubbornness than to be silent—- except when applying wisdom to silence.

I hated school uniforms and conformity. I questioned my parents, though non-confrontationally.

And yes, you’ve guessed it! I questioned God, time and again.

What is the true meaning of life if mankind must choose to accept the Good news, or be doomed?

This was something I wanted to know, but it seemed offensive, sinful even, to church leaders and  christians.

Since it evoked negative emotions, I quit.

I serve God because of my upbringing coupled with actually witnessing his love coupled with feeling his holy spirit at times, this is why I believe.

However in an alternate dimension I  may not know Christ, meet devious preachers that carry demeaning  messages that twist the Good news for personal gain

I thought hard on why  freewill isn’t a third option. Why one couldn’t mind their business, believing in neither, creating their own destinies while avoiding certain damnation.

Truth is, as appealing as it sounds, the world simply does not work that way. When I thought I had freewill, I ended up depressed and wishing for the grim reaper.

Freewill is the most ingenious, well-crafted deal that the devil recommended to trick Eve and her descendants.

But instead of God convicting me for my futile quest, he  gently coaxed me into a deeper understand on why life works as it does.

Just how amazing is this God?

Turns out we can be free after all, not the one that offers debauchery and greed, but one that allows  freedom to become our best selves within God’s love and grace. That’s how great he is, always one step ahead.

Therefore I rest my case… for now.

Thanks for hanging out with me today. Auf Weidersehen,


The day my boy became a phoenix

The day my boy became a Phoenix

my skin was soaked in sapphire

My  shambles   of a heart could not prevail

amidst tears and disbelief


The day my boy became a Phoenix

They gave me such a scorn

We christened him Christopher,

after his grandfather


He was inerrant in my eyes

like no Jewel I’ve ever known

This haphazard universe could not abound

the illimitable mark he had imprinted



Turns out he was neurotic after all

All  I wanted to believe

My beautiful naive poet

I’d bleed to protect till death


And thus the years flew by

I had one genuine thing to learn

When push comes to shove

Turns out we’re neurotic after all


That day was the beginning of my hellish dream.


Image: Twitter




the voices of impaled promises is our Sonnet


These walls.

They sequester us

with the devil’s eulogy

This city.

It is not

for the faint of heart


These ashes.

They will scatter

o’er the horizon


These words.

They compress wishful thinking

Into midsummer fables



*Where was I?


These workers

They toil in the heat

of the scourging sun


the streets

are adorned

with garbage



The sound

of wailing children

is our lullaby


We salvage what we can

like we have been taught



millions have been owed

since the moment

we were born


we give our lives

for the futility of togetherness

how paradoxical.


who can rescue our lost soul?

the answer

also paradoxical.


These streets are loitered

with decaying bodies.

Yours and mine.


listen to me,

they say

“I am not the voice of reason


Allow me deceive you

Give me control

all of you.


Give me the power I yearn for

Your happiness

under my command



You weren’t using it anyhow


Let the sound of cymbals

echo in the market square



Just like old times,

when you were at  the barber shop


when you grooved to Fleetwood mac on the radio.



like when you wanted to be Maya Angelou.

A harvest of fear

entwined with survival


Except now I own you

Your mind

is my property



Go ahead, feed me more.




The Bitter truth

I know not about your faith but mine has been far from smooth sailing. You see things were simpler in the mosaic time, more in tuned with the frequency of  human nature.

The law was, “an eye for an eye”. Hate your enemy, love your friends. Then Jesus wiped all that away with his blood and instead gave us the new covenant that teaches us to be  christ like

Thank you Jesus but ehhh, how do I implement this in my daily life?

Half way through Matthew 5: 34-48, I had to do some reflecting, because I know I was guilty, very guilty of a misbalanced spiritual life.

So I said, Ok father, let’s talk. You know I’m selfish, I know I’m selfish. I even refuse to lend to people I hold grudges against, sometimes they’ve probably forgotten about it… but I didn’t.

I decided to freeze the problem at it’s the root

It was simply because I felt like whatever I give away, I will need.

You can notice how wrong that thought process is ( Matthew 6: 19-21). I suppose there are two kinds of people, those who find it easier to  share. And  me.

The Bible coax us to give, even more than we are asked without expecting it back. Pray for those who persecute us. Turn the other cheek, this is the bitter truth.

If you’re on this same both with me, then the two logical steps (which I am taking as well, is to pray for repentance.  Then, make a pact hat whomever will ask you for anything from henceforth, be it money,  a resting place, clothes, bags, whatever it is, you will say Yes, even if it hurts.

He assures me that from then onwards, it will only get easier, and I have faith in his promises.

If I’m not alone on this, then comment and share tips on what you’re doing to improve yourself.

I continue to pray that God brings out the Goodness in my heart and exterminate all greed. Have a blessed day.

It’s cold outside, stay warm.

Beyond theories

What if we

bare as we are

Shallow as could be,

are a body organ

to an aboriginal life form

beyond our science

A wonder of a world beyond reach



Is it only theories and heresay

or are we prisoners

Could we communicate with our higher self,

With God

If there were no technology. No religion?



When  you realise

We are but spirits in human drag

Nothing we see is real

We fight everyday for the truth

Within self, Outside self

But in reality, there exist  truth within  truth

Truth beyond this conscious plane



We are castigated for liberal thinking

Living an ego-shelled parody 

pictures of our lives tucked away as memories

Perhaps we are awake when we are asleep



Just think!

Everything around you

is a distraction from who you are.

The lies of humanity quenches the elixir of existence



Memory Box

“A Sacred being in time she is”


In  time, her reflection will morph with space. Her mannerism is brisk yet mild. Like the whiff of camphor, memories flood in with no back window,

They stagnate there, never gliding away.

She is always quiet. Slightly hard-headed. Seldomly detached. Never over-bearing. No, never over-bearing. So that she may be worthy of love,

A dream that disrupts her tossing at night.

She’d watched herself grow without changing. Drowning herself in  knowledge and skills. Migrating to new world in search of peace. Sinking herself  in despair, deception and abandonment,

What a cynical admiral of love, she’d become.

At every stage of her evolution. she’d considered herself weaker, so the age to shed her harsh shell drew nearer



“But what use is counting time. When she, herself is a  representation of it”


One puff is all it takes to rouse her biggest critic, even then, the high was not enough to cleanse the crater that lay siege in her salty lungs,

Something else broke inside her.

Expunged of all conditions before the fall. She ponders the bitter sweet moment she lust for, but control eludes her. Hence, she shut her doors, her eyes, and her heart,

Never more to be opened again.

Finally folded her life into a memory box. A day at a time. Delved into past insecurities. Unravelled the spool of her wounds.  She’s sailed through a fluster of change,

And made a stop at every port.

Many-a-night she’d stare out the window. And wish upon Nebula. For abundance in strength. Maybe she grants her wish this time, maybe not,

Only the sardonic hands of time will tell.

They dubbed her, fallen phantom. She is  sacred for nobody taught her the subtle charm of humility. The heritage that cradles her venerated heart,

In her time, she will be extraordinary.

As she nestles her head on cotton clouds, she see the quaintness of this fiction-less mosaic . A moment she clearly wasn’t meant to miss,

The conditions that sets ablaze an estranged part in her precious box.