Dark times

The world is ending

I heard her pleas

The ground has opened

to swallow up human kind

Wolves move in packs

so does man

listening for sign of life beneath the earth

the end of us could be a beginning of another

The world is ending

haven’t you heard?

the ninth wonder of the world

will happen when she is vastly unoccupied

Man is pathened to a behaviour

doomed to repeat the cycle again

the labour for hope is not worthwhile

when life turns cold with unforgiving hands

Silence rustles to cover land and puddles

sinking it’s black paws in both fossils and arachnoids

rheumy sun frowns earnestly

A sign for the last happy moment to remember

The world is ending

so wolves move in packs

Man is pathened to a behaviour

silence rushes to cover land and water

I know you don’t believe in signs

the dark prophecy foretells

every man will speak a different language

note this, I was once like you.

Another day, another year

Every time it rains

You’re here in my head

like the sun coming out

I just know that something good is gonna happen

I don’t know when

but just say a decree and make it happen…

Cloudbusting, Kate bush

Today is infamously the day my parents arguably claim I was born on. I have no option but to accept that. Nonetheless, around this time every year . I notice a shift in energies influencing me.

Reversing back to a little while ago, I would have relied on birthday wishes both from social media acquaintances, and wanted nothing short of grandeur and spectacular gesture. I remember my 21st, when I celebrated both with picnic ( in cold February) and a dinner party. Lol. fun times.

I believe that there are two dates a woman is allowed to be self-centered. One comes every year on her birthday, and the other is her wedding day.

Well, truth is today is really not about me. it’s more about every other force around that negates or supports me to grow into myself. As I realised that each year God rewards me by unlocking a part of me. It’s like being invited to a party where you’re in the regular section, next year you get a VIP pass, the year after, you’re invited backstage until eventually you run the damn show. That’s just the reality of growth.

Another rather painful reality is that, the people who celebrate you each year may not be consistent. You eventually run the show because there is no one else to lend a hand. However, if you like me, then your guardian angel in the guise of a very handsome, caring, recently snatched bachelor, compels your amazing friends and family to support you.

The best present I got today was more of an act actually. Having my old lover(s), supporters and family from all around the world wish me birthday cheers. Thats’s going to be hard to outdo next year lol.

Lastly, because it’s become some sort of a tradition, I am compelled to reveal one key-word my previous age has taught me. Contentment. So as I sit down tonight and enjoy my glass of cabaret and my creamy pasta dish. My trusted hopping buddy being extra as usual, and my man checking up on me, before I sleep. I know I have everything I always needed.

Happy Birthday to me and memoir of Alexander.

This two years would have been nothing without your support and love, so from my heart to yours, have a great week.

Remembrance day

Patriotic Nigerian, we hold in our finite hands the fate of the future.

Later generations will hold tomorrow in the same regard as the Biafra war

they will remember their father and mother’s decision

their uncles and aunties reaction

it is not a question of who is the smarter candidate

or who makes the most campaign promises

our sons and daughters will neither remember what they said nor how they won

They will only remember us and the choice we committed to.

So tomorrow let the national anthem resonate in your heart

lets choose the freedom, peace and unity we sing so passionately of

Remember the pregnant women and defenceless children that were massacred

The slaughtered Nigerians, no different from you and I.

Remember that mass genocides in Zamfara and Plateau too.

Their blood cries out, and their families mourn for justice.

while we are not God, and the current government ignores our pleas

We owe it to our future generations, to secure fighting chance

Tomorrow will be a one for the history books

though they say history is never kind,

Tomorrow the sun will be still, and God’s hand will prevail.

Tomorrow will be a day for the neglected, the deprived and the oppressed

The day that will forever echo the verdict and retribution for the government and the people.

Vote wisely, for you will be remembered for it.

22/02/2019.

The Getaway

I’m filling up the tank, Amadeus

let me drive into mid-summer’s sunset

wave good-bye to the road we built together

leave behind the haunted part of myself

and the people who whose faces I swore I’d always recognise

I’m gonna drive past the seven mountains

each representing an era of intrepid defeat followed by respite

I hope i don’t choke on the unjust decay of human-kind

I pray the air is clean and the earth sprouts goodness

I pray that the soil is untainted, wherever I settle

I’m sorry my love, but this is the way it has to be

When we built this highway you knew deep down

the day would come when I’d run and never look back

the astonishment in your face leaves me clutching my chest

the part of you that dies today, already withered in me a while ago

So I’m buying a highway ticket, never to return

I’d ask you to come with but we both know

that’s not what you want

You’re the one that got away and I may never forgive myself

for now, take my dreamcatcher, and I’ll nozzle your cheekbone later.


Auf Deutsch

Ich fülle den Tank,

lass mich in den Sonnenuntergang im Hochsommer fahren

Abschied von der Straße, die wir gemeinsam gebaut haben

hinterlasse den tiefsten Teil von mir

und die Leute, deren Gesichter ich geschworen habe, erkenne ich immer

Ich werde an den sieben Bergen vorbeifahren

jeder repräsentiert eine Ära der Niederlage und der Ruhe

Ich hoffe, ich würde den ungerechten Verfall menschlicher Art nicht

Ich bete, dass die Luft sauber ist

Ich bete, dass der Erde unbefleckt ist, wo auch immer ich mich niederlasse

Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe, aber so muss es sein

Als wir diese Autobahn bauten, wussten Sie es ganz genau

Der Tag würde kommen, wenn ich renne und nie zurückschaue

Das Erstaunen in Ihrem Gesicht ist nur eine Fassade

Der Teil von Ihnen, der heute stirbt, ist schon vor einiger Zeit in mir verwelkt

Also kaufe ich eine Autobahnfahrkarte und kehre nie zurück

Ich würde dich bitten mitzukommen,

aber wir wissen es beide das ist nicht was du willst

Du bist derjenige, der davongekommen ist, und ich werde es mir niemals verzeihen

für jetzt nimm meinen Traumfänger, und ich werde heute Abend deinen Wangenknochen spritzen.

The Rain dance

You are the stranger I envisioned in my dream

what with that quaint looks and pale face

we never know how the cards may turn

I’ll be at our usual place

playing our usual song

waiting for the haunting grip of reality

even if the sky rains with burning embers

I will wait for you there

and we can sail deeper

explore Avalon for all it’s worth

take my hand and let’s forget earth

we can soar like the wingless Phoenix

and we need not talk

we could communicate in our minds

like hummingbird to hibiscus

I’m drawn to your shade of beauty

It’s me, half here with you

watching flamingos move in key sequence

beating the last lethargic clouds out of the sky

and dancing rain into existence like the Rain-man never could


Auf Deutsch

Du bist den Man, den Ich in meinem Traum gesehen habe

mit deinem blassen guten aussehen und alles

niemand kennt, wie die Karte umdreht

ich werde an unsere üblich Platz sein

spielen unsere üblich Musik

warum warten wir auf Wirklichkeit

Selbst wenn, die Himmel mit brennendem Feuer regnet

Ich warte auf dir dort

und wir konnen tiefer segeln

und Avalon erkunden.

Nimmst du denn meine Hand und lass uns die Erde vergessen

wir konnen wie die flügellos Phoenix fliegen

und wir müssen keinen wort reden

wir könnten nur in unseren Sinn sprechen

ich liebe deinen Hautton

wie der Vögel liebe die bunten Blumen

hier bin ich, die hälfte hier von mir bei dir

zusehen, wie Flamingos zusammen tanzen

Schlagen wir die letzte Wolke am Himmel

Wir tanzen bis es regnen, wie als der Regen-Mann nie könnte

Do you read me?

I watch you daily because your history leaves a cache trail of fine print. I notice the whites of your eyes gleam at a variety of anonymous sites.

Registered in the clouds are a collection of stories, and photography, too many to count since the lovers of art walk a nostalgic part.

Each artist’s works with with a unique emotional frequency, and I collect them all in html or encrypted form.

I know the process, I see the flapdoodle behind the posts. It starts with a moment of utter and complete blankness until an idea quivers through their bones.

You may not believe in magic until you observe an artist in his element, because when the moment is right, the magic unfurls.

they’ll pick sentences apart, dissecting words, forcing themselves deeper in their abstract multidimensional minds.

The paraprosdokian and prosaic aren’t mere coincidence. They are a round way ticket to the artist’s estranged psyche

You will be pleased by some, while others will spur detest, either ways I am the doorkeeper to that experience.

So when you’re ready for your magic to happen, ready to be dissected, picked apart by the internet’s brutal eye, you may use daily prompts for a nudge of inspiration or freestyle everything.

10 words or 10,000 words, however the choice is yours but that daring moment comes with the most critical one. Press the brown button at the top-right corner if you dare, or allow your time and energy to remain hidden from their scrutinising eyes. Whether temporary or forever. This choice is yours alone.

With the minutes you have left, you decide to visit the grand patrons, their walls are adorned with humble non show- offish recognitions from sunflower to McAlester awards. Albeit, hidden within are a bounty of inspiration.

But then you decide you’re not quite ready to unveil yourself. No wonder many embrace the familiar comfort of apocrypha.

Eventually you’ll grow into your own blogging skin, but until then, do you read me? or do you worship the likes and praise the shares at the button of my page?

A ballad for valentine

Step right up and witness the innovative saint

There are bouts of emotions only one night a year

see as endorphins run high and vaporises

when he walks by like a shadowy apparition

Two Euros and twelve cent and she heard him

commanding humans, inviting many to stillness

with eyes that resonates with the shifting wind

the concoction for loneliness she needed all her life

Though many chant his name over and over

they eat chocolate, spill chardonnay as a tribute

all day, occasionally when the sun goes down too

the curtain of regret and morning after pill draws nigh

his nakedness is blanketed by shivering snow

The saint’s trail is a snaky and tedious one

the hourglass counts down to that one day

women eat chocolate and men spill Chardonnay

But that evening, he saw her too

commanding his numb swivelled cherubic heart

the sun reflected on his lover’s puffy smile

and rose again with regret and morning-after pill

And they were prefect strangers with identical frowns

storing memories of each other before they met

365 days knocked on the door and left

step right up and witness the innovative saint

he came to save her once a year from the solitude

but her heart already loiters the streets in glittery shards

with two euros and twelve cent, you too can spark emotions

unfortunately, there are no free admissions.

The widower

The sky bleeds darkness

the sand swallows the souls of his previous lovers

in his eyes, every reason is bleak and mundane

he speaks a language only mourners of existence comprehend

and bows in silence for as many times the big church bell klings

His children are his acquired treasure

more priceless than precious stones

he knows the truth no mouth will reveal

no one can play his melody on the lyre

a carefree hymn of enchantment and dread

A resourceful charm is his prowess

his trusted craft becomes milk and butter

saving his home during uneventful rain

when billows of lightening flares up and storm roll in

he’ll light a lantern and sit by the hooded window

He is the poster child of endearment

never had a lazy moment or a sick day

his views are not of a feminist

though feminists look up to him

he still waters the tree of justice

he is just a man

who leaned on the fountain of his strength

who swam in a river of loneliness

till his shoulders were numb

and his cup was dry

He emptied his woes before the king’s court

in exchange for a few shekels of silver

Lo and behold, he saw a humble Mathyr

and rewarded him on solstice moon

with wisdom and grace as armour

Dear African Child

Dear future daughter,

Your existence will neither be easy nor transitional

because of where you were born

On a community soil dampened with ancestral woes

far humungous baggages will be place on your delicate shoulders

luggages you can’t escape, linked by earth and blood

seen and unseen forces will work against you

men will dismiss you because of the colour of your skin

You will have to work for everything you believe in

where it takes men 10x to succeed, it will take you 50

in the world of humans, you are at the bottom of the pedigree

you will be downtrodden and dragged like a Mathyr

But GET UP! You are not a victim.

You must find yourself

you must wipe ur face bare

wash your hands clean

dare to walk the path only few footprints are imprinted

Once you were slaves, betrayed by your own kin

dear African child, you will walk a lonely part

your family is not you friend

your friends are not your family

and your country will hate you

Slavery was not forced on us,

we enabled it.

The truth hurts. and it only runs deeper.

power is the game the nations of the world play

scramble for Africa, haven’t you heard?

Darkness rules the hearts of men, both home and far

in chains they led them off the port in Calabar

They were branded like a feeble mammal

people became the ritzy currency of humanity.

But Get up! You are not a victim

not then and you are not now

The world wanted to do away with you but here you are

fighting tooth and nail till your last drop of blood feeds the earth.

Your greatest gift was never brute strenght, dearest

it is your mind they want, your willpower they crave

if slavery didn’t destroy you then nothing physical will

your precious african mind, stronger than the diamonds exploited in Congo

Now the rules have Changed, the game is different

the system, even at home is meant to suppress your willpower

your voice shall not echo through four walls with iron bars

you can sense them purging out willpower into the abyss of non-existional stillness

But Get up! you are not a victim

let my voice resonante in your head, for as long as you live

the moment you even consider victimization, is the day you lose

Ancestors, slave traders, governments alike will mock you dearly

If you are still breathing, understand you have won

don’t turn your head or reminisce on black history

understand that from now on, you create your own history

understand than when the world will end

you will be the last man standing…alive.