Without you

Without you the sun wouldn’t shine

the ocean couldn’t generate waves

Roses would grow bleak and wither

Without you I would not be writing this

My blood would sizzle and evaporate

Evil people would be dancing over my tombstone

Without you the birds wouldn’t sing so sweetly

the dogs wouldn’t boast with their barks

man would be wandering aimlessly

Without you I wouldn’t have my wonderful man

two weird sisters that are pretty cheeky

and my awesome brothers I love so

Without you, love wouldn’t have any meaning

Joy would just be an obvious word

and peace would sound like a fairytale in a bad dream

Without you everyday would look the same

the lights in the sky would wane

Mankind would be doomed to abysmal limbo

Her Connection

Today she saw a bird,

black-feathered, orange-beak it was

and next to it sat another

together on a fence.

She’d never had a best friend

So the pen became her therapist

as well as her mentor

She made the mint pages of a book,

her biggest patrons.

Her favourite blouse leaves a trail

of ox-blood and maroon.

She dazzled in her recent look

with a recycled version of her former drag.

Her shade is a tinted mural

of interrupted dreams she’ll dream again

but her favourite pants is a pair

of unresolved feeling she’s too scared to detach from.

On her face, you’ll notice a dent

the dissembled puzzle pieces of her past lovers.

The pages of her soul are dog-eared and ripped.

The beauty of her heart was lost in transition.

That’s why she likes to smoke tobacco

and watch the fumes dance off her skin.

She said I have to chose

between a burning city and a secluded mine

it’s not at all easy for me

because my soul burns like embers

and the earth eludes me

maybe I’ll walk to a reef

to let off steam and level my thoughts.

So She laid under the stars

made out familiar faces from the sky.

Her limbs grew warm

like a volcano was erupting inside her.

Her breath waned

like the universe was buried inside her.

She heard a wolf howl

As if it too was craving a real connection.

Then everything went still.

The waves stopped crashing.

The insects stopped mid-flight.

The seconds stopped ticking

At midnight, she was still.

Like a rose waiting to be plucked

until the ground swallowed her whole

and burped up her ashes.

… A rare tenuous connection


You flipped the pages of your mind

darkness crawls out of the fornices

like dust bunnies stirred out of it’s corner

much to your disaffection and pride

Sounds drowns

pupils dilates

Breath non-stimulated

you step into a fog.

A face forms from it’s shadowy vape

(S)he wants to see you for what you truly are

and (S)he won’t leave you alone

until you drink him or her whole

You notice (s)he is a child

with innocent smile and ceramic eyes

His or her’s facial expression tells a story

of the darkness, the fog and everything in between

(S)he is not the darkness

(S)he is only the meagre remains

Though (s)he is watchful and mute

her voice fill the atmosphere like a Banshee’s shriek

(S)he is the trigger that keeps you unrepentantly lucid

the wilting roses in your quaint Sanctuary

the Virus that invades your avalanched system

for that reason you name him or her Madelene.


“It’s true

I washed your blood with my colourful fabric

ingest me like the blue pill

and I will roar you into ethereal youth

When you’re lost in a sea of hauntings

I will be there with the key to pandora’s chest

while you’re waiting for dreams to unfold

there will be singes of thunderstorm

a hurricane of paranomal havoc

followed by echoes percolating through darkness

hold onto that little mustard seed called faith

and I will turn your tired spirit into the cheeriest of them all”

…says the One who makes all things possible

and though this hope is unfounded

I still believe what my eyes can’t see.

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.

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.

Bubbles & Sunshine

The yellow pages of life does not promise a forecast of  bubbles and sunshine. Many times we venture to different paths and end up toiling unsuccessfully. We take risks,  casting all including our soul into the wind, and still  it makes no substantial difference.

Being unsuccessful is a tedious lifestyle nobody chooses, rather it chooses many. Sometimes doing what you love combined with  maximal effort is not enough.  Often I’ve wondered if i’m really that bad a blogger, sure I can admit that I don’t pay attention to details and several times I was ready to abandon my journey  and cut my losses.

So why haven’t I vanished from the blogosphere?

Well if there is something that I’m even worse at than writing, it is quitting. Never done it. mmhmm, well maybe that one time.

But who am I kidding? The exhilaration I get when the nerve endings on my fingertips presses against the keyboard is beyond comparison —no pun intended—and I especially love making people wonder; “what the F is this post/poem about?”.

They say people won’t listen to you until you’re worth listening to, but no matter how good, bad or funny one is, determination always changes the rules of the game. Determination is what makes me a force to be reckoned with.

And art exists in every level of the ecosystem. One can ignore it, but surely can’t deny it, even the way people speak is art. If you’ve witnessed two individuals or clans from a region speaking the same language, then you understand it. Bottomline is, so I’m a bit of a messy frantic misfit, In the end, I’ll write what is good and pleasing to my heart, because what my ventricles forcefully eject through my Aorta to sustain me in the land of living, itself is Art.

And now I’m done writing.

Just kidding.