This life we’re given is short
Too short to see enough
Too short to do enough
But still we make a difference
We rise beyond limits
We heal with every compliment
We strive, we triumph, we learn
We live for others
We share, we cure
The hollowness of a heart
But this life is precious
The candle may burnout
Before we reach the end of the tunnel
Then we lie we lived to the fullest
And graves become wealthier
We apportion blames
For goals unattained
Excuses relieving us
But puzzles remain unsolved
I did my part…
The marketer failed me
The lecturer failed me
The pastor robbed me
My parents broke me!
The greatest man I know
Bob Nesta Marley
Impacted the world
With positive vibrations
Without a social media account!
So Rise, Rise
Legends aren’t made
In comfort zones
I scratched my Agak’s apple
My voice box got torn
Still, the bandages won’t hold water
Just crimson seeds of self-hate
So I cry,
Somebody save me
From the brutal I
I love poetry. This might be because it is the only form of art that allows free expression. No rules, just heart-pouring. Being a poet, I often find myself thinking about things people never even notice. Yesterday, as I walked to church, I saw this beggar, sitting by the side of the road, whistling people to come close and drop something in his cup.
None came, all of them walked at a safe distance as if they feared he might pounce on their wallets. However, some came closer to the beggar and just as his hopes rose, they passed without looking his way. And I learn’t that those who walked at a safer distance were better that the latter who deposited dusts from there steps into the beggar’s cup.
I stood glued. As he kept calling, I imagined him shaking dust off the cup in while murmuring to himself “if dust was cornmeal floor, i’d have a cornmeal porridge”. And I moved past in steady strides, repeating the rituals of prior passers-by, church was waiting.
It’s just so natural
to see the darkness that drags us
since the light we posses is too bright
it may blind us
We need monocles to see
half the greatness we posses
Should I say I envied my brother?
Whenever he sneaked you home
When time stood still as you mourned
When the double-decker shook
And every inch you flinched tightened my pants
Did I ever tell you how beautiful you were?
No, not beautiful, just sexually stimulating
That every time I saw you I did an x-ray on you
And had sex with you in my fantasies
No, you could never know that;
My bulge was always concealed
By tight triangular briefs
Did I tell you of the sleepless nights?
When even in your absence
The sheets still smelt of your presence
And the crickets stopped their chirps
As your ‘imetoooosha’ pleas boomed in my mind
Did I tell you of the many nights I dreamt of you?
Only to wake up in sticky sheets around my ass
Ohh shemeji, how I yearned for you
I could have given a pair of balls
Just to hear you mourn my name
Till now the vulnerability in that voice
As it said ‘imetooooosha’ still thrills me
Shemeji how quick the world has beaten you!
It was just yesterday I yearned for you
Today your nakedness can deflate my erection
You’ve aged shemeji. So quickly shemeji
Did you marry a man?
Please do and dump the beast
He’s squeezed the juice of life from your ass
It now sags like peels of skin on the back of a donkey’s balls
Your skin once radiant now a labyrinth of scratches and folds
My old shemeji how the world has beaten you!
I am so Gay
No time for haters
Christ himself rode on an ass
In his song ‘ Exodus’, Bob Marley repeats the word MOVE six times; Move, Move, Move, Move, Move, Move
This I guess as matter of emphasis
That stagnation is a disease
Yes stagnation is the worst kind of disease because you never even know you’re sick
As a matter of fact destitution is the destination for those who tread the path of stagnation. To be stagnant is to court destruction. Move.
This poem is for those who spend their days turning and tossing in bed yet are quick to apportion blames for their lack of money to spend. MOVE
This poem is for women whose days are split in 3 segments; They spend the 1st segment of their days standing before the mirror; perfecting their looks and marveling at how beautiful they are because to them being beautiful is an occupation.
They spend the 2nd segment of their days on YouTube tuition perfecting their mastery of the arts of attraction, seduction and acquisition.
They spend the last segment of their day on Facebook and twitter seducing sponsors because they believe that success must be sexually transmitted. MOVE
This poem is also for parents who have placed the burden of their existence on the shoulders of their children whom they both know couldn’t have existed had their mothers remembered to take the pill. Carry your own weight and MOVE.
This poem is for those stuck in abusive relationships; women whose lives have been broken into thousand bits of sexual addiction pills that their men pop whenever their illicit desires take toll, those who nurse the delicate egos of their husbands at the expense of their self-worth but still take the punches from these beasts just because of the wedding vows. Gather every shred of your sanity and MOVE
You should know you don’t need a man to survive, ladies you don’t need a sponsor to thrive. All you need to succeed and break barriers are within you. The light within you is stronger than the darkness your situation has caged you in. Just take a step and move. Don’t wait for another Moses to help you cross the red sea, be your own Moses because manna falls from heaven no more.
Unleash the power of trinity
It’s all you need to defy gravity
And let your sweat wash away your aridity
For prosperity has the strongest affinity
With those who dare challenge their adversity
And I know you’ll tell me it’s easier said than done but son, it’s only when you have placed your feet on the pedal that you can race for the medal. And you will fall countless times but as long as the sun continues to shine, keep moving for its then that with Kings you’ll dine. MOVE
The cobbler’s child is a story teller
He tells stories of love
For that’s what he sees everyday
As his father works on shoes
Sealing the gap between the sole and the vamp
He knows how painful the needle pricks
But the sole keeps mum for it’s for the good of the team
The vamp knows how bad the sole stinks
The sole knows how heavy the vamp is
But they embrace the flaws and live like they’re perfect
They could decide to hate socks
For they get too intimate with the boss
But they bury their envy and welcome it back every time it creeps in
When it rains the vamp takes the blows
The sole in return takes the mud
When all fails they all wade in water
Mud plague them all but they never apportion blames
The cobbler’s child tells of how destiny
Commanded the sole and vamp to stick together
Even when nature tries to separate them
Just a kiss of glue will stick them together
If the glue fails, few stitches will weave
Their souls into one
For love knows the sole and vamp are useless without each other