The entrance to success was by long distance travels
Hunger, tasty tongues of no sweet but bitter kola nuts
Traditionalists knows its value, hence may crack jokes with it.
Its’ very first bite gave my chin a frown, and I did regret it
But it became a combination of bitter and sweet swallowed spite
My taste buds were numb but agile than it could fight.
The bitter kolanut creates the magic that neutralises
Beneath her name to the top toxicity in the door-post of years
But as I chewed, I felt less of hard times….
I tasted the cements, and saw the walls
Walls, built in the past by little cart from bitter kolanuts…
And the structure of the present time got muscles from its stress
Which carried my bonnets to the farthest corner in towns
From bicycles to cars from caps to a crown not meant for clowns
Suddenly I began to shout and sing in libraries and quite terrains.
God bless those who put bricks in my walls
That fixed the bitterness from the kolanuts
And made me utilize materials for the patterns,
Of challenges I met, and that which hardened my zeal
Life is rich in challenges but like a bitter kola, from low or up the heel
Challenges are not sweet but it neutralizes a stagnant mindset.
Ring me a bell,
Alarming, heats and sulfur of hell
Alarming from people that fell
Alarming bad storylines for a tell.
Shadows over the sun of a Nation
Raping daughters and killing sons of vision
Moving slowly and faster on same motion
Accelerating top gear on roads of unequal levels
… And tapping breaks for peace that travels.
Are we born to be doom in hardship wells
There goes a Prophet ringing his bell.
On same streets abandoned my gods…
A dying tomorrow, he sings and tell
Not solely of doom but he keeps ringing a bell
For ears to hear and trees to bear fruits
Not fruits of same polymers and isotopes
Nor to bring hope whereas they are but brimstones
Times are harder than a tribal damnation
Beware people of same denomination.
Attimes we admire pretty people
And carve a square in a cycle hole
When all that we have is undreamt
And the tunnels, we pass has no end
But imaginations free to lend and blend
We speak like drunks that shouldn’t be heard…
But still walk into tunnels, for there are lots to be felt…
The rocky stones just keeps falling in a shadow light
If and only if, is the word we lit…
But we fail because we piloted the jet
Air we flew, till we became reject
Broken but our hopes can’t be an eject
We know we failed, but we fail not to quit
Because of an unrealistic foolish insight
Bigger than a planet, yet its constantly pictured
As a big sun in our swampy tiny pocket.
Round and around imposibilities, we run fast…
And find excuses beside reality coasts
Marathon for freedom yet we are free but slaves…
Chasing after chains of yesterdays…
Throwing long paces into enclosures,
When all there is in life, is but a free slave
Hey!! atleast we think, and our brains…
… Are not caged or enslaved in caves.
- Hey! Let’s be frank
- We overlabor ourselves
- To mould white clay to iron calabashes
- We bake hard bread in icy hardships
- It runs in the family both rich or broke,
- As long as you’re a green and white folk
- Trending on same broken bridges and roads
- Patched cultures and black isotopes
- Abiding by same policy we create to create greed in us
- Let’s be frank, we burnt the bread
- So sing me a sonnet of the green and white songs
- That writes with white ink and erase itself
- For a tree dries each time a child dies
- And its blood is black and in the cloud it cries.
- There’s a feeling inexpressible by even a writer
- Like Peter Pan, it refuse to go older
- All round clock, irrespective of the weather,
- I don’t care, report me to my mother.
- Like a moon to a werewolf, fresh out of the shower
- Excited, I jump out of my skin, into my bed like a diver
- Then my shaking limb limps into grabbing the cover
- Almost immediately, hidden I become underneath the wrapper
- Within my cold curdled blood, my sorrows become lighter,
- Cuddling the pillows, and kicking foot to another
- I laugh at the dive and shakes which never grow older
- An excitment I had right from when I was younger.
- I sat in an eighteen seater bus
- At the right, close to sack and box
- On my gaze, staring at the skulls
- Isn’t life beautiful, we head as we erase
- All places and roads we pass
- Looking straight ahead
- Underming how life may seem so hard.
- Before the Sun was energized,
- I drove around the city with nothing in mind to find…
- But stumbled upon a beauty of a kind
- An untold story could tell the breeze was cold.
- Tranquil, not even a wig or wing did flap
- Then I pulled over by an empty bus-stop
- With the radio singing sweet good morning song
- Could it be the sky does breath hence it sleep…
- Again and again, my front and back I watched
- Wasn’t scared of the lonely road,
- But that the city would soon be awake
- I saw yonder in a flip through a quite lake…
- Wondering how unhealthy we treat nature
- Our house, yet we perk it like the dirty vulture
- O my love, save the world, its’ sight and sound is super mature…
- From a distances, my roof the sky could touch
- Mixture of white and multiply colors of hoars
- Seasonally it gets cloudy when it morns
- So I wonder if the raindrops are tears
- From the pains the city inflicts…
- I blinked, then the trees were like its walls
- Funny if today the beautiful city don’t wake
- Every morning a new fresh air it bakes..
- But the city has to wake to get a chunk of its cake.
I’m a patient pawn
Who has slayed off and on
Strived, spanked, pushed against all odds
Boiled in hell, and roasted by volcanoes
So when I’m faced with an option to stall
I stay in a direction opossite my tail
Staring at the giant to be written in my tales
Ready for whatever, good bad and worse
One more move, and I shall be in crown
Fifteen pieces I slayed, shows I own the town
So I don’t mind if they call me a clown
I stay muted to the Devil devices
Who is just a lone king, on a breaking ice
Temptation don’t work, bring a brothel
I’ll wait for the bell, I’ve been through hell
Spew till you tired, I shall make a check
I’ve got my bishop building me on mark
Like the snipers, I’ll wait for my turn….
And check till it’s checkmate, I’m a patient pawn.
She’s a wild cat from the hottest tropical part
But its heat can’t compare to this African heart.
On the cain-chair beside the basketball court
Legs crossed, rays twinkling from her shipshape hat.
Brown skinny cat, she wore a black top to match
Her oily long shinny hairs, rolled up like a ratch
Smiling “I’m your type but not everybodys match”
Classic from the past to the future slow or in flash.
When she smiles, the guys tongues come out
Not a baller but for her you will take a shot
She’s the type, you pump the brake on sight
In the dark she lights a dreamers heart.
Smooth… her laps has no lapse,
But could make the dreamer lost in relapse
She had this continence, ‘come hold me in your arms’…
But she’s a spitfire, go if you can roll the dice.
Arrogance goes with it, like the rim and tire
In a dreamland, she’s an overachieved desire
Clapped and smiled often but she’s a spitfire
The keys to her heart is not destroyable by fire.