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The concept

Photographs by Miss Ruth I.

In life, there are few females
But more in this musical room.
Listen closely to the sounds
From the strings of my guiter.

It goes wile, when you’re around
It can’t stop to touch the ground
Music makes the cows milk more
You are musical, the one I die for.

At my back she might be taken
To my left she may be finer
To my right she may seduce me
But the concept I need is you.


Photographs by Miss Irhibhogbe Ruth

I was bored, and lost in the wide wild west;
I created the best events and got the worst,
I needed a rest and a vent to pay the rent,
I arrived; and caught your holy breath.

You sat on the bench like a fallen tree,
You shifted your curvy hips, I didn’t see
You aligned them repeatedly towards me;
You were busy that day like a honeybee.

Bluffed, I wasn’t caught out for refractive light,
Behold you were there, freaking bright
Bringing back sounds into the quite night,
But with a brush and broom, your dust I swept.

Unknowingly, it killed you, tonnes of times;
Under the thick shell, I hide in my absence,
Until we began stealing guilty eye glance,
Unexplainably; tearing my wall and fence.

Amazingly, through the wall, you made a friend,
And showed your hump, slow pace of no end;
All to catch up before the curve and bend,
And research reasons why I never blend.

Few women walk up to men for affection,
Funny how you initiated a conversation;
For when you smiled with all perfection,
Found I was in the stars of your pretty direction.

The sound I know

I am the vent while she’s a volcano
Erupting mantles of demon attractions

Turn a demon to a friend, says my physio
So I walked up to her, with all allergies.

She was a cool kid, so I didn’t ask for bio
All eyes were on her in highschool days.

Everyone knew her name but I call her Rio
For her voice was acoustically musical.

An exclamation to joy like zeus to io
She became a gentleman’s love addiction.

In my head, she’s my safety and presidio
A fortress protecting my unrest soul

Giving my troubled heart a healthy cardio
Affectionately flows as a blood in my vein.

In my head, she’s musically a large studio
In there I dub sweet songs, melodies by candies.

In my head, she’s a podcast and a radio
I listen all ears, carefully to her lyrics

Outside my head, she’s my sight, smell and audio
She’s the only sound, I hear, feel and know.

Love and admire you forever

You are my shield and my armor
You are my fact and my rumour
You are my nurse and my doctor
You are my pain and my pleasure
You are my cure and my tumour…
You are my poor and my treasure
You are the odds, challenges I endure.

You are my attraction, and infatuation,
You are my respect and administration
You are my mental emancipation
You are my flower and my adoration
You are a water of growth and dedication
You are my wild, wide range of emotion
You are my energy, synergy and latency.

You are my sane and sweet madness
You are my coldness and my hotness
You are my shyness, and my boldness
You are my wetness and my dryness
You are a light that quench my darkness
You are my passion and all my actions
You are my path, map and direction.

You are the reasons angels are fallen
You are the reasons, roses are reddish
You are my nostril, my lungs, and oxygen
You are the intrinsic elixir of existence
You are my all, golds, diamonds and silvers
You are my brother, sister, father and mother
You are my lover, I’ll love and admire forever.


By Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Cecilia – Gazing at you

If gazing could take a sight
​I’ll stare with no regret
Rising towards the core sunlight

Against phobias of midnight
For each time you are absent
I die in the spacecraft of my heart.

#15 lines for her lips

O what an awesome appeal
But have you ever held
An elidible jelly fish
Or slighly touch
The wool from a sheep…

That’s the thickness of her lips.
Natural and not lipstick induced,
Not ruby not black but has
An eligible color of its own
That neither peels nor wash.

Whenever she blows a kiss
No soul depart from earth
For her delicious lips
Has a sensational gift
Sweet soft and also heals.

#14 lines (Sonnet) for the choir girl

All at once
When she sings

She makes the snow fall
The hurricanes whirl

While the sun scorch
As the rain drops
In drips from heaven.

The admiration
Yes, is in her voice

But also in her moves
Yet, she doesn’t dance

Neither does she jump
But she bounces out admiration
From the heavens gate.

#21 lines for her hips

O my! Wondrous soul..
Could feel this
Beauty blowing breeze.

She’s as neat as color white
As clean as a sterilized object
O my! Wondrous soul.

She has this face of an Angel
Yet attracts the devil
Like bean and a weavil.

All organic like trees in the garden
Her gaze could overcharge the sun
She can create confusions in heaven.

Speaking of the devil,
Her waist began with a needle
And curved out righteousness evil.

A type that gets the toad singing
She’s superb but her hips got a thing
Broad and broadcasting

Come and sin
Until you’ve seen,
You wouldn’t believe her hips could tear a jean.

Tales Of A Wife: Deboriella


Tales Of A Wife: Anonymous

Her lashes are sooty coal
Her smiles are exactly shaped,
I wish I were a mold.
To stare mutely at her down the road
Watch her laugh out those teeth as white as snow
The trumpeting trumpet, she’s that I love to blow
Maybe she don’t: but I think she knows.

Her backside curved valuable like gold
If she is money my all should be sold
‘Beauty Queen’ I call her chola,
Her architect had a plan neatly nocuous
For making her so deftly gorgeous
Such a beam: she could be my nurture
Even when she says not a word to me by the road,

Her presence is so-so,
She is such a beam never to let go,
Every now and now she walks by the road
High heals talking: I stand like a mold
Eyes wondering like a lost toad
Maybe in her I could find a home
But how can, when she steals an inner-bold?

Dangerously sharp as a woody thorn
For her, my skin is willing to bleed
I hope it yeilds result like a batchfed.
She is a tempting sin I love to hold
Her name she says not to me by the road
My liver and nerves fail,
Science may say its virus but I’m simply scared.

I make no sound nor pretty word
Pretty hurts
Honestly I yield
Wish I could talk
All my coins I drop in a wishing-well,
Yet, most flaunting got me so cold
As she passes by the road.

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