“Lightning doesn’t strike twice,” they say.

Yet, for the child who raises their glass jar to the sky,
Reaching for their dreams like capturing butterflies,
Doesn’t opportunity present itself once again?

Trapped in the labyrinth of my insecurities,
Longing within this spinning reverie,
Like the threads of time, I’ve lost my curiosity,
The first time, the sounds of joy would tickle my ears,
A passing breeze urging me ahead,
How can I ignore what can’t be ignored,
By seeking self-promotion and disregarding what lies in store?

A curious mind will inquire a second time.

Wisdom embraced me once,
In her nurturing embrace, countless times,
Though not her own, she taught me her truths,
Infusing them with a spiritual essence and whispering them with a kiss,
Her eyes painted the speech of a chosen few,
And with attentive ears, wide as the gates of a church,
She welcomed, studied, earnestly, devotedly, diligently.

On the veins of the altar,
She caressed herself within me,
Wisdom loving me a second time.

Life unfolds as a simple circle,
Round and round we all journey,
If there has been a first, a second time shall surely follow,
For if today we haven’t done it all,
Tomorrow offers us a chance, a second time to pursue.

In the grand overview:
a miniature universe encapsulated within a fly’s delicate wing,
entrapped flawlessly in a mesmerizing reverie.

Futile lips that have savored the nectar of a sweet existence,
envisaging the whispered endearments of love.

All amidst a flightless winter, detached from the embrace of summer,
swift moments of the paparazzi’s intrusive lens,
devoid of an escape from fleeting trends.

Lost in the footsteps of our predecessors,
bloodlines tainted with the stench of yesteryears’ socks,
corrupt law enforcers bending the straight lines of justice,
pastors reaping rewards from tithe—promoting slander,
bound by a constricting necktie.

A captivating visage, a trivial coin’s value,
not worth a penny for a fleeting thought,
over ephemeral regrets concerning “Instagram girls,”
no foundation upon which to establish standards,
a desolate heart, a tool appropriated by the most reprehensible,
urban heights in pursuit of an intoxicating sense of glamour.

As society’s vigilant eagle observes it all, soaring through the skies,
yet the sight of it all leaves one plagued by a sense of discomfort.

Coupled gazes,
I find myself united in this profound state of matrimony,
a tender embrace in the obscure origins of life.

The arrival of an African infant;
marked by the scorching touch of the relentless sun,
its complexion seemingly tainted by the flames.
All my imperfections persist, though remain unnoticed,
a surreal spectacle to the eyes of many.

Is it not the expected destiny of an African child?
A dusky guardian draped in the cloak of night,
do not judge me solely by my outward appearance,
for my brilliance emanates from within.

Over the course of a lifetime,
one often finds themselves lost in nostalgia,
yearning for a bygone era.
However, being human comes with its flaws,
making us imperfect perfectionists,
enduring the growing pains that come with it.

Somewhere along the way,
we fail to realize that personal growth is not uniform.
Though we all enter this world through the same process,
born from a woman’s sacred embrace,
we are like branches of a tree,
diverging in our paths as we age.

Father Time, wise and unforgiving,
teaches us the brevity of this existence.
For just as scripture says,
“a man leaves his father and his mother,
and cleaves to his wife.”

Yesterday’s memories often become tomorrow’s regrets,
and sometimes pave the way for future repentance.
Yet, amidst the hardships of life,
some souls are fortunate enough
to be saved by unexpected miracles.

Neither the young nor the old should fade away,
for within them lies immense potential.
But even with the brightest ideas,
the world’s judgment may cloud their minds.
Sharing one’s plans with eager ears
does not guarantee attentive listeners.

Do not let those who treat you unfairly
create division within your heart.
Instead, multiply the power of love,
by loving others with both your mind and heart.

We are all stories written in the stars,
collecting memories from the depths of life’s pond.
Before this moment, existence prevailed,
and now it is your turn to create what will be.

Fall upon your knees in prayer,
but do not bow before ungodly men.
Choose not to judge,
and love them even more than they fail to love.
But be cautious not to let love blind you,
keeping a fine line of self-respect.

I am always with you,
like the echoes of past memories.
In the present, I am here to remind you,
to keep pushing forward.
Do not perceive my words as mere poetry,
for they are valuable lessons from a life lived before.

self absorbing,
***** talking tastes of erosion
don't want to spoil the mood
but i soiled myself in a bust of tears
i don't cry as much, not much time
to cry about anything as a man on a constant move,
and i don't have  much of the moves, to move
back into your heart,-

let's vacate quickly before i'm occupied by time
opting out of the options at hand,
not so handy being left out when you're left handed
as i see your yawn like applauds;
forcing everyone else to chip in

we've become bored of our love, as the writing is
stuck on the wall in white; a chalkboard
as if i forgot to dot down the notes,
taking note of an aid to memory
it's too late now; the classes have ended
and I've been schooled by someone
else who could love you better.

Some live for the moment,
I won't be in a moment of motionless
Some hope for the right moment,
I'll make right to build that moment
And any beautiful moment, is all but a second,
So I'd never second guess myself,
Asking how fast a moment is gone

Principles, principles that are in charge of my life,
Be an ethical person, still be good despite your obvious bad
Living a somewhat basic life; basic truths that you'd never forget

             Do it all, and never give a moment's rest.

Let me relate to guns,
somebody who took one for family
The bullet is adopted,
-a stray that killed a cousin
Gun powder that tastes like baby kisses,
to die tastefully, while she cries
But who am I to judge; I keep one in my pants,
some keep theirs inside, some on their side
I could use it to bring death in her eyes,
or bring in her, a reason to spawn life
This gun is a tool, and it's user a peacemaker
or just a weapon

                  I'm so attached to my gun.