Be it sun; be it rain
Be it fun; be it pain
Be it blur; be it plain
I'll be the shade where your worries lay

Just like flowers and them bumble bees
And like fire accompanied by wind
Or more like the sun makes the farmland green
You are my ribs; my source of energy

What's a poetry without a rhyme
a stonefish without it's spine
Shapeless and boredom with prosy lines
That's how'd be with you out my life

Be it night; be it day
Be it shine; be it gray
Be it aye; be it nay
My love will stay... till forever fade

People judge...
too much
But that doesn't mean people are just....
too wrong

Their judgements are base....
on the part they see.
But stuffs they see....
might be far from real

Aye "my Gee"
Their judgmental course....
can't be processed at court
Yes "my lord"....  
The court hearing has been adjourned

Okay, okay...  
Let's state the fact
Judgement is a tact...
That weak people use...
Words misconstrued
to make others confused

Well, that could be truth
Most people do.....
Judge from words told  
by them jury folks

Lies they contrive
And then they connive
to spew and judge
Tittle-tattle stuff
That's far from their scope

The next you see
is... you're being abused,,,
Sorry, I mean accused....
of being this and that
with their judgemtal dart...
pointing at you

And at the end of the day,
You're the one who'd be paint
As the the badass mate

Hunm, that's deep  
But if I may ask
Are you...
being accused  
Or wrongly judged
By someone ***?
Not really that
Just thinking out loud

Too many whys
Running through my mind

Like why o why
Do we live our life
Searching for things that never wanted to be found

Why do we shy....
away from our real purpose in this life

Why oh why
do our Politicians lie
Telling us things will be fine
beguiling us with few cups of rice
Acting like we the people blind

How oh how, do they expect us to thrive
When the only thing they subsidised....
is our faces filled with joyful smiles

Why do they connive
to bring sufferings to our lives
with the politicking vice they devise

Why do fathers die
Living their kids orphaned

Where are the real mothers and Wives
When wishy-washy women keep tiktoking their pride.

Why wont our elders understand
That the life we in now is different from the past

Why oh why
Is it so hard to find
Someone to keep close to our heart
When all they do is t mess up our mind

Oh why Oh why
Do our youth put on guise
guise of lies' just because they want to survive

Why do our boys sell their soul all for that luxury life.
why do our girls dress bare; to impress and advertise.

Why do our clerics keep weponising our mind
Building partition in the name of the most high

Why do those terrorist thinks they're doing it right
When clearly tis not jihad

Why oh why
Won't God listen to our doleful cries
Forgive our past; filled with sins and crimes
Guide our leaders right....
and liberate us from the powers that victimise our lives.

Dear Wordsmith
Where have you been?

Have you forsaken your art
or thy art has forsaken thee

Where now... do you keep?...
the words spiralling in your head

Those words you ****** to me
Every time you're sick, lonely and weak

Have I moved from being your favourite girl
to your long-forsaken ex

When last was it you pick your pen
and make me ouch like it's first time *

Scribing those words; tattooing my skin
Fantasising every bit of my whim

Did you not miss my kiss
Those goosebumps we feel; when we scroll through each other's skin

Why have thee forsaken thy art
Has anyone broken thy heart
Has your world fallen apart

Is it family feuds or country's nukes
thats rampaging your being from deep within

Just tell me; I'll be' the comforter I've always been
Dust your chin up and get back on your feet
Please don't abolish your dreams
No, you mustn't fall apart at the seam

If you're a philospher; a deep-thinker
A Richard Cypher; I mean a truth-seeker
A teach-er; whose thought linger...
on spaces farther
farther from higi-haga
Or some silly wishy-washer
If you belong to this division; holla; let me see ya

If you are a dreamer; an uprighter
A sleepwalker; a future teleporter
A fine writer; a real rhyme slayer
A hoper; a believer; a true-preacher
If you're a realer; come sit by my fire

Witty writers with wishy-washy writes
Rhyming everything that comes to em mind
With every beat that cross em heart
Uncertainty and confusion though surround his live
Struggling to revive his injured vibe  
Like autunm tree; they think he died  
Poor and ugly; they paint him black  
Couldn't find love, no, he couldn't thrive  
Beauty shred but he still survive  
They even named him "the brokest ***** alive"  
 
But see, words has always been his spine  
His greatest ally when troubles arise
When the moon, the sun and the earth collide  
And the sky is tiled with a scary clime  
Clouding his heart, eclipsing his mind  
poem brought smile with its lines as guide  
So if not for rhyme, depressions could've ruin his life  
Writing to him is what oxygen is to the heart