There was a year; filled with hope,
We felt if we could survive 19, we would cope,
If only we could pull it using a towrope.

The year was going fine,
Our dreams and aspirations were going in line,
All our thoughts were that the year was divine.

Then came a pandemic,
With the range of a pandemonium,
And sadly, it treated some as a pandemain.

Then we were begging the creator,
To protect us from the Corona detonator,
And he protected some from the coroner's  disseminator.

And here we are, hoping 21 would be better,
And that every problems, we would conquer,
And that the year would be the best ever!

Verily, the year would come to a halt,
And a voyage of another 365 days shall begin,
As it has always been, as nature has always preceeded.

With bunch of wishes, I dreamt,
With a lot of goals, I strived,
With little achieved, I'm not filled with contention but happiness.

Several 24 hours filled with mixed reactions,
Hours filled with estacy and joy,
Days I'm broken with worries.

New figures have appeared,
Ones, who have enjoined me in friendship,
Yet, acquittance that turned sour and never saw the light of companionship.

And came Music, whose lyrics and beats blew my mind,
Football, whose tension thrilled my soul,
Novels, which broadened my comprehension.

Whatever 23 has in stock, I'm filled with hope,
Hoping my goals shall not be mere dreams,
And the dreams shall see the light of success.

Dear deadly Corona,
Save my Fiona,
Let her name be freed from the coroner.

Our dreams are young,
Our ages are young,
Don't let us die young.

You are a pandemic,
With rage of pandemonium,
Don't treat us as a pandemain.

Wash your hand we say,
Keep the virus at bay,
Should I let the water running?, Nay.

Believe in the guidelines,
Lines by Lines,
And you shall have no timeline.

Oh Dear Creator,
Protect us from this corona detonator,
As our names are protected from the Coroner's disseminator.

This reminiscing thoughts keeps flashing through my mind,
They come so fast that i couldn't unbind,
And then leaving me exploring through my memories hoping to refind.

And then comes the confusion,
Did it really happen or was it just an illusion?,
Leaving me between path of cession or elusion.

I am always beating myself hard to remember,
Did it happen in October or December?,
Can't remember but these thoughts are just a peturber.


Sometimes,i feel the thoughts are true, sometimes feel they're false,
The confusion is even worse than the thoughts hauls,
Maybe i should call it a tralse.

I want to talk
What would he say?
What if she says something bad?

I want to express my feelings
Would my feelings get hurt?
Would thy disperse my feeling?

I have the energy
Where is my momentum?
Can i displace my energy?

He is a fool he says
He is not caring she says
Certainly he is not

Thou cares too much
Thou has concerns about people reactions
Thou feels too much

Certainly,he is no fool
He also cares
He just can't displace his energy

Find the momentum
Spree the energy
Free those words!

Thou can't afford to be shy
It's not worth the price
Free those words!

Don't be shy!

Shall her heroes labour go in vain?

There she lies again,growing older. Her mates are growing with bounty development but vast hope still lies in the thought of her children.

She is green and white; what a beauty! She has oil to her disposal, agricultural products within her reach or should we talk about coal and  steel or the erstwhile minerals in her disposition. What a wealth!

She once rose in 70s, her currency going in a duel with dollar; a naira for a dollar. What a currency!

She rode all through that era among her Negroid family, her Congoid peers were admiring her stardom, the western was dismayed by her rise.

And she had heroes; her brave children. These children had fought her freedom from the westerners and started a revolution but there it was;  she had bad kids; one who haunted her despite being their mother.

Her bad kids defied others of power, stole our mother's wealth and still oppressed their brothers and sisters with their stolen. Even went further in manipulating their siblings brains with cooked lies so as to get power and steal their mother's wealth and still opress their siblings.

Also, she had crazy kids; they believed in her downfall so they attacked her children (their siblings) for their selfish and unbelievable wants.

Mother Nigeria is getting weak day by day, some children wants to help but the brainwashed and bad siblings won't allow. Some children are joining the "train of destruction" of their mother because they don't to be on a losing side and feels it's a normal act.

Her heroes (children who fought for her) are going in vain, day by day, she is dying slowly by the activities of her children. No one wants to start a revolution because of those in poor.

The giant of Africa is gradually becoming timid and her tag being questioned.  

And there her children has feud over their races and religion and bitterness grown over them.

What would happen to mother Nigeria while some of her children only have hope filled in her while others have ran away for shelter from other mothers.

Shall the giant of Africa rise again, shall her heroes labour go in vain, would her children unite in peace and make her great?

Only time and God can tell.

There are days when I tried hard,
the thoughts of failing left my soul jarred,
sometimes I had a good day, at times my struggles were left marred.

Hidden in my struggles is despair,
yet my mind still strive to always prepare,
because one wrong step might lead me to err.

Those who can help, needs help,
those who should give a leaning shoulder, needs a shoulder to cry on,
those who should serve as a guardian, needs to be guided.

Verily, I'm a man on my own accord,
and failure is one my heart abhorred,
the fright is my strength, so my passion for success soared.

The truth is glaring
Very flaring it is
And vast in seeing also

Shall we speak the truth?
Yay, you can
Nay, you shouldn't

The truth hurts
Verily it's bitter
And it's unacceptable

Nay, they won't accept it
Yay, it's factual
However, the truth is bitter.

It might soothe the heart
It might hurt the heart
The heart is at peace

Are you in *******?
Looking for a saviour
The truth shall set you free

Are you looking for a stance?
Truth is the only safe ground to stand.
Spree it, Speak it.

Sleek and smart, they say..
Beautiful and elegant, they are...
Strong and fit, they look..

Shall we say, the pains..
Menstrual or Birth?
Emotional or Psychological?

Shall we we talk about challenges?
The hard times; betrayal?
Or the fake friendships...

The most disrespected creature on earth,
The most wonderfully created
And the most underrated.

They stole our ribs,
We stole their hearts,
However they still take care of us.

They swing moods,
They become frustrating,
And sometimes annoying.

Yet can we understimate their existence?