Brothers and sisters borrow me a blessing that brings no sorrow,
everything I chase seems to cage me in this rat race of life,
why must all that I do require such strife,
as long as the outcome is income they say,
sometimes I'd do anything to make the
pay go away,
even if I've never worked a 9 to 5,
just so that I could run outside and play,
carpé diem,
seize the day they say,
well okay,
what if the day has nothing to hold on to?
Must I make myself mused by the mundane,
married to the morbid mistress that has become my mattress,
spark a fire when I'm matchless,
I'd much less be away,
chalice to wonderland,
peter to never land,
perhaps Rome,
no Juliet,
all alone,
see the sunset,
gone,
take flight,
into the night.

Brothers and sisters borrow me a blessing that brings no sorrow,
everything I chase seems to cage me in this rat race of life,
why must all that I do require such strife,
as long as the outcome is income they say,
sometimes I'd do anything to make the
pay go away,
even if I've never worked a 9 to 5,
just so that I could run outside and play,
carpé diem,
seize the day they say,
well okay,
what if the day has nothing to hold on to?
Must I make myself mused by the mundane,
married to the morbid mistress that has become my mattress,
spark a fire when I'm matchless,
I'd much less be away,
chalice to wonderland,
peter to never land,
perhaps Rome,
no Juliet,
all alone,
see the sunset,
gone,
take flight,
into the night.

I walked by a sunflower blooming yet small,
A big monarch butterfly perched on it glorious and tall,
An ant like me loves to stay on the ground,
I fugured it best to assess how I could serve the crown,
I longed for the rose to be thr place where we'd meet,
Though I have accepted the sunflower to be sufficiently sweet,
Whether you consider me a servant, friend or a king,
Maybe even a jester,
Just know that your laughter, companionship, the joy that you bring,
Have led me to ask how to make things better,
I'll be content with the oil and forsake the nectar,
Near or far I'll be by your side so aim high,
I just want to see you fly.

Professors with professions listen on the sidelines to my cryptic confessions like I'm still under the lineage of the plane papacy taking note of my blank boredom.
Don't even know if I deserve to saint this message.

Look warm,
they'll think you're a sky walker,
be hot they'll think you're an odd joker,
cause these days there's no truth to bat an eye on,
Even christians bail on the touchy topics,
I too would rather travel the tropics,
But we can't piece up the peace in these last days.

It's a relative subjective river that you can choose to glide on.
Why do foolish ants labour to protest works?
Perhaps it's a minor issue and we're digging too deep.
Perhaps the devil's wearing denims down with bootleg discussions,
that bow out but never stand in the gap,
Perhaps there are finer issues like my blessings.
Perhaps everyone will eventually find their way.
One man for himself...

I used to pray for mercy,
then I'd pray to messi,
It's like now I prey for merces,
distractions and direction,
promises of perfection,
leave me licking lumps of wounds that the leaven left.
We all want to hear something new,
twerk the message and please the pew.
I can feel the Ichabod as the teaching scratches my ears.

Can a name be enough?
Can a call really save?
Or is it just a ploy to keep the black man a slave?

- nyant

There's nothing more that I long for now.
To taste,
to feel,
the vista,
the sound,
the scent,
the love,
a piece,
enjoy,
so pure,
so true,
so right,
the cure,
so bright,
imbued,
to stand,
to walk,
to run,
fearlessly,
truly me,
new,
whole.
A dream.

Yea I deleted my old posts,
got used to deleting my history,
trying to wash myself clean,
but the soap is hopeless,
every Jim cares to see the mask off,
I should probably take my hat off,
I'm leaving incognito.

Bruce Lee tapompele,
the almighty was one of us,
truly like a stranger on the bus,
I'd be the first to free Barabbas,
more in common with a criminal,
Israel in 4BC had no mass communication,
but the problem has always been about the broken communion,
2000 years later many in China are yet to hear good news,
can we break passed the great walls,
you can tell from a distance that I watched a lot of television,
spent little time in rosy parks.
recently I became aware of my ignorance of the past,
tried to to undo my evils like samurai Jack,
this is a long poem so don't expect a haiku.

See I'm one of those trees who'd take in things passively like phloem,
it riled me up when I discovered things like who Huey represented in the boondocks,
feeling like a Tom dubious making a Ruckus.

I realized I was a slave to many things,
so I'm on the pursuit of being a free man,
started to think about what it meant to say wakanda forever,
it made me wonder if maybe Zion is better.

I was wrong to complain about the land that I was born in.
I just want the Potter to hurry up,
my clay is dry I can feel it cracking,
the blackness is Syrias,
M just turned 16 but some boys his age  have seen more than M16s,
makes me wonder which direction I should pray this Easter.

No shots fired maybe I need some gun control,
Your pen is your pistol,
mind is a missle,
mouth is a canon,
don't trade it for a nickle,
no matter what burdens you carey,
I hope you get the picture,
be sure you know your artillery.

Most of my moves were fear driven,
If only you could feel the sound of my mind,
conspiracies and half-truths ain't kind,
like a big fat liar,
scared of the big bad wolf,
how could reading about four horses
make me so unstable,
walking with a cane wondering if I am able.

I knew my solids, liquids and gases,
but couldn't really tell what matters,
playing fifa but deaf to the blatters.

I started filling the gram with heavy sounding poems like this,
thinking yeah this will show them,
I'm part of the fam,
I too, a proud African,
I'm in the loop, I understand,
even if I didn't really need a tissue when Mr ***** mouth ******* on us.

When I looked at my kin,
I never saw black gold that could fuel the world,
I was too busy being a black sheep, trying to invite everyone one to my pity party,
''the world would be so much better if everybody was more like me."
If I was a king they would call me apathy.
although he took my penalty I took his gift so casually like a chip.

They marched on in procession,
I forgot my profession,
Got used to my chains,
losing direction,
it would be weird to take them off like a wristwatch,
tick tock.

I have to get back to simply city,
Trust in His foolish wisdom,
leaf behind so I can branch on,
learn to take off my specs every time that I log in.

Change my locus,
media makes it hard to focus,
forget the locusts and use the remainder,
see all the division disturbed mine,
family and friends I left behind,
I expected the watchmen to bark at the sight of the poacher,
desiring to **** agape,
forgetting love as quickly as harambe.
things get shaggy when velma can't see the clues.

I guess I was a dead dog,
****** doomed,
let the leaven grow on my trunk,
you could see it when the fungus grew and leeched on my nutrients,
slowly but surely my heart began to rot,
fearing that this gentile man had been branched off after playing with the moss.

I know I can be extra and do the most and can make faith look look complicated which it isn't,
I've had seasons of confusion which certainly weren't from the King,
he tries to steer me away from the flames that will grill me,
but I lose courage and act like a chicken from nandos,
he's not like the hungry lion,
always prowling at my week's mess,
to truly be strong one needs to be weakend,
we couldn't read the daily mail if it wasn't for the red posts.

He's debonair and gentle so now I'll take his orders,
I hope he can deliver me,
I'm encouraged by the romans,
sometimes it's just hard to express
how much Jesus changed the way I sea things,
even when storms are tough,
I don't want to lose my seasoning.

They're many silly lies that become stumbling blocks when He's supposed to be the only one,
misinformation like the titanic,
that mislead the sheep,
listening to the assassins creed,
busy brooding in their sleeper cells.

If I was a woman I'd be the one at the well,
a random Jane doe never seeing my blindspots,
hoeing around like a rabbit,
digging a broken cistern that can't hold water,
cause God came to make things pretty,
after I made them ugly.

When I sin I think about Sinai,
got all these ankle weights strengthening my golden calves,
maybe it would be better to ponder Golgotha,
maybe my bones will live if I take the flesh off,
He came to help me but I scoffed him,
he came to heal me but I licked the wounds of my old wineskin.

Despite all the unnecessary complexity and errors of my ways,
all I have left is to trust that the blood of the lamb doesn't clot,
even when I act like a goat,
even when I let my heart turn to stone,
when I can't see past the thicket,
he'll ram past the chest of my fears,
crush the treasures of my heart,
so I can be free to blow the horn of salvation for all men,
that we may never be extinct,
whether sudan or 'abyad,
to receive the free invitation,
to be reconciled with the God of creation,
a call to enjoy true liberation.

Deers panting painfully,
the breath of death roams optically,
fibres of fear torn through the year.

Peering through a glass dimly,
ripping what was sewn grimly,
hollow laughter stitched by a phony braceline.

The tears were always true,
dormant they had been till they poured down bountiful.

An ocean of gloom.  
All the while a joy at the base vibrates with every rising tide and wave.

Even with a desire to cease and find reprieve,
The birth pangs insist that the vision they must conceive,
behind the cumulative nimbus lies a quantum of solace that will make the ghastly trip seam a breeze.

Well it's pretty cold over here,
my doubt makes it difficult to draw near,
revelling in the *** of the ruminate that I retch,
wondering why I want to stay a wretch,
heeding fables,
constantly unstable in many ways,
as I mule and bray away my days,
wasting time looking for a needle in the hay,
worried about wheat and chaff,
never about the rod and staff,
forgetting what the Miller said,
the ball is in your court,
stick to your field old sport.

I dined the dark with the swine,
as we crafted the mud and mocked the divine,
on lonely island we speak of filthy things,
the kind that should be kept private,
like pirates out for innocence,
we burn our idle incense,
looking for a pharaoh to harrow,
any Jack or sparrow,
hovering to find any hose here,
little loose rats into the water with the Pied Piper,
we **** the fishmonger with fear,
he was meant to guard his stock,
we bribe the shepherd as if he never heard,
meant to guard his flock,
he probably never cared.

Casting out our cunning lines,
telling them to enter in,
but never through the gate,
hoping they'll take the bait,
carrot and stick,
on to the slave ship,
men of clouded Eris,
forever luring sinbad.

Timon and Pumba said hakuna matata,
that option was to obvious for my ominous oblanganta,
the rooster crows when it sees the raven,
but we forget our roles when we're in a haven,
rafiki said look beyond what you see,
but I was in the desert and the thirst was real,
you could say that I was in my feels,
I chased the mirage,
missed the ever open oasis,
still thirsty,
it didn't lust.
listening to my logic,
ate the food on the palace plate,
who can relate?

My spider senses were webbed by the sandman as I drilled for digital  dopamine to derail my depression,
dusty roads laid in the distance as my discernment was damaged.
Now I'm afraid to have a dialogue because I'm no longer used to analogue,
fight fleeting.

I'm fed up of spinning in cycles,
gotta check my psyche like Nike,
can't bet on chance,
I need discipline unlike Mike.

Do you want more?
I scream encore,
wondering why I've become so numb,
why I've lost control,
walking the isle of isolation,
hiding from the groom,
even after all the light,
all I saw was gloom,
tossed by the wind and waves,  
I hide in the bush from Ned like Homer,
I could make a joke of this quagmire,
but I really feel like Gomer.
Sometimes you have to leave the cast if you feel like you'll remain half the man.

With all my getting I never understand,
I just peter in the storm,
hoping He will stretch out His mighty hand.

Lone wolf where is your pack?
Was nobody fit enough to track with you?
What was Thomas without Percy, Emily and Gordon?
Would they have driven to all those great discoveries and found the lost treasure?
but you fed fast on pleasure,
ignoring the words of the fat director,
pretending to be strong,
all along 'you were wrong',
preferring that electric surge,
though could have ran together
you know there ain't no bolt without us,
but you chose to park the bus,
defend yourself from your perceived threats.

Go and lead your charge,
pay your own wage,
no time for the old way,
do what's current,
coin something new,
shave your heir off,
or bleach it,
quit our race,
howling slowly in the wilderness to your dearth,
crying who who who did this to me?

We'll stand by the trees,
boats by the sea,
with our big yellow eyes and just watch, feed on the vestiges of your lonely island.
as you sink in panic,
only to be remembered as that ignorant titanic,
Tell me how is it there?

First you endured birthday pangs so we could live,
let us rent your womb with every kick,
for all the harsh words in anger you still forgave,
you nursed our wounds and cared when we were sick.

Like a lioness working for your cubs,
showed us the way of the lamb is best for life to be led,
even when we stray you welcome us home again,
how could we ever recompense,
it will never make sense.

You raised us to stand on mountains,
to walk on stormy seas,
but we'd not be strong because we were on your shoulders,
you raised us up hoping the son would set us free.

Thank you for the love and the care,
merci ma mère.