I’m tired of fighting,
I’m tired of living my life from the past,
I’m tired of putting myself through such torment and pain and fear and confusion,
Spooking myself at every twist and turn,
And then wondering what the **** happened
When it all turns sour, again.
I’m ready to start taking charge of my life and my destiny
Right here, right now,
I’m ready to step into the now.
But how?

When the world tries to tell you who you are,
but you feel in your gut who you REALLY are,
and all you can do is smile back at the world
and throw back your head
and howl in the face of adversity,

if you are liberated from deception
of all of which is inside your control
and outside your control
and readily accept the latter,
like a nonchalant savant

if you are a disciple to discipline
and know that backing down and submitting to the insidious insanity
of a day-to-day charade
is not even an option,
regardless of all the cool comforts it offers
in lieu of the heat of the coals you walk upon,

then and only then
will you become the master of your destiny

I am a son,
Like the sun
Wired to bring illumination
To this nation.

To many lives I give light,
Challenging folks to live right
Inspiring them in this life to make hay
In other to have a say.

I am gifted
Not born to be limited.
I trump limits
And climb to success summits.

You are wired for greatness
Break out from shallowness
For you have what it takes
To kick out the fakes
And be among the greats.

Life is colorful
When we do things powerful;
Let us arise and grow
To make our dreams reality and glow.

© Ifeanyi Enoch Onuoha is a transformational leader and writer who uses his time, talent and treasure to uproot vices and root values in the society.

I’d like to think that your ways
are the air, the winds.
I am the water you can move, and carry mists of me with you,
though brief and fleeting
effervescent,
though you can’t see me there sometimes,
I am felt in you. I am breathed through you.
When you’re heavy with me, you are the fog.
When I’m heavy with you, I am the breaks of surf
smeared out on the sands.
Sometimes
we make a rip curl,
burrowing under me
by some unearthly gravitational force.
I swell and mix with you.
We fight for the top till
we must fall over the apex
and break over the earth,
crashing down
again and again.
Until there is no more moon
there is no separating us,
as much as they try.
The sea of our stories
will be played in by the ages
of Children and their children.
From our ritual they may find sanctuary
So long as our ritual exists