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In the new world of books,
Where the hungry mind's meal is cooked.
Laid ancient artifacts.
Golden treasure that the unborn yearn to behold.
This treasure caught my busy sight,
Which hungers for root of the rare gem.
My legs drove me here like a fast bike.
It covers 5 meters in a second,
Just to take a glimpse this diamond.
A mountain of books.
An ocean of map, a guide to today's writers.
Their quills had dried up long ago,
Yet their words still drip ink on our tongues.
Scrolls of Aristotle and Shakespeare won war.
The war against time that makes things lost.
Your words are not trend that are visitors.
But your ink is like the earth that never stop.
Your ink shine as though made now.
I use your ink in writing this scroll.
Ink men of today still drip your ink on their scroll.
Will our ink still shine if time tests the scroll?
In "The Ancient Ink", I pay tribute to the timeless voices of literary giants like Aristotle and Shakespeare, whose words continue to ignite the pens of today’s writers. As the debut poem in the HISTORY RECLAIMED series, this reflective piece explores the enduring power of great writing—how ink from the past still stains our present with wisdom, inspiration, and creative fire. With vivid imagery and poetic rhythm, the poem reminds us that while trends fade, true words endure. It is a call to every modern writer: draw from the well of ancient genius, and let your scroll stand the test of time.
"You are neither here nor there,  
How can you be successful?"—a voice in the air.  
It muttered once, but I heard it thrice,  
A haunting echo, not so nice.  

I reflect deep—could this be me?  
Is it instinct or a mind not free?  
Am I imagining things in vain?  
But he is right, and I feel the strain.  

Jack of all trade and master of none,  
But one who masters will inspire someone.  
Too many tasks leave all half done,  
While one at a time brings work well spun.  

All in one is same as nothing,  
But one in one births everything.  
I do not write this to condemn,  
You can succeed with more than ten.  

But purpose and vision must lead the way,  
Without them, you’re a leaf that sways.  
A man without vision is like a trash,  
Waved by the wind in a reckless dash.  

I’m glad I’ve found my voice at last,  
Through Poetry, wisdom shall be cast.
“The Voice That Spoke” is a soul-searching poem by Nigerian poet Osahenoma Favour Moses, born from a moment of internal reckoning. It begins with a haunting voice—an echo of doubt—that challenges the poet’s scattered pursuits across multiple creative paths: acting, preaching, storytelling, and poetry. Through rhythmic reflection and layered wisdom, the poem explores the tension between versatility and focus, urging readers to discover their true calling and nurture it with purpose.

This piece is more than a confession—it’s a call to clarity. It speaks to anyone who feels stretched thin by ambition, reminding them that success is not in doing everything, but in doing something well. With poetic precision, Favour casts light on the importance of vision, identity, and intentional growth.

“The Voice That Spoke” is part of his growing body of work known as Wisdom in Poetry—a genre where truth meets verse, and insight flows through rhythm.
Osaro is in iron prison,
Drowning in deep river of pain,
Seeking for an escape route,
None found.
Can't speak.
But painfully cries at heart,
Thinking of the glue joining him to hot ***.
His sugar cause him this bitter moment.
His joy makes him cry all day.
He gives her milk.
She demands for honey,
Directly from bee,
Good for her system.
He gives her honey.
She demands for sugar,
Sweeter than honey.
Sugary river expands love,
So her love will flow like sweet river.
He gives her sugar.
"No," she says,
She wants the provisions of fruits, juice and food,
So she can be a leaf.
He makes these ready.
She then demands for mansion,
Containing meal and fun.
That will suffice her.
He bond himself (in debt),
And hands her the key
To her mansion,
Beautiful like the garden of Eden.
She says, "No! Why will I be among the least?
I want an estate,
Not small,
But vaster than an empire."
He bonds himself,
Sells his siblings,
Robs,
And sells all his acquaintances.
And buys an estate for her.
Still yet, she envies,
Jealous all day.
Listens to air.
Sees the world (on Instagram).
Though among the top,
She wants to be the very top.
She then demands for the whole world.
Perplexed and Overwhelmed.
Frustrated and swimming in a pool of thought.
Osaro doesn't know what to do.
He is now a bondman.
He gained nothing in all,
And he had lost all.
All works on woman.
No reward, no profit.
His loss is her gain.
In frustration, he brings out a knife,
And hands it to his delight:
"Since I can't satisfy you,
I present my head
As a living sacrifice.
Take it,
And have the whole world."
A powerful narrative poem exploring the destructive cycle of endless desire and self-sacrifice in relationships.

"MR. OSARO" tells the tragic story of a man trapped in an ever-escalating cycle of giving, where no gesture of love is ever enough. Through vivid metaphors and progressive imagery, the poem chronicles Osaro's journey from simple acts of care—offering milk, honey, and sugar—to increasingly desperate sacrifices that consume his entire existence.

The poem serves as a cautionary tale about toxic relationship dynamics, examining themes of:
- Insatiable desire and the impossibility of fulfilling endless demands
- Self-destruction through excessive giving and people-pleasing
- Modern materialism and social media-driven comparisons
- The cost of unconditional sacrifice without reciprocation
- Identity loss in the pursuit of another's happiness

Written in free verse with a haunting progression, the poem builds tension through its escalating demands—from simple provisions to mansions, estates, and ultimately "the whole world." The biblical undertones and sacrificial imagery create a powerful commentary on love, loss, and the human condition.

This piece will resonate with readers who have experienced or witnessed relationships where giving becomes a prison, and love transforms into a burden that ultimately destroys rather than nurtures.

Genre: Contemporary Poetry, Social Commentary, Relationship Drama  
Themes: Love, Sacrifice, Materialism, Identity, Self-Destruction  
Tone: Melancholic, Cautionary, Tragic
Nigel Finn Apr 2022
"Do me a favour" you say, and so I do
But then one favour turns into two,
And two favours turns into three,
Until there isn't time for me.

"Do me a favour" I say, but you decline.
You say you simply have no time,
To return the favour that I gave,
"Do it yourself; I'm not your slave"

Doing a favour, with none returned
Should feel like nothing's being earned,
But only if you do not see,
I do them not for you, but me.

"Do me a favour" and, once again, I do,
And when one favour turns into two,
And you don't return a single one,
I'm laughing to myself; I've won!
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2020

Luck floats on her palm
Her rudder turns the blessed tide
Fortune favours bold


New day, new haiku!
This haiku is for Tykhe, goddess of fortune and luck.
Her symbols were a cornucopia and a rudder. Chance and luck poured from her like a tide and she was well in control of it.

There are many variants of who her parents are, some myths say Zeus, others say Oceanus and Tethys. She was also linked to the Moirai, the goddesses of fate who will soon make their appearance soon.
The last line is a link to one of my favourite Latin quotes 'Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat', Fortune favours the bold! And it fits as this proverb is linked to Tykhe's Roman equivalent, Fortuna.

Anyway, thank you all for growing followers, I'm forever humbled and grateful for the support 🙏🌹💜
Here's the link for the growing collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132853/the-women-of-myth/
Be back tomorrow with another one!
Please take care of yourselves and stay safe!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
Gods1son Jan 2020
I've seen grace overrule unmet qualifications
I've seen grace speed up promotion
I've seen grace overshadow flaws
I've seen grace open up unexpected doors

...Amazing grace, how sweet the sound!
Sharmila Juliet Jun 2019
With the hurt my wounded dark soul
With the hurt my wounded dark soul
Seeking little bit of the light to enlighten
Seeking little bit of the light to enlighten
To enlighten the dark my wounded soul
Seeking little bit of the light with hurt

Pour on me some of your light
Pour on me some of your light
Lend me your little stars to brighten
Lend me your little stars to brighten
Lend me some of your light
Pour on me your little stars to brighten

Delight me with your favour
Delight me with your favour
Let me feel high with every right
Let me feel high with every right
Let me feel high with your favour
Delight me with every right

Enlighten my hurt dark soul
Seeking your light to brighten
Wounded me, feel little bit of high
Pour on me with little favour
Lend me some of your stars
Let every right delight me
Poem Format : Paradelle Poem
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