flakes in the kitchen, flakes in the kitchen
my fate is holy like religion, old traditions:
live life greedily, follow your ambitions
without the stacks, i got an itching

thousand racks, volume of a bible
the day is black, that is my lifestyle
don't offer me gizmos, i know the skid row
above the earth, you see an airglow

above my head, you watch my hair glow
snow male machiny, breathing airflow
phantom with a whisk, never stop-and-frisk
my birthmark, no risk, twenty yumys in the carpark

when no one sleeps, the crowd dances
i'll be hanging with the focus, grabbin' chances
fountain flavour, the mountain and the savior
brash, blue bunnies burning all my moneys

My gaze flickering across this landscape divine -

a whirlwind of sentiments unfolds.

Yet a single word echoes across my mind:

mine, mine, mine.


These hills, these trees, the distant shore,

as sure as the breeze caressing the steeple:

they are part of me, and more -

I am at home, safe, with my people.


I feel it, I know it, the comfort it sings -

whispers of safety, a lullaby to my broken wings:

familiar and gentle, deep in my bones,

the ancestry calling from ancient white stones.


Rosemary, lavender, olives, and fig trees,

they tell me of history, of proud victories;

of battles, of sadness, of stories untold,

the generations with lingering spirits of old.


This is my land, I belong here;

the soft hum of time; a smile and a tear.

Cultures of old
Surrendering to thy god
Bowing in reference
Telling mysteries unravelment

The forecast of the elders
Giving praises to their gods
Welcoming the spirits
Resurrecting the ancient incantations

Monarchs in gathering
Rulers in council
Entering the room of spirituality
Leaving Epistles for generations unborn

Their cultural powers
A bestowing of forefathers
Worshipping mighty deities
Forming lineages of righteousness

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson

Lift the crumb-sized bit to your lips,
Hesitate until it's too late for hesitation,

Fold to tongue and absorb those tasty, harmless
Spider footprints and germatic warzones.

tethered to a string
it flies,
ever free
into the early hours of dusk.
the blue and purple triangles
merging as one.  

the times of what has passed,
stolen sweets and mirthful eyes
crinkle in the sunlight.
mindless chatter fills the abyss
as the torrent sea laps at the feet
of the storyteller and the lamb.

little boy, alight with glee
turns to his father
but there,
encompassing the boundless expanse
on the empty field,
not a flower sways.

the sea once turbulent, whispers in his wake.