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She gives it in my dream
pours it on my night
with the day's first gleam
sprinkles in sunlight!

She brews it in the morn
puts it in my tea
her day's smiles adorn
the path I walk daily!

She mixes it in my drink
with it makes my meal
flows it in my ink
ensures it I feel!

She puts it in my case
blends it with my lunch
ties me with its grace
so I never suffer its crunch!

She rubs it on her talks
when rings me at office
it plentily unlocks
in the hours her I miss!

For her it's never more
her flight on its wings
with it she opens the door
cools my weary evenings!

When she lays the bed
she knows I crave for it
weaves in crimson shade
its fruit ripened sweet!

She speaks all hues of it
signs it in silence
sings in each heartbeat
its words in sun and rains!
The master asked the disciple for a fish,
but he didn't like the idea of casting a net (has his reasons)
he stole a river altogether and brought to the master's abode, cool,
but not found him there and learned he was taking bath in the same river.
"My thought took a wrong route, another lesson from the Guru to be simple"
He promised the Guru to be spontaneous, the next time   (the usual excuse)
but what really happened, where and why, you need to contemplate.
For you, I'll shed a tear
To you, I'll say, "my dear"
But ONLY if you'll dare
To show me that you care!

In words, for you I'll die
In deeds, to you I'll lie
'Cos much as I may try
My love will make you cry!

But there is One so pure
Your tears, His love will cure
He'll hang upon a cross,
To gain your love and trust!

He'll bare unspoken pains
To free you from your chains
With a kiss, He was betrayed
But still, for us He prayed!


© Raphael Uzor
Don't take the cross for granted.
When ink kisses paper
Leaving his marks on her
Staining her Immaculate white
Corrupting her innocent purity
With unspoken words and lines,
Punctuated with figurative styles,
Embedded with phonetic rhymes
Of divine charismatic beauty;
Sweet poetic lyrics are born...*


© Raphael Uzor
The rite of passage
From my boyhood to manhood
Killed my innocence.


© Raphael Uzor
The intermittent, distant rumbling in the skies was suggestive of chronic flatulence. The sun struggled in futility to shine – like a crying child who had been forced to smile. Lightning flashed in quick successions, momentarily throwing brilliant streaks of white light across the room. The angry growl of thunder that followed was enough to send a troop of Howler monkeys scampering for safety.

The lights flickered as though unable to make up their minds to stay or not to. But apparently, the wind had zero tolerance for such petty indecisiveness. And like an enraged, stimulated, demented animal, it gusted through the windows and doors, hauling loose papers, light bulbs in every direction, shattering the bulbs to smithereens, as if to punish them for being so fickle. The lights died.

Thick black blankets eerily stretched across the skies with gusto, menacingly extinguishing whatever was left of the sun’s brilliance. More rumbles and flashes followed in royal herald of the impending storm. And in no time, slick sheets of rain torrentially came pouring down, cascading the roofs to form puddles almost as soon as they hit the ground.

​I looked in horror, fervently praying that whoever God had appointed to build the ark in our time had not diverted the funds. I was trapped in the office, and I knew exactly what this meant…flood, scarcity of buses, hiked transport fares, heavy taffic and very likely, at least one month of blackout.
It would be another three hours of steady downpour before the rain eventually stopped, as gracefully as it had been ushered in.
I picked up my bag, rolled up my trousers in earnest anticipation of the inevitable flood, and made my way home.

​To my utter bewilderment, there were no floods! The lights from the street lamps cast a soft golden glow on the slick roads, seemingly creating mirages of pools of water from afar off. But they were mere illusions. The gurgling sound coming from the underground drainage was proof of where all the water had gone. It was a strange sight. Like some alien cyborg from space had been fiddling with a time machine that had accidentally propelled us twenty years into the future.

My new world was a three-fold utopian dream. So surreal!
I could see beautiful, high-rise, state of the art edifices with mind-blowing architectural designs that blatantly seemed to defy the laws of gravity. I could see world-class hospitals that admitted ailing dignitaries from around the world and top-notch schools that offered scholarships to deserving indigenous and international students.
Sure enough, this was Nigeria! The Nigeria we all dreamed of.

And there was light…electricity! - In myriad of colours that seemed to have been dispersed from several colossal disco ***** via *“wireless fidelity”
technology. I strained to hear the noise from generators, but I was disappointed. I couldn’t even hear the all too familiar cacophony of horns blaring, conductors shouting, loud discordant music, rattling vehicle engines etc. It was like everyone and everything had taken a crash course on orderliness.

I saw a vibrant transportation system that included high speed railway lines, paved road networks that looked like a child’s doodles, first-class air strips and efficient sea transportation.
I saw a working government - one that had provided the critical infrastructure for her people.

I saw a nation with a large industrialized economy, where the dividends of democracy had been delivered to the people by their government. One consciously founded on equity and honesty of purpose, and courageously sustained by unfaltering faithfulness and unwavering patriotism.      
A nation whose economic boost did not come solely from crude oil exploration and production, but also from crude oil refining, agriculture, manufacturing, infrastructure, food, services, tourism, automobiles, transportation, education etc.
A nation that thronged with international investors from all walks of life, who were not in the least afraid to invest in her.

And then, I saw her people. A people proud of their citizenship.
A people proud to be called NIGERIANS.
A people who were not given to religious, political, or tribal bigotry.
A people who individually and collectively, gallantly bore the torch of the vision of their heroes past.
A people who earnestly and persistently worked to see only goods “Made in Nigeria” sold in their markets.

Where there was once despair, I saw hope. Where there was once fear, i saw security. Where there was once disgruntlement, I saw satisfaction. Where there was once poverty, I saw wealth opportunities and where there was unemployment, I saw jobs. Death had given way to life and life to hope.

I started, as I felt something cold and wet trickle down my forehead. It was droplets of rain from a leak in the roof just above my head. I was still in my office, I never left. The rain had lulled me to sleep. Even more sadly, I realized it had all been a dream.
Slowly and regretfully, I packed my things and left for home. It was pitch black outside as I carefully waded through the polluted waters, jauntily holding my bag, more because I was afraid to lose it in the flood than in a hopeless bid to dignify the situation.

Two hours later, I crawled into bed. I did not have to turn the lights off…the electric poles had gone for a swim. A very long one.



© ONUGHA EBELE VICTORIA
This is NOT my work, but I found it amazingly share worthy.
She said she was Ibo
And spoke with a fake accent
Wanna’s and gonna’s
Littered her speech
Not a trace of Igbo, in her exotic accent.

She smirked boldly
As I answered my phone
Greeting my friend natively
In a lavish of deep expressions
So deep, only Ndi Igbo can share.

With a ****** passport
She spoke better than most Britons
She was born in her village
Yet all she knows is “bia”
She thinks she’s cool, I think she’s lost!

The whole point of wooing her
An “mgbe-eke” from the east
Was so we could regularly, take a break
From all formalities and English
And bask in mother tongues…

I might as well be yoked
With a foreign damsel
For the whole purpose of looking within
Is defeated if your tongue is white
And we can only commune in “oyibo”

Call me tribalistic
Call me uncivilized
Call me superficial if you will
But what you call vernacular
The same is my root. I am proudly Igbo!


© Raphael Uzor
Its Igbo NOT Ibo.
Bia means come (in Igbo)
Ndi Igbo means Igbo people
Mgbe-eke means village girl (literally)
Oyibo means English (can also mean white, as in white person)
Fearful of grave loss
   frightened of dusk,
  her tenebrous lash

    Hope? Never Again
    Life? Her disregarded choice
    The light unable to overcome
   the ingrained ink


      Her gentle visage buried in grief
     fallen eyes
     Linger till the light returns
Lygophobia: Fear of darkness or night
Infatuated is me, infatuated is we, infatuation for the both of us as we celebrate the love that we both receive.

Two of a kind we are, as our hearts multiply...excited about all the tricks and treats of our ****** desires

Comparing both our minds oh how it's so divine. That the love we have for each other can never expire..

Infatuated is me, infatuated is we, infatuation for the both of us as we celebrate the love that we both receive.
You ask me to come over so that you can ******* sweetness, I rush right over smelling like Roses and honey and my glitter body lotion has me glistening.

You open the door to me wearing nothing but a red thong and red pumps, with my jet black hair covering nothing but my dark chocolate *******.

You grab me close to you and kiss my full red lips, as you begin to play with my **** I say just take me and dnt hold back... you put me against the wall and down to the floor goes my thong and you begin to travel south and tasted my valley low...

I began to shiver as my juices came down as a river as you twirled your tongue and gave a lil tickle with your finger...Ooooo I'm starting to shake more as you threw me on the floor and laid your strong body on my and thrusted your man hood all up in me..

I began to MOAN as you began to grind... you turned me over on my stomach and started to hit me from behind... I Love for you to pull my hair and pump me hard as I skeeted all on the floor... You arched my back even more so I could feel you....Ooooo baby give me more!!!!!

You didn't want  to *** so you began to eat you some and my MOANS came on even louder... you played with my breast and did a trick with your tongue and **** (explosion) ...my bad baby you didn't get to ***....lol
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