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this is,
of nightmares in daydreams...

we flee from the sudden chase of heavy harms
bursting out from frightening dreams.
the hot pursuits that flashes past
like lightning over cloudy skies.

we saw sore shelter in the blood
whistling out a call to find aids
even as hunger was betrayed
and tongue wails as scary birds flew.

fleets of ebola fevered our voices,
rising from the shores like angry waters
to drown our rats in the poison of their own fever.

our defenses ran naked every single time
till it becomes a passage that leads
from frightening dreams to pleasant images.

beneath this angry shower
comes yet another nightmare.
a corona,
that comes in to lit the lungs from dark shades.
a chase by moonlight that stretches into daylight.

we flee on
from this sudden chase of heavy hounds
holding on to the hope
that our defences would run them out
and save our neck once again.

She knocked on my door,
And time skipped a tick.
I was met by a beauty,
Whose charm is far beyond nature.
Her eyes clear and bright,
Like freshly tapped palm wine,
I cannot help but to get drunk on them.

Her twin towers,
Constantly my North pole steers,
Till it shatters the limits of magic.
My problem was in giving myself away,
But this visitor my ailment cures,
As elixir sang me birthday songs.

I was engulfed,
My lip was the stake,
Her desires has just begin to burn,
As it caressed me into rubble of ashes,
Where the sun sing of dusk,
And the moon sing of dawn.

I am your heart,
And this beauty of whom I sing,
Is one you'd later learn to call LOVE.

Arise Countrymen and stand up to hail,
The bond that keeps us;
For plunges and plots could not countervail,
The strength of this force.
Pure love lives on in the kinship we share,
The blood in our veins;
The anthem we sing and pledge we declare,
Do swallow our pains.

When Mother gave tongues she did with honour,
And also with pride;
For she gave them all and even one more,
To bridge the divide.
She gave unity to conduct this song,
Like an orchestra;
And taught us to live together as one,
Joyful Nigeria!

(In celebration of Nigeria's 60th Independence).
Happy Independence Nigeria!
How sweet are the songs of the night?
Where there are no sounds,
For the ear listens to its own voice,
Releasing soft musical tones.

There are balances in rhythms,
But silence is perfect for the ears.
It takes hold of the drums
And beats them to sleep.

One may wonder,
Does the ear ever rest?
Yet silence when it breaks forth,
Becomes a sweet lullaby.

How soothing are the rhythms of silence?
That it gives warmth to a cold soul,
And hunts the stress that strains upon him.

A deaf man knows too well every pattern of this rhythm
That he can see noise from afar off
And smell disturbances from miles away.

Why then do we rage with noise,
And war with disturbances?

Shouldn't we bask in the rhythms of silence,
And learn how to be deaf.

We are our brother's keeper!

There are moments that cools the heat of hell,
And there are moments that touches the heart of heaven.
How then would it feel if a moment captures both?

We are our brother's keeper!

There are a million joy dancing in the ***** of gifts,
But how would they be fulfilled when hidden away in tight fists?
Speak not to me of having just enough,
For enough is the first name of a brother's keeper.
Forsake not the roar of suffering bones,
That calls to your heart,
Nor the cry of dying flesh,
That screams horror to your looking eyes,
For the goal of an open palm is to touch a soul.

We are our brother's keeper,
Shan't we make a save,
And keep the goal with open palms.

I have kissed boys


People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know
In the light of myths and legends,
Stories of some heroes of old,
Who possessed powerful endowments,
Or so we have been told.

He who was said to spit fire,
Was once a vulnerable man,
He who was said to be immortal,
Was also once human.

Why isn't this transformation,
Prolonged to our time,
Or is our generation,
But a foam on a wine.

The existence of most,
Sounds strange to tell,
For if they were gods,
How come they fell?

What do they look like?
Where do they come from?
Questions go begging,
For answers at every turn.

I was told of a god,
With a lion as pet,
Human-lion friendship,
I am yet to see since birth.

Looking around me each day,
I see no such powers,
Portrayed by our past heroes,
As told to us by our Fathers.

Are gods really gods?
Or our own creation,
Out of fear, or of poetry,
Or even painted imagination.

If you'd ask my opinion,
I'd say they were audacious men,
Whose deeds were exaggerated,
And narrated with godly terms.

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