A Hundred Words

I have loved many

But only a few know 

I have envisaged many in my sleep 

And I relish our brief rendezvous 

I have disappointed some too 

And I apologize 

Some well-meaning intentions 

Got quelled even before they had a form of expression 

It was not you 

It was me 

For those who still hope,

Pray for a better man 

I wish you love 

I wish you joy 

I wish you life 

And I’d like you to know 

That somewhere beneath my skull 

Is a memory 

And that memory is you 

Written not with ink 

But the likeness of blood 


A Day In The Woods

They walked passed me

Seated on a concrete chair

Within the woods,

I saw them

And had observed

But they disappeared

Nowhere to be seen

In the twinkle of an eye,


Hid by, or made one with the woods

Some I saw again

Once I left where I sat

Others, their voices were all I heard

It was a path threaded by a host

Some men

Others, creatures par excellence

Many with troubles of their own;

My curious mind can never get knowledge of

I had no choice

But to share a seat

With those very tiny creatures

Whose lives I had in my hand

And even let them read through the pages

Some had the audacity to put their proboscis

On me and suck until debauched

For nature had given them straws of a kind

But they didn’t seem to care at all

Whether they bothered me

Or were an intrusion to my solace

After much debate

I let them be

Night comes

The light gradually fades

It’s almost time to bid my friends goodbye

And leave the cool air

The rustling sounds of the leaves;

Which is pleasing to my ears

The cooling shade

The canopy.

All will be missed

But what I carry back with me

Is my solitude



The colour of perfection


The colour of ugly


The colour of distinction


The colour of unruly


The colour of the saints


Sinners hearts when stirred


Robe when rid of stints


Taste of aloes mixed with myrrh


Robe worn for a noble cause


Apparel worn at a funeral


Given all appraisal and applause


Pushed to the back upon arrival


Fellow whose donations are sky high


The ostracised of the society


Those worthy to pass judgement with

a sigh


Blacks whose history of their

ancestry is tagged obscured by

white superiority


A heart touched by grief, hate,



Lack of conscience


Unflailing lover whose face

is drown in a beautiful kiss


The dark side of a man, lacking

in virtue, as patience


    From your wicked slumber

    I bid you rise


    So vague

    So premature

    The window blinds disappear

    Singing a faraway tune

    Wring your dress,

    The wind wouldn’t


    Stand by the flame

    From a fountain

    Upward blow the sax

    Carry your legs

    Move with the tune



    Minutes lead the way

    Drown the nebula

    Void nature

    Blind pupil

    Brighter dusk

    Raindrops suspended

    Air filtering

    Though obscured

    Seest thou


Some Answers

Oh my…

Why do I spread the longing so thin?

Why do I have to keep anticipating so?

Why would the words cease when they need be spoken?

When is it right; is it even wrong now?

Why do the doubts hover as air
molecules above me?

Where would I be; where would we be in a little while?

What would you say when I reiterate the angels’ proclamation?

When can I offer songs, as a sweet smelling incense, burning till the morrow?

Would dark colours unite and commune in thoughts as one?

How far would the road be; yet to be trodden?

Would I find that which I seek, or would despair be the soutane that I put on?

Would our fore-bears turn and look upon us with joy on their faces

Or would the griots from amongst them banish us from either world when a tale has touched their ears?

Would this darkness, familiar to those in Sheol, never set foot in my niche?

Would you think it as I do, or think it as you would?

Would the encrypted message lying beneath the thought be perceived?

Would I rid my mind of these questions?

Is It?

It was hate, it was anger
It was a premonition of danger
It was love, it was courteous
It was a call to be virtuous

It was a word, it was a letter
It was a page, it was a chapter
It was a line, it was a song
It was a touch, it was a call to belong

It was pure, it was holy
It was for me to be Thine, wholly
It was a fast beating of the heart,
It was a conviction of the mind on Your part

It was a gory story, it was reality
It was immorality of man’s sexuality
It was a play with characters and actors
It was fore told by my ancestors

It was a decline, it was a wasting away
It was a terrible lost, it was for one to pray
It was the past, it was the future
It was not going to be the last;
It was yet again featured

What it was, is what it is
What it is, is what will be
What will be, is what it was
– A cycle…


I behold my once strong dad
Now lying plugged to the wall
But he said he’d never be kicking no bucket
He was a warrior, but now a weakling
This side of him I’ve never seen

He said men don’t cry
Though I was the ‘other man’, I believed him and cried not
Cause I was the man
It was on his ferry that I rode
I was to be strong cause the world had no pity

But I was taken from where I call home –
Home was away from the world
A place where I was part of nature
And nature was a part of me
Where little creatures contributed to the whole

Of course I was strange to them
Cause I had a kinky hair,
But a big big heart
They took me from where I was,
To where they thought I ought to be

He was my hero
But I’m now his
‘Don’t you cry’, he had repeated
I shed not just a tear
But several, flowing freely from both eyes
It’s going to be the last time that I feel his warm embrace

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust
But before it goes all quiet behind my eyes,
I cry…


Is beauty really in the eye of the beholder? Is beauty mostly subjective?

There’s the beauty within, which can’t be seen but felt and there’s the one which the eyes can behold and feel with limbs. I like both, but prefer the former.

I believe that a person is the same (physically and otherwise). What differs is the individuals that perceive, and what they perceive using their visual sense. We’re like mirrors, reflecting differently what we see. The object or subject being reflected is one and the same, it’s the reflectors (we, the mirrors) that tend to differ in what we project about that which we see.

Some form of beauty is intangible – that which radiates from the heart and mind – and gives warmth to others, even the coldest and hardest of hearts. Some person may not look as pretty as Agbani Darego or handsome as Mr Nigeria, but have the kindest, humblest, sweetest aura about them. You just tend to like them, without even knowing you are. They love truly, care freely, trust sincerely. What else would you call them, but BEAUTIFUL.

And also, the beauty which we admire from without: the contours here and those there, the eyes that sparkle as stars, the slender spotless legs, the muscular arms, the canoe-shaped lips when we smile, the dimples that appear on one’s face, as though carved in Asgard.

I’d conclude by saying inner beauty is objective, outer beauty is subjective. Absolute beauty therefore, does exist.
Remain beautiful not just without, but also within.


Love at its best, from one heart to another.




If we get lost together
In a slow dance
I hope we still can find each other. 

If we try to forget the world
With music and laughter
And acts of kindness
I hope that you remember me
And I, you. 

If we try to save the world
And become heroes of sorts
Hardworking and steadfast in commitment
To those that we care to help
I hope that in this beautiful distraction
The love we share lingers still. 

If we try to shield our hearts
From the pain this world brings
And shield our minds
From the filth society offers
I hope that you remember
To take me with you
To your place of safe shelter. 

If things turn sour
And dreams get rotten
Old and forgotten
And our once firm skins
Begin to slacken
I hope that you have stories to share
Stories of me and of us

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About a Lady (Part two)

Met a lovely dark maiden,
Name’s so good I don’t wanna part with a syllable of it
Got large brown eyes, glowing as the eastern stars
Lovely is she, more than words can describe
Met her once…then twice
And was like Oh wow!
You stare at her north and south and you gape

A friend she could be;
A foe…I doubt that
And so jovial is she that I wanna extend the evening
Chewing at some snack so elegantly,
Much like a lady
A lot is within that I don’t know
Some is without which I can say is beautiful

I hope to keep meeting pretty ladies er day…some source of inspiration 😉