The Tale Of Gift

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cheers-204742_1280
This a story we have been told by the oldest father anyone could ever have.
He said ‘It is blessed to give than to receive.’
But like most of you I forget this too often, so I try to remind myself as often.

I wrote TALE decades ago,
it was one of my earliest poems,
my Twinkle, twinkle little star,
to remind me when I am up above the world so high,
full of myself like a diamond in the sky,
that I am still just another speck of countless wonder,
that I must shine back some mystical light,
back to the world beneath me that needs just a tiny bit of my miracle,
before my flame dies out.

TALE reads;
The tale of two lives;
All one to a person gives.
A life of haves and receives,
Another of wants, needs and lives.
Living able and able who gives.

And then I saw GIFT and it gave pictures and voices to my written words. GIFT will speak for itself and hopefully to you too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DUYlHZsZfcGift – Singapore Inspiration Drama Short Film // Viddsee.com

THE SPOUSE OF SENTIMENTS

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10665933_804523602943607_8970360027335449884_n (1)
FOR FEMALE EYES ONLY

Ever wonder what men grow up learning from other men about their bodies? No beating around the bush, have you ever wondered if boys/men are taught how to managed their sentiments, when it came to women?
Don’t lie, you had and still are wondering.

Any way, let me put you out of you misery.
You think you have figured out men?
Well, you never fully can.

Why?
It is very simply, really.
Because men haven’t figured out themselves yet and are constantly fighting their sentiments.

You think that is a whole lot of rubbish, don’t you?
Then read my case below……

“Daddy smiled and coughed light,
Understanding my explained plight.
Men are lonely and they know,
Yet they conspire not to let show.

“These women are assisted all through
By their very own sex, unlike you.
Firstly by mothers or sisters, then peers.
All thrust, show or coax their shares.

“Ladies understand the bodies’ world well
As they grow so guided, you can tell.
The boy discovers on his very own.
And thus, what he finds is his fun.”

Every young boy searches on and what tiny bits he finds, picks up or scavenge along the way, he tries to enjoy and make the best of as much as he can, like a lone wild wolf out in his personal world.

So beware ladies.
Next fellow you meet, could have tamed his wild sentiments for real or not. He is at best, just keeping his urges in check.
No man is ever fully domesticated.

Good luck, eternal Spouse of Sentiments.

You owe me big time, ladies.
Gratitude accepted!

Read an Ebook Week 2015 Kicks off Today!

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Read an Ebook Week 2015 Kicks off Today

Read an Ebook Week
01-07 Mar, 2015

The annual Read an Ebook Week celebration kicks off today.

Smashwords is again sponsoring the event for the seventh year running.

The promotion features thousands of free and discounted titles today through Saturday March 7.

Read an Ebook Week 4
Click here to go directly to the promotional catalog where you can filter by category, bestsellers and coupon codes:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/category/1/newest/1

Yours truly has entered a number of priced titles to include those on free offer already listed for the promotion….

Have fun!

Read an Ebook Week 3
Read an Ebook Week 5

The Proposal

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Is it impossible to ideally explain one’s love with just words?

Read through this excerpts from ‘Fever: The origins of fever’ and see if you identify with the emotions & concerns registered by the couple.
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The sparkle went out of her eyes and returned as quickly as it left. A child would easily realize that she had actually paused in thinking as she unconsciously held her breath. Her lighter facial complexion took on that glossy oily texture that belied the held notion that dark skinned people don’t blush.

Then she exhaled with a loud audible whizzing whoosh. She consequently turned and looked away with that pretentious awe that the suddenness or a lack of it, always seems to demand of most puberty weaned women in similar circumstances. It was indeed pretentious, but not remotely hypocritical.

She wasn’t blank in her head, that solitary place of the mind’s earnest thoughts was busy celebrating that he had ventured into her loneliest coziest secret thoughts.

As she remained silent for that briefest while and looking away, it encouraged him greatly. She was sure making him say more would rapture any bag of beautiful lies he would try to hide with the elegant beauty of so many sweet words.

The much she knew about him said he is a very analytic young man. He uses all the space he has wisely, so she used up all the opportunity to observe and comprehend the genuineness of his intention fully. The marvel of it appeared simple, as she refrained from speaking for a prolonged while but even as she tarried to let him say more, it didn’t deter him.

His confidence waned just a shade. So he went ahead to recite most of the niceties he had grown weary composing all night, for every night since the idea had come to him, and that is almost for as long as he had known her.

He had made up pictures in his mind of both of them in fantasized romantic closures and slowly he lost control of this most secretive activity of his mind, as it forcibly crept into every single one of his nightly dreams and daily thoughts.

Right there on the vast lawns of his large coastal home, that stretched onto the piled sands edging the ocean, bordering yet another end of an endless expanse of mostly calmly unstable salty water, he mumbled his thoughts out loud with the hopeful prayer that she would let her compassionate heart speak and not her wise mind. That her heart would be mindless of what her mind would warn it of and she would let his dreams come true.

He attempted to prove the truth of his love for her in as many words, as best as he verbally could, but realized it is quite impossible to ideally explain one’s love with just words. Still he felt with the so many words he was able to cramp into that brief, he had said enough not to have his sincere intention summarily dismissed by her. He hoped the much he said ought to convince her that he was only bent on making her happy and loved.

The young lady had her very own fears of not being perceived to be merely a very good act. She had hoped that the courage he showed in being so blunt with her hadn’t come from something she did or said. It was important to her that her true feelings towards him did not come across and show off so easily. He is a very wealthy good looking young man and that ought to easily make him attractive to every young lady for so many wrongly deduced right reasons. She was worried that he didn’t draw the wrong conclusion about her.

As he waited for her response with tensed up repressed emotions, she failed in her effort to disguise the intensity of the relief that overwhelmed her, as she decided to gamble her trust.

They knew they couldn’t possibly loathe themselves and must fill their minds with enough knowledge of the honest nice feelings that ridicule them. She exhaled and sighed silently, then also fulfilled her six months old wish by wordlessly embracing him in her simple sincere act of acceptance and submission.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/397851

THE STORY OF A BOOK

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A collaborative book convened by Heinrich Böll Stiftung Nigeria, facilitated by booksprints.net. Nameless strives to inspire change in Nigeria. Eight budding Nigerian writers; Rafeeat Aliyu, Fola Lawal, Kalu Aja, Chioma Agwuegbo, Pearl Osibu, Yas Niger, Elnathan John, and Azeenarh Mohammed, reflect a common vision for their nation’s future. Nameless is about the complexities that is Nigeria.

This publication aims to spark a conversation among young people ahead of the 2015 national elections in Nigeria about the future they want? The group of eight Nigerian writers worked together for five days on a common vision for their country, hoping to inspire others to think about the same.

http://www.booksprints.net/2014/11/th…

Some of the writers have a background in fictional writing, poetry, and satire, and so it was agreed that fictional stories may be more thought-provoking than another book of well-meant recommendations. This is especially exciting for the Book Sprint team as it is turn out to be their very first Fiction Book Sprint!

NAMELESS
Nameless is a city. A country within borders. A boundless space of ideas. A cosmos with realities, stark and painful, quiet and loud. A space crippled by fears. Nameless is populated. West African. It is in the minds of its people, black and proud. Sometimes Nameless is human. An idea. Sometimes it is in the past. Often times is the now. Other times, it is the future. It remains Nameless. The oldest residents know its dreams, its origins, beginning in a major stream and ending in a clear deep pond. The youngest residents know its pulse, feel its heat, its blood coursing through the veins of the country the history they know is happening right before them, good and bad and ugly. Everyone knows its hopes.

Afele is the heart of Nameless. The market place of items and ideas; the Centre where all things meet, where the blood of Nameless converges and gets pumped out into homes and heads and souls. It is the meeting point. It feeds Nameless and starves it. Nameless is ambitious. And in the third world. In darkness. With in adequate infrastructure. Darkened by the lack of electricity. Nameless is in light. Brightened by the hope in the eyes of its inhabitants. Slowed down by the pot holes on the roads. Sped up by anticipation of change by desire. Nameless is rich. And poor. And in between. Nameless is oppressed. Under surveillance. Nameless is free. To dream. Of change. Free. To dare. To live. To express. To break open the boxes in which sexuality and gender and tribe exist. Stifled and stifling. Free. To love and not to take oppression in the garbs of love. Free from the dubious bonds of religion and tradition, disguised as law. Nameless is many things. It is the present we loathe. It is the past that haunts us. It is the future we want.

Nameless is what we own, the things we are ashamed of, the hurt that binds us, the leaders who stain our pre sent. Nameless is the clarity we have. It is the knowledge that things can not remain the same. The hope that our children will only know our tears as history. It is all we must do to move us from the things that cage us to being able to fly free to a place beyond where nothing can stop us.

We are nameless.
And Nameless is us.
Nameless is about the complexities that is Nigeria.

nameless
Download Nameless free from the following sites:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view…

http://okadabooks.com/book/about/8475

Boko Haram, the novel

yasniger:

BOKO HARAM: Western Values Are Forbidden
The Review

Originally posted on Ori Yeye nii Mogun:

Boko Haram is a work of fiction by Yas Niger.

Boko HaramBoko Haram was set in the northern city of Nigeria. It started with a controversial mosque in the middle of the road. Apart from the obvious annoyance the structure has caused the growing population of this once peaceful city, also there is a serious concern about the haphazard manner in which mosque was constructed – thirty seven auto accidents up to date had been recorded, some of which were fatal. The reluctance to do something about the mosque remained heated debates among the local residents of multi faiths and the worshipers at the mosque.

Uma, a well-off Western educated Muslim who has undergone Jihadist training in Mali walked into the local Imam’s life as an innocent devout – he was trusted right away given his calm and respectful attitude. He gained the hearts of the local people and offered to sleep in the mosque to…

View original 345 more words

SINGLED OUT

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mark_resilience
Life singles out those it favours as well as those it punishes. Life is selective in no particular order, it only recognizes the willingness to exist and allows the refusal to survive.

When people choose to set aside what is humane, even when it is perceived as justified, their act of vengeance collides reason and common sense.

Those singled out and left to the lash of stone-casters exposing their ignorance and malice, live on with the experience. They most likely will associate it with not only the persons responsible but the custom or culture that allows them to be quite so brutal.

The singled out individual doesn’t only remember the horrible tune played by the bad musician but quite ironically yet logical, continue to associates it with the instrument used. The aggrieved ends up blaming the drummer’s piece for the bad tune.

Found out amidst the threshing stones,
Sort out of the cupboard of bones.
Where the situation was doctored
Fell out that one not to be mastered.

Revenge consumes like any fire
And depends on sentimental air.
An action sought to set any aside
Is vengeful if reason and sense coincide.

When anybody is singled out
The stone-casters dance about,
Exposing ignorance and malice;
Ironically with the drummer’s piece.

nameless

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/521184

DÉJÀ VU

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black & white
They always return like it’s shown,
Somehow better, on their very own.

When they were nothing, they knew.
And as they were begotten, they threw.

Just like such was predestined,
Man’s priorities shifts ascertained.

It was seen and again it will be,
Like again repeats all tides at sea.

They’ve always forgotten man feeds
Just like water kills and still it breeds.

http://okadabooks.com/book/about/8490

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/384066

MONEY AND THE MISER

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A conversation between a Miser and his wealth, goes thus:

“Spend me! You miserable clot,
So I can travel, visit and just be.
Have I not uplifted all your lot
With my coming and swelling sea?”

“Ha! See what is talking here;
Another creation grown astray.
Has making you collect near
Lost its purpose as any way?”

“I have existed so long before,
Making many, long before you.
Hadn’t my might sown more
Fright in you than you’ll rue?”

“My fear of you doesn’t keep,
That is why you I do amass.
How trivial your might heap
Just like any furniture was?”

“I taste the air men breathe,
Inhaled in its life and gasped.
Hasn’t the ease I could knit
Warm skeletons all trapped?”

money
“I don’t lodge or host guests
And don’t burden any to host.
Haven’t I seen your requests
Send errands until they’re lost?”

“I plunge in a lake all humble,
Help will come and does drown.
Had not man’s urge so trouble
His lust for his own crown?”

“Then I’ve unraveled your plot,
So with me you’re ever sunk.
I’ll keep man’s own twin clot.
After all, aren’t you precious junk?”

http://okadabooks.com/book/about/8481

IDOLS

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money
What or who do you idolize? Do you revere anything in particular or do you just go it on your own, living life by your wits?

What sort of answers satisfy you when you are faced with those questions that simply refuse to be answered?

The patience of man
Had over many ages
Given to his own land
Births of many images.

It has made gods
Of so many symbols;
Earthly made rods,
Also celestial balls.

In his long wait
His patience creates
Answers that relate
Only to his state.

The clouds of reason
Cover his horizons;
Make a sky season,
Or mystic masons.

Sight is so deceptive
That it can tilt a view,
Halo any perspective
With inspired preview.

Man looks around
And sees such beauty,
Beyond any he found
Or his own humanity.

In his natural urge
He pays respects to
Visions and courage,
Where honour isn’t due.

In his all human way,
He puts faith in those
He comprehends’ll stay;
Idolizing his very nose.

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