All is never ever as it is or well,
even in Satan’s strictest of hell.
There is always the weird sort,
who make of goodness a sport.
Gratitude is the right attitude;
it always gives some latitude,
that will lift the down trodden,
make out fertilizer of its rotten.
Once was a rich man
with a big spoiled family;
he lived an unhappy man.
He wrote his will
and he put in a pan,
stamped with his seal.
After he had died
his whole family met
to mourn and all cried.
His will unsealed
and then it’s torn up
as they merrily mealed.
World is the baggage that matter,
life is the manner we carry it on.
Time is the passage and ladder,
age is it’s numbered mile stone.
World is a mission we’re tasked.
Living is the tour we are allowed.
Time is our tenures unmasked.
Age likens a sentence awarded.
I am a dreamer,
not in my sleep.
I am the winner
in good upkeep.
Lurking so near
in my mind’s liar,
an unending tale
also fitting to tell.
All thoughts are,
But dreams are,
firm virtual forts.
Dreams carry on,
never do end later.
They’re once upon
and also ever after.
Seconds sprint, minutes gallop,
hour is a walk and day the trip.
Daily lives make everyone hop
and the long jumpers are cheap
People do choose to live forever
and make their lives last longer.
Every single generation further;
a rebirth, new and yet another.
What’s man, what’s he about;
some mystery for figuring out,
or another thing that will rot?
Same man’s masterful reign,
growing in loudly seen fame,
repeatedly bursts in old pain.
At the end every single man
makes his wishes as he can,
not walk a fixed single plan.
Grown ups’ dream in sleep
likens children’s living faith.
Man’s thought is ever deep
like the child’s love is neat.
Trust has a short life time
that outlives only childhood.
Every man lives within crime
and children learn its mood.
When the mind’s worried
and the heart’s disturbed
sky turn mainly blue daily;
like oceans also too wavy.
Sun’s glow appears burnt,
moon makes a sad afront.
Lonely life looks abandoned,
its sojourn feeling condoned.
Sad and unhappiness is cold,
all things turn blue the world.
After all what is there in life;
only sleep, wake, sleep again?
What’s there in the living hype,
but bits of joy in a pond of pain.
What’s it to keep and defend,
just come and go as we came?
What’s to have when it all end,
when dust and ash will remain?
How can someone so smart,
turn out quite so stupid too?
How come someone so loved
could turn out quite so cruel?
There are ever circumstances;
and ever always consequences.
As there’s timing in everything,
are also reasons for everything.
There is everything for its time,
like everything in its own time.
Home is where I am;
it isn’t anywhere else.
Home says who I am
and my current place.
Home always has me;
all of me, as I present.
Home ever keeps me;
in all my most recent.
Home has become me,
and keeps mine safest.
My home’s here to see;
most real in its truest
Do you know nothing is yours?
Yes, nothing is ever really yours.
Name what is certainly yours,
one thing that you know is yours?
Nothing in life is actually yours.
Surely not even your name is yours.
We’re suffering and call it living;
right where we remain seething.
The reason we’re slowly dieing,
obviously is our own choosing.
This torture is of our own doing;
and this enslaves our reasoning.
Every day we fire up the boiling
and yet dish our all the blaming.
What colors are people really?
It’s been a race thing, isn’t it?
Always been a contest surely;
ran all through time, ain’t it?
The sun rises to make a day,
moon smiles white at night.
Color of life shades our way,
every life is as dark or bright.
Admiring success from afar
is a very popular past time
which inspires him or her
who strives over time.
Be advised that success is;
not about luck or the man.
It’s simply behind him is
a stick and a woman.
It’s common in law as said,
that ignorance is no excuse.
For lots, knowledge has paid;
for much more it will confuse.
For what we claim as ours
is not as we acknowledge.
As ignorance brings chaos;
surely as much knowledge.
Aren’t we all citizens of earth;
firstly simply humans beings?
Sure as we’re free in thought
we’ll love or hate some things.
We’re too different to be same,
too alike in ways that’re insane.
So the expression of our tastes,
merely make up our many faiths
All people act like little Weasels
Pretend Beavers and tiny Seals
Their selfishness is quite gifted
He who is told sorry is cheated
All relationships are personal
Nothing human is impersonal
All Life is an act as it is meant
No one should tell you different
Everything that has a beginning
most surely will have some end.
It is logical and simple thinking;
one with proven enduring trend.
The much that’s made and had
will at some point all be waste.
Timeless happiness will be sad
as every world ends in its haste.
When last did you’ve a habit?
It just happened on its own
or you toiled and worked at it?
Not the filthy things you do
like smoking or biting nails.
But those tiny trivials we do
Like Indian nod; only they do,
the Negroid’s sense of Rythym
And the Caucasian’s damn ego.
Within and outside every being
is the good, the bad and the ugly.
It is true of every single entity;
be it inanimate or alive or dying.
Nothing more is fitting naturally.
Eyes liken windows to the head
and the mouth, likens the door.
As open eyes daily enlightened,
the closed mouth the more adore.
Why you dey stone me with eye?
I dey chop my own, no put eye.
This our country na turn by turn;
you chop your own, na my turn.
I swear, if God dey vex true true,
this country for don talk true
Wetin we chop dey our teeth.
Las las, all of us join be thief.
Over time immemorial as now
people see beauty as so rare.
Searching as far as they know;
to the world’s ends and near.
But beauty is quite so common,
it’s here, there and everywhere;
in all seen, enjoyed and put on.
The beautiful is simply so near.
Painting by @Falopebrhyme
I am only human after all,
for I am made up as such.
To grow as high as my fall,
and to make of it as much.
My failings are mine alone
and my victories are for all.
I’m damned bloodied bone,
for I’m only human after all.
When you pray for rain,
It says a lot about you.
Certainly your brain
has some sense too.
You doubt some science,
and have a lot less faith
in logic and conscience;
as in birth and death.
Your two most important days
are firstly the day you’re born
then the day ending your stay.
Both you don’t know or own.
When Hate resembles love, it doesn’t.
Especially if Terror claims to come in peace.
Is it possible, loving anything you mustn’t,
Abhorring the whole but not it’s piece?
Then that peace you want wouldn’t; Not ever be yours, even on short lease.
Though we’re unsure of a future,
We are definitely not concerned.
Our minds groomed in a culture,
Taught to believe all is confirmed.
The familiarity makes us all dizzy,
In likeness we cannot forsake me.
For love is not suppose to be easy,
That is why it is love not just like.
From whence were you birthed?
The very bowels of ships berthed.
And who had anchored your pains?
Same he that adorned me in chains.
Who housed and fed your pride?
Same he that took away my side.
Who sat you in hard carved wood?
This same master who eats my food.
What lessons were fed to you?
That’s written on my scars too.
What journey have you come from?
One that make up my physical form.
Were you aided and groomed?
Indeed, burdened and tooled.
Where you shaped to a good fit?
Truly, trained to be as yet unfit.
How were you held in place?
Planted, till I lost all my trace.
Surely you tried to branch out?
Rooted trees only get to sprout.
But you grew on and had aged?
Certainly, I’m still not as caged.
So break away and come home.
I’m home in the cage I’m borne.
But all your gains is not evident?
Yet I am surely and truly present.
But you are a readied crucifix?
Yet my time lost I did not miss.
What time it is, is relative;
to just any moment in time.
Though age is cumulative,
it only slowly keeps in time.
These hands that tell time,
only do what we make them;
steering, without the helm.
Cladded in possible beauty,
cared or cherished no less.
Tendered with flowery duty;
still a Lady bugs regardless.
Stand for something
Not be on a fence
In my defense
Have an opinion
Not give a care
Men are the price;
Women their prize.
Time the receiver;
Life, ultimate giver.
Living is a long race
Setting its own pace.
You start with a prize
before paying the price.
Inspired by @kelechi_eo
Wisdom is broad;
Knowledge is narrow.
It’s like getting a broad,
Takes wit, fits and sorrow.
April is here,
and we’re fools again,
to the mystery of life’s gain.
Magnolias and hail
sweet longer evenings,
fills our time with musings.
Easter on the way
seduced by daffodils,
wonderfully time always refills.
Inspired by @gotnomoniker
When daily Life is Too Hot,
Who cares if home is a Pot?
We’re born to make Breath.
We are all groomed to Fight,
Schooled, cooked to Adapt
Nigeria is a pot of Rich Stew
Badly cooked by the rich Few.
Toss the coin all your life,
Balance on edges of a knife.
Whither roam your own course
If life to you is just a lone farce.
Are you not lost in thought;
Like the canine who fought
His own tail round and round,
With its very head not sound?
Old men always dream up wars,
To send more young men to die.
It’s been one of their flaws,
Will always be for it’s no lie.
The young always follow them;
For it’s their forte to be gullible.
Today’s young men,
Tomorrow’s old men
If you refuse to leave,
Surely it will still cease.
Because the night is dark;
The sun ensures it is back.
In ka ki ka ji bari,
Lalle za ka ga bari.
Domin dare ne sakon;
Rana ne mai bakon.
It’s the most misused word
Which says it is quite right
When stakes are put on hold.
It gives up it’s life given right,
To demand, take and be bold.
Shades own place in the sun;
Like the shadows that will run,
Is hidden from its glories glare
With the truth they all must bear.
There’s a thing about every action
That speaks for every perception
And it tells it’s own unique story
Consciously archived in memory
Any wretched tale of denial,
Of disdained failure and trial,
Will reveal as a dogged bout
Of one toughened life time,
All worn through but not out.
As we moan in our far watch;
Nagging our peopled conscience,
We miss out entirely that the catch
Is made up of all our overt nonsense.
A large rich island just drags on,
Not for the size it must always hug.
The bulk of it lost the very reason
Why rich minds will make it a slug.
Long nights had passed by,
I still stray into the dream.
My tears had filled my try,
My beaten milk isn’t cream.
Donkeys’ years pass on along
And made me an ass all alone.
Donkey’s oversized head belong
To the horses my very fate own.
The will shade appear itself
And I can not be too careful.
In crossing to my other half,
I find I am the Zebra’s fool.
Story behind the picture here;
I know it all, at least most of it.
Whole of it is all written there,
It was not told to me, I saw it.
It’s actually too glaring to miss
Happened right before my eyes
Where fell my toad holder piece
A truck ran over toad and keys.
O little, little, tiny ant;
Do you wonder who I am,
Standing big moving plant,
Always about to do you harm.
Why does time keep ticking,
never waiting or ever stopping?
Why does the air fill our lungs,
and we live, where we belong?
Why does mother work still,
while she looks like we all feel?
Why does she walk the street,
daily giving humility a new feet?
If you have a head ache
are you sick in the head?
When a body part break
does it mean it’s your end?
Take it a day at a time
each day again as bright
Chin up for it’s again fine
Just pause, chill and breathe.
All buddies have a thing they do
That comes with time and trust
It is something they share too;
Something that can not be lost.
They could be more than two;
With more bodies than it cost.
Still they share something true,
They can’t say for sure or sort.