A warrior’s mind houses horror
and his scars, badges of honor.
Skies are the same everywhere,
with vision following anywhere.
Surely everyone somehow lies
and also depend on likely ties.
Everyone does like something
and as sure, dislikes one thing.
When life takes its final bend,
time tells everything at its end.
Eternity’ll run its long course,
leaving nothing just as before.
If anyone tried to live forever
they would have a joyless life;
with iry loneliness everywhere,
like some timeless cutting knife.
Life should be richly bountiful,
not boundless and too plentiful.
Living ought to be just that once;
long enough for a good chance,
to sow seeds in rare difference.
I know a vegetarian Tiger,
it’s called the Ocean Sea.
It’s fearless in its hunger,
its anger is there to see.
It is only tame if it is fed;
only trusted when calm.
Only feeds those it held,
and never raises a palm.
Land is in pieces not peace,
when bold young are restless,
and wickedness is all at ease,
when righteousness grows less.
The majority make less noise,
and choked silent by choice.
A visible minority is in riches
and as inaccessably famous
as dreams, jobs and wishes.
Why make of beauty what it is not
or make falsehood the fact it is not?
Why call a name where it isn’t loved
or hate for reasons another is loved?
Why share in the logic for blind faith
then deny love it’s heartbeat or breath?
Why refuse to be forced to behave
but relish in the spoils cruelty gave?
Why make the most common sense,
rot away until it becomes nonsense?
Who said darkness is scary?
Tell them to close their eyes.
For even hell’s molten firery,
where its demons melt as ice;
every dream in its hot wealth
comes in blind sleep not light.
The fear of the unknown
is the beginning of wisdom.
Searching more of the known,
does not guarantee a kingdom.
Things we know the most;
those bothering us the most,
are those that worry most of all
and they always do make us fall.
We know where the future is,
it’s in front somewhere coming.
It is impossible for any to miss,
except those dead, lost or missing.
Like time, future moves in form,
and awaits all that come its way.
Since time doesn’t have one form,
so future too makes in its own way.
When we arrive at an old age,
time is quick and we are slow.
Everyone else only see a sage
though we only still just know.
Arriving at a renewed bondage
when all tell us what we know.
Thinking becomes so plentiful,
time is there but quite useless.
We are burdened to be useful,
yet challenged to be needless.
When life is richer and needful,
it gives notice that it is pointless.
The Cockerel that thinks
the sun rises to its crows,
knows not a pig sty stinks
and it’s for a meal it grows.
The moment you follow,
you are surely being led.
You are like your shadow
very much like the dead.
You’re never too old to grow up;
you are never ever wise enough.
The reason why people grow up,
is for the passage, which is tough.
At the end, life is a passing thing
and it’ll always be like it has been.
Like many meals with everything,
life finishes like it has never been.
Baba, mutuwa na da wuya?
Mun amince duniya da wuya.
Father, is it hard to die?
We acknowledge hassles of the world.
With life’s wards always roams a lie;
We all are reproductions of its mould.
Choking in the presence of its grip,
The inscrutable crux not familiarized.
Do we sit out the stages of its trip,
Like your peaceful love that wasn’t recognized?
From the weep the baby wails
To the whip’s lashes life hails,
These tastes we own and inherit.
Say oh father, is there better to merit?
Continue to rest in peace father.
Wealth as Splendor in the tale
is named Humpty as Dumbty.
Felt Dumb and Haughty it fell
and pieces became its mighty.
All it has ever owned is Spent,
as all the King’s men would tell.
Majesty of many castles’ wealth,
drank to weeds in ruined health.
Every moment is spent not used,
as opportunities taken or refused.
The passage of time is an escape.
Every lifestyle ever takes a shape.
Daily strifes and expectations,
wake people up every morning.
Then returning to same situations,
people live for joy and its mourning.
Most times we feel things,
and sense them well ahead.
Many times see these things
but don’t avoid them instead.
The signs will be there for all,
like we stumble before we fall.
Doubt stammered before it spoke,
like there’s fire where there’s smoke.
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.
Past is never where we leave it,
it goes with us anywhere we go.
Past is the invincible scarred bit
that heals, remain and still show.
Like a past, everyone has a scar
that help make ’em who they’re.
Experience is in the difference,
for stereotypes aren’t evidence.
Those who habitually generalize
would end up telling general lies.
Time crawls to us, not away;
and it catches up in our way.
We’re never its chasing park;
like a Wolf it finds our track.
That time waits for none of us,
is more true than we choose.
For it does edges towards us
and always ever looming close.
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.
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.
There are thin lines between
knowing what,why and when.
When would set up the win,
after What has been chosen.
Why doesn’t come as often.
Choices come fast and quick;
settings we don’t make or pick,
Daily life or death situations,
all demand instant decisions.
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?
Death must be so beautiful,
it’s the dying that’s frightful.
To lie in the soft brown earth
like a twig that hasn’t a faith.
Nothing more to say or prove
and the grasses waving above.
One’s head listens to silence,
in unending endless patience.
No yesterdays, nor tomorrow.
Gone is all life and it’s sorrow.
Forgotten life, forgiven time.
To be at peace, in darken fine.
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.
gets in the way of niceties.
But then certain instances
maketh their opportunities,
without warning or any ease
Taking the ride through life
feels like towed backwards.
Seeing clearer for your self
after you heard your words.
Living likens owing the Gods.
We can’t change what we can’t;
it’s a fact of life that outlive us.
No getting on or off as you want;
complain your wish, life is no bus.
Go with the flow of ticking time,
taking all the decisions you must.
Spend well your currency of time,
no change left when we die at last.
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.
Who decides when we die,
for what we chose to die;
ideas we select to defend?
After all is there a greater lie
than the world is only one lie,
when its many lies has no end?
Living is one steady struggle,
the world is one dying jungle;
with logs in eyes to condemn.
We’ve all the time in the world,
until we finally leave the world.
There is nothing more we own,
Than the time that is our own.
All the time we have is limited,
as our use of it is complicated.
When we live out time in ease,
we live and age as we please
There comes a time in one’s life
when everything feels repeated
Knowledge is old and ages ripe,
desire spent and drive defeated
When wait feels like a long stay
as all reasons appear conceited
Then comes the moment in life
we’ve had enough, are dispirited
Allow me to call your attention
to a most despicable situation.
One that people ever question,
but it’s only actually in reaction.
All alive extend their creation
with survival acts of procreation.
When choice create a situation
then crime is truly the abortion.
Those who love the most
tend to regret the most.
Those who may feel lost
are mostly not yet lost.
At the end of a life round
surely all is lost not found.
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.
Chasing the sun into the sky
always ends in one life time.
Only dreams can actually fly,
for aspirations merely climb.
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.
You are not special
You’re quite ordinary
Another human misery
Alone inside and solitary
What you make of all this,
That’s what you hit or miss.
Every single day’s dawn
feels like I am a pawn
stepping out alone
A seed dies too like a dream,
already buried to simply grow.
All seeds dropped into a stream,
aborts their dreams with the flow.
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.
If stones could speak
and use words like us,
show us what we seek
reveal what was a loss
Will we believe them,
listen to their wisdom?
Or maybe just like them
we are stoned at home.
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
Marvelously watery is life;
Forever dying wet
Miraculously timely is life;
Where ever met
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