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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
The freshness of a blossom
Will wither, fall and dry.
All this earth so awesome,
Ends and will all die.
Most prostitutes are normal bodies,
Hard workers doing their oddities;
Which seem unpopular so visibly,
So they can continue to feed boldly.
Circumstances they try to overcome,
Upturned obstacles making them so,
Resembling every other fleshed bone
With less hypocrisy and shyly so sour.
They are not traders selling a bodily asset,
They rent out for material gain and power
Like the more popular, with more respect;
Unlike political integrity, with less shower.
Age is not just a number
It is time and much more.
Age is a climbing descend,
And a diminishing ascend.
Age is a race with time!;
For and also against time.
One day young and on top.
next, old and about to drop.
In so many eggs
Form these pests,
With hairy legs
And little nests.
They come alive.
Into lives they saw
Like a heartless knife.
Hopes are meals
Infected in feeding.
Health it steals
With insidious seasoning.
Flee and leaves
Sorrow in clusters.
Full of might,
In various ways.
Ever theyre new
In buzzing forays.
Mail your worst,
Untrue are lies.
Come the most
Youre just flies.
Darkness feels quite empty
with nothing to see through.
These lives about so mighty
would empty and darken too.
Place of the woman is spent;
through timely cratered vent.
She’s raging in her eruptions;
in her hair raising formations.
Still her place further reduces;
within every gain she chooses.
She’s the lesser man as before,
her sex ever breeds a new woe.
Living is a trip that keeps going.
Daily it comes, always it’s going.
It is peopled, hectic, never cozy;
Fares as pests all quite naughty,
Only it’s tiny stops are a bit rosy.
Taste speech my brother,
Crave for words in reply.
Yearn to see yet another,
To see, touch and go by;
For lonely is every breather.
Sweet is straight yet unclear,
Always new with its old fare.
But bitter doesn’t ever share,
Though it is sinister but sincere,
So real and that shade unfair.
From where comes all this dew,
Delighting thoughts with to chew.
Soothing pressures that boo,
But sound frightfully so lewd.
I grabbed the wind horn I blew,
For I alone do hear it so true.
A loss I think I’ll cause you,
The pains might escape a few.
My swift scheme hardly new,
Like good cheats daring who.
Life is the full pot of new stew
Emotional foot found with its shoe.
Again and again its replayed,
Assistance not even repaid.
Acquaintance that made an Us,
Not maintained with new status.
But I heard your smile
Come across another mile.
I saw your heart and felt
Your mind like mine, melt.
I’m in harmony with you
And I perceive this as true.
You’re my friend come pain,
Or still over and over again.
It was always dark in all it lack;
All living again, though to us all,
Today it still lingers far off back
In that long night we still do fall.
These cultures that speak the person
Say an Abiku again is everyone of us.
For common reason proves a season,
That only event ended and started us.
When the cries over sharia had settled,
We ran and scattered the towns streets.
Homeless, dead and alive all kettled;
Schemed and steamed out of fair streets.
After all, a rope always starts and ends,
Then it is just after all rope in between.
All of man is birth and the dead ends,
In between is life; man is in between.
After dusk, all return to their own home.
The swines streets of our homes will then
Not be as good again to even just roam,
For the transit pen is now a lions den.
In dedication to the old residents of Rigasa, in Agabi LGA of Kaduna, who were forcibly displaced of the Sharia Riots of Kaduna; February 20th, 2000
Darkest people ever found,
A huge pistol points wrong.
If here man got his sound;
Earth, Africa is your song.
AND WHAT A POOR SONG IT HAS THUS BEEN
They get set, ready and go.
To where? God only will know.
Revolting round earthly tracks
Which knows not their tasks.
Their quests are not visible
Or even humanly sensible.
Competing with complexions,
Hairs, noses and eyes in nations.
What wins these long races
That recognizes their faces,
Will not justify the future;
For races aren’t their nature.
My mood goes up and down a mountain,
too inspired by the challenge to refrain.
Wary of the danger that’s being embraced,
so cautious of the consequence, if disgraced.
Confused at the reason why anyone must,
scared of the height beckoning my lust.
Struggling up the first ledge as I edge up,
proud to have made it up my own little top.
Further up more battles, the way is yet more.
Betrayed by falling rocks I yearn for before.
Holding on to dear life, yet another average.
Dejected by unfriendly weather and also age.
Angry to slip off the steep, rubbed in bruises.
Disappointed to lose the gained just pushes.
Gasping up yet another route should matter.
In time it comes to never prove any better.
Surprised by the like company all about
and reason enough for more than without.
Appreciation my efforts and gains deserve,
are tried and tired yet gladdened to serve.
Knowing I cannot stay forever there on top.
When and not if I return grounded from up;
Normal should I be again, only different,
with experience and lessons time can’t dent.
If I return pushed from its highest cliffs edge
or in honour received at finished times verge,
I’ll wrestle my older ages embers of last mood;
helplessly watch it win all my trophies and food.
Silly days made our teens,
sorting out our teething genes.
Over those moons, new till old,
our hormones shiver their cold.
Tasting all those many dishes;
many we met with their witches,
Others we borrowed and mended.
But lots we created and trended.
The sting of disappointments sore,
betrayal and pain and much more.
Ageing fear is sour but it is caught;
yet still we trove amidst same death.
To all morrows we cherished
that date we shared perished,
and thank it so for that spice
it puts into this new date so nice.
The mind eats, then it sleeps.
Where it sits, there it breeds.
Then it would end and cease,
Leave in hope for some peace.
Still this life ever only breeds,
If what it learns today it heeds.
Yet again we are so pained,
For life has again happened.
We are not in the least shamed,
Just yet again tried and saddened.
Joys we shared once together,
Once more is reduced forever.
What time will number and gather,
This life will tear and end forever.
When another of us breathes not,
We put their bodies in the ground.
But their life time with us dies not,
For memories grow and are sound.
In all of time and in all our lives
we will stumble on to one sure truth;
Man has nothing for all he gives.
Nothing is his but what he achieves.
His life lived is his legacy and fruit.
Adieu Little Brother.
I know I will bother
but I am rested still
knowing “Peace is still’
Sweet is straight yet unclear,
Always new with its old fare.
But bitter doesnt ever share,
Though it is sinister but sincere,
So real and that shade so unfair.
Boiling pots let off steam,
Pressured heat sweats a beam.
Merrily down a peopled stream,
Tears must decimate any life’s film.
Tomorrow will come again
With its morning and night,
Feignedly new with some rain,
In fervent dark and again bright.
Who says we are most alone
when we are with the most?
and all alone with its none;
enjoying life at its own worst?
Attempting to be on our own
we had often found its cost;
sought glories for the stone
and won prizes we had all lost.
Wisdom is the Owls,
Opened eyed it saw
Cooking sun bowels
Blurs its sight more.
Little shows the moon,
Like stars in the dark.
To hunt it glides as soon
As dusk shows its back.
The prey that hides
From shine of day
See less of the rides
And the Owls hurray.
Misty prospects in the skies
Yet this sun blurs the eyes,
While the bright light of day
Carries the whole mind astray.
The bride of shame courts
Yearnings, fantasies and lusts.
The comforts of home pushes,
Sins cold hands outside urges.
Can man sneeze or not
Or blink like it is his sort?
To run at first sighting
Or just dare all tempting,
This he never will elude;
His ways must all conclude.
Not all his wishes go to sea.
For lust, many beaches only will see.