DESPAIR

The most important truth
is most often the simplest.
Hardest to follow through,
yet spoken of most easiest.

We give our best as we must,
yet the best are never enough.
Every new trail is endless a lost;
it likens despair we ever sought.



WAITING

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.

HOLD ON



Holding onto you
and all time stops.
Very smell of you
fills my many cups.

Sweetness all about
sorrounds the still air.
Breathing in and out,
makes leaving to fear.

I am full but not fed.
I’m held in my breath,
that hasn’t yet paused.
You’re my living wealth.

WHAT’S MAN?



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.

WHAT’S THERE IN LIFE



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?

I AM RIGHT ABOUT US

“I should’ve only had to say;
Should’ve only said it once.
Human court have it’s way;
on my list of sins it’ll pounce.

“But no, all will not be forgiven.
You were never seeing past it.
In your own eyes it is a given;
I’ll always be that girl, ain’t it?

“That is why the amputations;
it’s necessary to let go all trust.
Someday you’ll see the options
and see I’m so right about us.”

Inspired by @sthrnwriter

EVERYTHING IN TIME

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.

CRY BABIES


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.

RACIAL RACE



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.

FREEDOM TO LOVE OR HATE



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

CULTURAL HABITS

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.

SEX IS LIKE

Sex is like nothing else.
It is as nice as it is not;
it is reasonable no less
and useless too, of a sort.

Knowledge of it is bliss
Ignorance of it more so
Sex would largely please
It is much like breathing
Once started, no stopping

BEST FRIEND

Man’s best friend stays near;
always beside him and here.

Dark or bright as any mood;
happy and sad, bad or good.

True friends live your life too,
just as it is; all of it with you.

BEING ALONE

Being alone is not quite good;
Could be the worst thing ever,
Like wearing an empty mood.
Strings to whoever, whatever;
Attaching time and life itself,
You find, hold and cut forever.

STONED MAN



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.

RICH BAD STEW



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.

HEADS OR TAILS


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?

SLUG


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.

BREATHE



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.

BUDDIES

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.

TOMORROW






And come
It home.

That window;
Our mirror.

It makes
As wakes.

Another date
For fate.

Another day.
Oops, away!

Lets pray
And say.

The morrow
Will show

Us about,
Run, shout;

Shoulders high,
Tomorrows here!

.

PROSTITUTES


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 TIME

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.

WHERE A MAN GOES



Where a man goes
So points his toes.
And what he knows;
Not all what he does,
Would lessen his woes.

All around are foes,
with yet another ruse.
Up any tree he throws;
With a beat to choose,
Could be his mangoes.

CRAZED

My time is solely mine, mine alone

I walk it and work life on my own

My life is not mine; it, I just have

Long as I prowl safely and behave

I am not mad, just insanely crazed

Like all the many about, just dazed

I live somehow, alive like it matter

I’m only here, ignored like dirty water

STRONG


Mine has come to this one thing,
appreciated and loved for my sun
was, is and will be in everything.

As able then stays man’s proud son;
strength is always but much nothing,
it lost out as strategy ever again won.

SHADES OF SHAPES


There’s many things to say,
in more ways as you may.
Look you see could just be
not what it seems to be.

That smile in bright shades,
simple with warmly shapes,
could be as dark as any sin
or quite simply not as mean.

WOE MAN


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.

MIGHTY FLEA


And where are you off to
you little mite, busy so so?
To gather as you go through
borrowing to hide down low?

This wind that carry you
draws a ring as you sing.
For one that reigns so true
you live shorter than you bring.

Your bite is so you can live
like all who prey on fatality.
How true it is, in all who live,
That death is but a formality.

TALE OF TWO PEOPLE


Up on the plateau they reigned,
Their own old clans so formed.
Hidden on the heights plain,
Living in plentys much rain.

They welcome guests well,
As prosperous strangers tell.
Soon dominance is so evident
And for the sold they want rent.

Wherever time is so kept,
Such a place has it since left.
Two is never again one unless
One is expunged and no less.

Identity established so firm,
Fights a war not for their farm.
Bullying their co-farmers yield
With poised spears and a shield.

BITTER


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.

PRESENTLY OLD


The buds blossom is past glossy,
time passing has folded its shiver.
Age wither and dry up the rosy
in certain preparation for shivah.

The past left without all of its,
as the present live any place else.
And now, always alone like this;
How then can the old ever bless?

Dryness of thirst spoke its waste
as all bare feet thorns had hurt.
Peacefully alone, wait for fate
with memories in a bodily hut.

When time has consumed its old
as water passes under the bridge;
This route for all, floods any hold,
water must pass under the bridge.

MY FRIEND


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.

ASABA


Her entire short life is dirge like,
In her daily rounds so silly alike.
Abnormally brained, genes made;
persistent dirty joke, harmless made.

Asaba is the neighbourhood fool,
Nurturing moods into a little fool.
The gloom that is her poor mind
Caresses our passions, so we mind.

In a puddle she plays herself by.
Scaring kids as she staggers by.
Gracious mums use this apt fear.
Life cannot be all good and fair.

THE SLEEPER


Why’ll this air carry a plane
And not carry me alone too,
Or indeed a speech in its vein
Across nothing instantly true.

Why will a big city of a ship
Sail oceans leagues in depth
And I sink in a pool as I sleep,
Like many tiny pebbles too wept.

I see no answer in practice
Or reason in their pattern.
Where a dream does surface,
There my sleep shows concern.

WOUNDS OF THE WORLD


Visible cuts we saw,
Deep set and so raw.
It had the pretty torn
And the beholder run.

Worn with its pride
As any true bride.
A scar from a war
Is like a lions roar.

Not on Everests peak
Must anyone do seek,
For even on all hills
Are these worlds ills.

The baby that cries,
Steals away and tries;
To be his own parent,
Where he is only sent.

That spouse out back;
Behind one Holy Ark,
Leaves the same vow
Yet remains, some how.

They; as many, are
So near and not far.
Wounds made bold
In this very world.

RACES


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.

DAMNING


When the heard child laughs
because he or she is yet to learn
that the humans hate bathes
itself with a very muddy hand.

When the grown up man
looks another in the face
with the sympathy he can,
yet his steps he retrace.

When the means so abound
and situations led are bred,
so that no bread is found
or all the many needy fed.

When the minds of people
work in a pattern so futile
to their every tiny single
breath and existing smile.

When the scale is tilt
in favour of the weight
of the gold and its guilt
not honour at its height.

When the support falters,
for man chooses to urinate
in his salads and waters
on the earth he can’t imitate.

When all that exists
speaks for the destination,
then man opens all the exits
and runs out in damnation.

MOUNTAIN


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.

DATE


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.

MASSES


Where the eagles dare
the vulture does fear.
With weaklings there,
Patience stole our lair.

Anthills grew where
colonies learns to bear.
That beach is so near
when a lost ship cheer.

SO?


Let us play a game of trading places,
pausing triggers of mud slinging tongues.
Viewing with glasses that mirror chances,
We’ll find all toes fit the shoes it belongs.

ALONE


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.