Often too serious
The deeper it gets, the duller it reads
Sometimes, that is
The meaning remains
The reader counts loss
The flow never fluctuating
Though, the view is beautiful
Acceptance was never fully regained
Tag Archives: writers
Berry Henny
Been a while
Since the word became a message
In shame
All the same
Before turns to after
No later than the time I started
Empty credits
Empty Zeros
Over drafted paper bags
Crack the purpose
Never looking into a mirror
Always down into the river of wine and sorrow
Stressful society begs and pleads
She lost, now he wants
Mine is mine
All I have is ink and sweat
Ù rú èsé (Thank you)
I just want to extend ‘a thank you’ to all my followers, blog visitors (who still refuse to follow me), and to those who don’t give a rat’s butt about my blog. A million thanks to everyone on here. Being in the presence of very talented writers and bloggers, I can proudly write, has definitely improved my peash-pash-pat writing. I now edit more, write more, I even read more (books and blogs) and lastly, I cook more, yeah I know, I do cook, so get over it because, you know who else can cook: chef Ramsey. I know I’m not as good as the high and mighty Sensei Ramsey, but give me some credit, I cook both African, and sometimes if I am not too broke I cook some delicious international delicacies. I bet that Ramsey guy doesn’t know Kunta about cooking African food, Kinte! I say. Why should he be able to cook African food, you might ask? Umm because he is a chef, and please don’t say I am ignorant, instead call me ‘awesomely ignant’.
Anyways that was a little bit off topic, but once again Thank you all, I plan to follow and read more WP writers and life adventurers (what the hell is adventurous about this war-ridden world) Anyhow, get ready for some likes ( and by likes I mean WordPress Likes) and comments.
Peace to everybody
Uyi gone
(No, I’m still here though, so yeah, I know chef Gordon Ramsey is cool and all, but sometimes he’s a complete ……..what’s the word……oh yeah……..a complete “……….” please don’t try counting the dots)
Random Random. As a kid living in Nigeria (or to be exact in societal terms; a third world country), one of my favorite action movies was Beverly hills cop. Eddie Murphy’s comedic delivery was first-class.
Kaleidoscopic Dreams
If you may, allow me to let you in on a little secret. Where may I begin? Right here, I guess. You see, I have these several, several dreams, many of which I almost never seem to wake up from. In between these episodes, I reach far deep into where I want to be in life. And, every time I try to wake up into my dream, the path becomes nothing more than a scene of an empty room stinking with the smell of vintage books. Sometimes, I try to trick the Queen in my dreams, but her knowledge knows no bound. She told me to break, to break, I must amend, and to amend, I must seek the red bird.
So I tell her “Where do I find this bird?”
“In freedom,” she said, “A place lacking mannered discontent.”
So back there, I went.
Back here, there is nothing, but the empty smiles I receive; faces loosely cringed and plastered together with false hope. Yet again, I am filled with great disappointment.
“These faces have no answers!” I shout.
Faces after faces, I tear away and amend the missing scraps, hoping to find that one bird. The days go brighter and longer; refusing to give into the darker times.
Like a perfect time, I fall right into the sands of time. With rain falling, and the moon shining, I found her. The red bird looking down on me welcomed me with a tune. To my utter astonishment the red bird cried these words to me.
“You fool! All you needed was to fall. All along, I waited by the Iroko tree, night after night.”
After all had been resolved, I and the red bird fly back there without much haste. In my state of equanimity, I quietly hoped I had found my cure because, I badly wanted rid myself of melancholy.
So back there, we went.
Back there, where leeway was abundant, and the bird played her tune with much ease.
That’s how you feel, that’s how it feels to have nothing. Life began lacking romance. It hits you straight on your face, ignoring pace. Its a textbook tax free trick; a magnificent display of pre-planned deceit
uYi
Untitled Topic
Guided by the waves
Tamed by the past
The short season rings louder by the night
The drum never ever ceases to fade
Whistling away till all is but dry
The queen of the night knows it all
Hesitate or persist
The bite will remain
Row and swing
The wave will eventually bring face
Then, who will carry your weight as you float down the gutter of gold and silver?
Serenity, hear me, hear us
As we choose not escape from the raindrops of deceit
No Agreement
Finally, they all wanted to taste that bad magic
Sprinkled with some western dew
A formula for the envy
Hunger gave birth to a beast
A smoke screen of empty lies
You willingly throw pain at us
Yet, you refuse to answer to your own name
