RAW

I chase you as papers do the wind,
it knows it would never catch up
but still tries to keep up
suppliant to the whims of trajectory forces
of none other than a mix of gases commandeering
its actions and reactions.
A pupil to your iris is all I wanna be,
teach me to see with lenses curved like your brows
and whip me to shape with thick lashes
for there is no wrong to a right that doesn't know what’s left of it.
the feeling so wrong yet I want you right by my side
so let me love even if you don’t feel same
your emotions shadowed by commotions driving your train of thoughts
off tangent to its coordinate into a tunnel of unknown destination.
I know that I'm the constant with you taking different variables
and the only formula that is almighty to our love equation is permutation
cos the probability that you’d give me a chance is simultaneous to dividing by zero
which is equal to infinity after nothingness.
I feel incomplete as this piece feels bare of English
to show contrast other than complimenting the mathematics of falling
heart over head in love cos if my head was involved,
I wouldn't be caught in this dilemma.

Making meaning out of life

I woke up with this beautiful thought. It is short and obliterates any long writeup. I hope you get the intended message and live for it. God bless...

Image source: Google

Copy/words: Nancy

Punk and String

A lil’ advice for sisters;

Never tell how many frogs you have kissed,

especially if you still haven’t found your prince.

uh-un, bad idea. Can see some of you already cringing.

the number that bad? Lemme guess!! 20, 40…

aww man, never let it out…ever

cos if you do the “let’s lay our past on the table so we both can have closure type shit”

with him, well… you’d have closure alright

in the form of a greasy hair punk

who’d treat you like a string hanging loosely

waiting to be plucked and out he’d fling

lest you make a mess of a perfectly

ordered tune of dating, courting,

marriage and happy ever forever.

Now you see where the label fling came from

You always short of breath from the exertion 

and him, tall as they come moving slowly

in between hating you and loving you

and thinking “what is the best way to get rid of her” when you purr.

You see, nothing you do will erase 

the mental paint canvass from his mind

you are the sia to the mese of your past

and no surgery can replace the cut out limb

nor any facial reconstruction smoothen out

the wrinkled lines permanently tattooed on his face.

Trust me no one wants to be told “you are a dog”

but that’s what he’d wanting to use as

the arsenal to ignite the breakup

So, here’s what you should do…but don’t quote me

Lie through your teeth cos honesty got nothing on it.

Even the fairy need a lil twist in the tale sometimes

cos how can there be a maleficent if there

wasn't a sleeping beauty story.

Imperfect

I want to remember my youth

as man recalls evolution

a date of meeting high and err

This tall figure who knows

too well, what it is to be imperfect.

A higher being

who has lost count of how many times

she’s had her back to the ground

but with the grit of my ancestors stamped in my DNA,

I envelope myself in a cocoon of self-preservation

in protection from the heavy lashes that made

catcalls with my skin, singing the redemption song

as I fight the battle of wit with gravity

and still I rise only to fall

but in my defence, it made me stronger.

The days turn to years, a stack growing in their numbers

but I remain stunted wanting only to add decimals

raised to exponentials

for I refuse to be old

even if my body turns wrinkled, I still refuse to be old

even if I lose my sight, I want to see the beauty of my youth

for if age is nothing but a number

what then is time if nothing but seconds ticking

reminding me to check my biological clock

whose hand is close to the eleventh hour

and if not careful all will be lost.

Who am I if not a vessel

who's captain can steer expertly in the midst of turbulence

and bring to berth the spoils of the war with confusion

trying to gain a foothold in the market to fish for nothing

but fool's gold and sell to the highest bidder.

I want to remember that I held on, not surrendering

to the temptation of tasting the forbidden 

not fruit cos thanks to Eve, our eyes have been open 

to the game of hide and seek
if caught, the devil is the victim

but I am still a tall figure who knows 

too well, what it is to be imperfect

A higher being

who's lost count of how many times

she's had a stare down with lust who almost won

but with the words of the testament sealed in my DNA

I'm closed off to the taunts and jeers of hunger

grappling at my throat, chocking my sanity 

yet I'm breathing fine

cos I know that the journey to self is not by the signoff 

gotten from people around me

it is in knowing that even when I fall, bruise myself I am a sign for all 

to see that it is not the end cos still I rise. 

Lack of Evidence

(Singing)

Hush little fetus, don’t you cry

mama’s not gonna see you grow to child

Hush little egg, please don’t you hatch

Cos mama’s not here to keep you warm.

The Nigerian law makes it a crime to perform

or to obtain an abortion, labelling it as illegal

that I can agree with,  people who still do it are

ill from a disease that is making a meal of their body, and

I’m sick of seeing them place an order

to be served Egal to God every time they

snuff out the light and blow into nothingness

the existence from which man was formed

cos how do you explain 610,000 future you’ve pushed

into oblivion and the time you reset

the minute you flushed down the drain

the happiness that could have embraced

 joy with scalpels that tore open your bellies and

vomited the evidence of your…well let’s just say evidence

and in silence you remain 

knowing that nothing could be used against you

acquitting yourself of first degree murder as the plantiff suffered a

terrible fate which has left its attorney defenceless without his key witness.

Now the case has been thrown out of court for lack of….Yea, you can say it again

But do you hear the shatter of the broken lullaby sung by lips cracked

with no gloss to give spark to the voice that chants the melody?

that is the life that could have been the save-your heart lunged for

but no air to breathe your last…

Then you’d remember

how your baby appealed to live

wanting to see and touch your face with hands full of trust

looking to cover your mistakes with glues of toothless gum

not judging, even though you were an accessory to an act

meant only for couples…

But now it’s too late,

A statistics as the child who died the same day

you gave yours for the sake of burying the evidence

They said

They said 
"we shall bring back our girls"
girls that belong to 
them, you and me
It's been 121 days and
I'm still counting
the days to their return
like they struggled to
count the number of girls 
accurately on the Abacus
we use in place of systems.

Systems
that got states united in one voice,
led the march to match
the kidnappers mockery
of my nations intelligence 
who found all exits
but no entry into his lair,
claiming they wouldn't
use force but would rather
police the twenties and
so, it's been 3 months, 30days 
and I'm still counting
the month to their return
like they struggled to
count the number of girls 
accurately on the Abacus 
we use in place of systems.

Systems
that got nations united,
blazed a trail and
would have torched the city
if it weren't for the lives
housed inside plot 234, Bush street 
off forest road, Sambisa 
whilst we on the outside made 
a spectacle of everything but a show,
swearing upon our blood
that we are not show people.

We joined in making the sign
blew it up like Christmas banger
knocked out anyone who dared
to question it's authenticity.

we drank our fill
of a product not tested
draped it on our dps
to show our solidarity
clawed the ground from the earth
to bemoan our fate,
and cried a flood to wash
the taunts of death that
stained our cheeks..
all because our girls were
trending, hashtaged, the
breaking news that broke the
death of silence that held us 
closely to its bosom, and like
mother she rose

graced the podium 
like the dame she is
bled tears to show the
mutilated pupil resting
on the bed of anguish
screamed hoarsely with 
words empty as a barrel 
of its content
cos only those that
have done the least,
have plenty to say
But I'd say this... 
I feel we are being played
and it's a score I want settled
cos I want no part 
in this fixed match.

"Are these girls real"
or just a cover to hide 
under in place of their
umbrella yet can't
offer protection against
the cloud of insult
sweeping towards them by
the hand that holds the broom.

But if they still insist on
bringing back our girls
I'd like to remind them 
that..

it's been 2904 hours and
I'm still counting
the hours to their return
like they struggled to
count the number of girls 
accurately on the Abacus
we use in place of systems

1,000 poems from 1,000 poets. Poetry is...

Poetry is music,

Words dancing to the rhythm of the ball point

doing the moon walk across the white paper

courting the sheets unabashed like the finger that grips the pen.

Poetry is a defibrillator

Jolts the uncaring heart back to awareness

giving life to the voice that’s gone dead

to the travails of the innocents.

Poetry is a matchmaker

Binds reality to the imagination in nuptial bliss

exchanging vows with rings of similes and metaphors

making a blushing bride of the poet as the ovation sing loud.

if you wanna jump on the; click on the link below

http://wordupnaija.tv/forums/topic/can-we-get-1000-poems-from-1000-poets-in-nigeria-%e2%80%aa%e2%80%8enaijapoetryhascomeofage%e2%80%ac/

Something on my mind

I'm social phobic, I suffer from the fear of getting lost in the clutter of media platforms, so I stick to the ones that have friendly user interface. Facebook trumps all and that's where you can catch me rambling, complaining, celebrating, being exasperating, and sometimes jabbing and poking (not what you think).

You know before you post something, he ( Facebook has a name;zack) asks you this question "what's on your mind". I should probably come out now and say that I thought " This is the dumbest thing zack and his crew could have thought of" when I first saw it. Just like I thought Rihanna's umbrella was a waste of producer and sound engineer's time..but then it grew on me.

When I see this question, I pause and try to arrange my words in my head before I put them down in writing. For me it helps me be organised.. (an alien word in my lifestyle).

So today I went to Facebook to vent about the missing girls story that is synonymous to Jesus' story; it died during the world cup and has resurrected. I was railroaded by the question and was forced to organised my scattered thoughts. So I said to him, "of course I have something on my mind today zack, in fact I'd start a new blog with that title".

So people...This blog will be my own Facebook...cos it was inspired by zack , and I shall call it www.somethingonmymind.wordpress.com

Hope I can convert you guys to reading from me and not like I don't appreciate you guys that read from other parts of the continent, it'd be nice to hear your thoughts on any of the post. Common Guys! You can be anonymous and still be nice.

The Vows

In sickness

in health

for poorer

or in penury

even death won’t do us part

I'm sure you’d probably think the next line will be the beginning of a love story

but this is deeper than any root can bury

this isn't about Sally meets Harry

you know…the movie

well, I'm about to bust this joint so…sue me.

You’ve never really thought about it or should I say, you’ve never given it a thought

cos if you've...you’d know it’s like a marriage

yea, two sticking together despite all the miscarriage

bond stronger with each passing day

clasped tight in deathly embrace

knowing that the imprint…nothing can erase.

You see, the only fireworks that’ll go off will be in your heads by the time you realize that

this piece isn't about the sappy romance you read in books

but about the many homeless people you see in nooks…and (go on fill in the rest)

I guess you’ve been blown to pieces, so Rest.In.Peace.

I am not about to ask you to be sentimental

after all, these people wreak havoc that is detrimental

posing as street hawkers yet wield guns

breeding evil and growing to become cons

but I ask…who gave out their hands?

strangers at first meet, lovers at hello like

(Sing)” It’s been you I’ve been waiting for”/ and I wonder where you are/ and I wonder what you’ll do

yea! me too. I wonder too what you’ll do now that I’ve made you think about it

but first... Let’s talk about it.

You see…they come with a name tag

more often… trendy like a hashtag

homeless is the label

street is the designer fabric sewn to cover their nakedness

to cuddle and give warmth in times of loneliness

while robbing them of their childhood

making more profit in sales than their livelihood

that why bridges are the only befitting edifice in their hood.

my bad… or is living under the bridge not considered hood?.

Now that you know, what will you do if you could?

and I don’t mean the handouts we handout

for the sake of obeying the holy books

not caring if the cents will make 50 anyways

but then it would have been too late

cos street would have swept them off their feet, making sure they elope and recitals of vows

that goes like this:

In sickness

in health

for poorer

or in penury

even death will be mercy

Freebiemanic

I have been doing a lot of budget check and balance. I'm looking for a roof over my head and mehn...Landlords in Lagos are not frowning, they are the knights of gloom ( what this my two korokoro eye haven't seen). Since I'm on a budget, some things have to give and as a babe that loves to look sharp all day, err day, longer throat dey do me strong thing.

I want a car  jalope and I went on-line to check. Oh my gangster! I saw cars....but I had to remind myself; how I'd drink garri, trek to the island from the mainland and put a tag on my chest saying that I'm deaf and dumb when I run out of garri. I had to respect my old age and filter to the ones that fit my budget and also cover my shame a lil. 

But then fine things can like to chase fine people... hehehe