Facts and figures,
Trips and liquors,
Happenings and seizures,
Cheers to day 29,
Next is day 30,
That’s a round figure.

-

Cracks in walls,
That’s you.
Ògiri létí,
That’s your flaw, nothing new.
Can you keep a secret?
That’s rhetorical!
Yet what was said in a cubicle,
became the headline in that article.
You expect us to be cool?
Keep your distance.
Ẹnu rẹ yóò pa ọ kú.

-

If I murder an intelligent piece of art,
beautifully sculptured from my bleeding ink
beneath my sleeves,
Is that a felony?
Felony or melody?
Come to think of it,
these are thoughts of mine,
poured into a template of stanzas and lines,
not necessarily my reality,
but sometimes a piece of my eternity.

-

Follow peace with all men,
Advice or facts,
Follow peace to avoid the den.
The den of the devil,
packaged and beautified with roses,
sapphire and pebbles.
The den of the devil,
disguised as seraphs and cherubs,
selling to you cuddles of rage,
under the duvet of distrust and disgust.
Follow peace with all men.

-

My heart laments in shattered shards,
Whispers of times missed and misspent,
An outburst of silent streams of tears,
Unheard yet obviously depressed.
The fragrance of my sorrows,
longs for the warm embrace of hope on the morrow.
Words fail me,
far and wide is my shout in actions,
still I’m misunderstood;
won’t even take a bite if you be the food.
My heart breaks,
with each piece still seeking your face.
My heart;
a beating beautiful masterpiece of scars.

-

Surrounded by lots,
At the tone of loss,
no single face saves a turn to remorse.
Lost in the crowd of frenemies,
Gyrating in the midst of thousands,
Fully guarded, yet alone.
Is it a curse?
Is it Karma? Is it an order?

-

The star guides our soul;
Is there hope for the lost souls?
I certainly hope.

-

Minimie: A mini-me

There is a mini-me,
A small yet powerful me,
A bard without a pen,
A weaver of beautiful and ugly words,
A handful, if not bridled,
becomes more powerful than a rifle.
An altar of judgement,
A seat of spoken adornment,
A power house designed to make or mar,
whatever it sets an eye on.
Housed or caged in 32 strands of defense,
Beyond the taste, it speaks thousands of tales.
Meet the mini-me dwelling in me.

-

A series : Part III
Oftentimes I cease to be.
The unsaid truth of most being,
a bottle full of bile cremated
with different flavors of chocolates.
A walking dead of beautiful
well structured sculptures,
hiding under the disguise of being
the next Mr Bean.
Sometimes I’m mean,
Sometimes I feel it’s the mode of my mood,
Again it feels in between,
Oftentimes I cease to be.

-

Does humanity still exist?
Is humanity still a thing?
In the small gestures,
A little here, someone to care,
A little there, something we share.
Beyond the race or tribes’ face,
In unity we look past all of these
in oneness we restore the hall of peace.
Does humanity still exist?
Yes, and it’s a force that persists.

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