To Father.

When life’s pendulum lingers near
With it’s churning waves rattling my sail,
It’s thorn and edges
Scaring my view,
When my compass fail
And I lose sight of the shore.
Show me thy star,
Be my guide.

When my sun loses heat
And photosynthesis deems me unfit,
When my eyes grow dim
And I lose sight of my dreams,
When my steps fail me
And my fear becomes king.
Put my feet in the Jordan
Propel me with thy wind.

When I lose my ropes
And my sanity flees,
When expectations mock me
And I lose my place,
When my world becomes crazy.
Be my rehab in view
Help me know you to be true.

When the love I cooked comes undone,
And its taste sprouts bile from my very form,
When my fear truncates my strength
And from the cup of shame I drink,
When my ruder betrays me
And in the sea of doubt I drown.
Show me thy light,
Show me hope.

Dear Father,
Be my guide.


Inspired by John Keats’ Poem (To Hope)


Where I come from


(Sometimes when a child is born, they say a relation has come back or they just name the child after a relation that once was.

Remember that time when Zechariah and Elisabeth said their child would be named John (The Baptist) and people around kept telling them that it wasn’t meant to be so since they had no John among their kins.

So this thing is everywhere. )

Where I come from.
I am from that part of Africa where ancestors come back from time to time;
Where children may be parents and parents parents parent;
Where Iyabo’s, Tatyum’s, Kayum’s, Nnanna’s and Enem’s reign.
Sometimes they come bearing their names so they are never forgotten, like Onma, my Mother’s Mother.
Gender is not a thing; my sister is my Mother’s Father.

From where I come from,
I am my Father’s Mother,
My Mother’s Mother
And sometimes her husband.
I am them, they are me.
We would never be forgotten. .


Becoming a Be

A daily grind, a daily push
Go lower, shovel in, twist and turn
Hurry up, the seasons turn
Dress up, feign the fun,
Fake till you blend,

To be is all that matters.

Theater one or two?
We choose the best to prove.
All actors on stage,
Do till you outdo,
At the end it’s just a play,

But, among is all you require.


A weakness

I have a weakness for writers,
They breathe life into words,
Capturing moments, fueling your wants
Leaving you in awe
As you lay, panting for more.

I have a weakness for photographers too,
They make time stand still
And hold a million stories in their frame,
They unveil histories
And give memory a face.

I have a weakness for musicians,
Like the Theoi Mousikoi
They weave their mystical web
Into the very core of you
Leaving you open and undone
As you sway to the rhythm of their enchantment.

I have a weakness for them all.


Once every three months

Once every three months
I feel it’s waves,
Like a flood is in it’s wake;
A tsunami
Wrecking my reasoning
Tossing caution in the wind.
Once every three months
I feel it’s heat,
Like fire and breeze
I bask in it’s Sun.
My senses renew speed,
Colours seem more coloured
As I become antigravity.
Once every three months
I come alive
Like a chandelier I cast light,
I hit the eureka at every turn
I could run a marathon on and on
Once every three months
I fall in love
And i love how the Grammy feels.


My dear Wordsmith
Break this barrier of silence,
Let your utterance spring life.
Tell me our story,
The future your mind creates,
The mysteries we would unravel,
Lands that would make Columbus marvel.
Tell me about touches;
Touches that untangles answers
And awakens ambers,
Moments that unveils clarity
And dispels obscurity.
My dear Wordsmith,
Put an end to this curse your silence brings.


Have you seen your child?
She stands stranded on life’s way,
Stumbling with dreams too heavy to lift
As Asclepius hides his face .

Have you seen your child?
She sits at Hygieia’s gate,
Crutched, crouched and cramping
Hoping to find her home.

Have you seen your child?
She sits and waits,
Sekhet trails this route they say.
He who tumbles in lays safe.



You are,
A painter’s touch
The spring of existence
A sculptor’s hand
The root of creation
A poet’s word
The psalm of David.

You are,
The beauty of a broken branch;
The mockery of perfection.

You are,
The courage in Daniel;
The bravery in David,
The strength of a thousand warriors,
A ray in the rain,
The dance in Jehoshaphat.

You are the reason the sun meets the Earth in an endless horizon.

You are God’s brush strokes.

Start Again.

‚ÄčWe had moments that took to the wind,

We had laughter’s that got lost in the storm,

We had aspirations that sunk beneath the currents

We took to the waves in the wrong direction

We made choices that pushed the shores further away

Now we drown in our doubts as our lungs struggles to hold unto life. 

If we could float up to the surface and just start all over again,

That would make a difference.