What'supReaders?

Photo by: Anjelicek on DeviantArt 2010 "Lovers by the river" You are the prayer that exceeded expectations.  The reassurance that restores my life An unknown that became my guide Soul Tears that never came to pass You're misery that never actualised  You are life, my life. To be by your side , life and death the same My beautiful hiba .

Petrichor . " Petrichor (/ˈpɛtrɪkɔːr/) is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek petra (πέτρα), meaning "stone", and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology" .  The smell of the earth after rain, gently watered and restored back to life. I was thirteen when I learnt that it has a name. Earth smelling so soulful that I would pinch the earth and eat it. I knew better but that was the effect the rain on earth would evoke in me. It would take me back to a blissful childhood at the playground of my childhood compound. The rain clouds would gather threatening and the dust blew in playful circles.  All the children would be present and accounted for at the painted concrete compound that doubled as carpark. Mothers would stand at the caged balconies wagging threatening fingers at children who refused to come in. We would stand on the narrow concrete playground and sing rain ...

It was the year the rains came early. It was preceded by a cough that never ceased until it deposited into the cold embrace of death. Kulu first felt it in the while sitting at the back of a taxi on a hot day like any other in Gwayumba. Both the driver and his friend sitted next to him would be dead before the rains came. She quietly prayed to God to hold on for, she wasn't sure she could take another loss. She pressed her thighs together and tried to suck in her stomach. "innalillahi wa inna ilayhi rajiun ya Allah please keep this one for me" she prayed. The pain went as quickly as it came and the tears flowed freely from her eyes. As the taxi pulled up near her street, she brought out a 200 Naira note from her bag and passed it to the driver who was chatting away with his friend. "No o, its 500 Naira" "What do you mean? From Layin Kasuwa to Unguwar Rama ...how is that five hundred?"  she retorted hotly. "Pls I don't want to fight wi...

We write stories that we know. Stories about ourselves, suspended in beautifully woven-lies and coated in humour, as if to dilute the vinegar. Stories that we hope would unburden our minds and heal our scars. But that is the beauty of literature, taking the mundane, the ugly and giving it a new life, capable of bringing joy. That is how we write. Self-therapy through our re-imaginations of reality. Different renditions of the same cry, re-telling of age old atrocities, and we continue to pay respects and tribute, because we all know it take bravery to confront demons that plague a poet and manifest in words. 

Photo by: Unknown Is he celebrating you like you are him?  Not that it matters, But the daughter from my mother told me so  She say "baby love needs gratification"  Whatever that means... Is he loving you baby like you do him ?  Because life told me so I need my left and my right hearts to beat together. a centre stable Is he with you or you grasping him ?  passion with arrogance Not that it matters, but I think of such things Especially when you call me at night  I want to say "where your lover dey?"  because I know say love sabi kill person for inside i no wan make you die for man But I con talk say "shey padi boy dey scatter your brain"  You lie, tell me yes.  Make you no die for man Abeg . 

"Education is simply the sum total of experiences"

Like the trees that grow on mountains Roots, pushing through layers Formed in hardships  Unplanted but libert- ain   Like the trees that grew on mountains With only faith secure You too, will grow out of this. Growth in pains, tears to water. Will colour a land plain  Like the trees that grew on mountains The ayah . You too, will heal. 

So I cant sleep once again. After I pray fajr I often struggle to go back to sleep . Today was no different , I could hear my husband rummaging around the kitchen at 5.40am and I went to him and said "I cant sleep..." he replied "have you tried closing your eyes?" (Please who wants a mildly used middle-aged man I'm not using?) Anyways it got me reflecting, what the hell is keeping me up? Here are the 10 things my mind is up to when it ought to be getting me some sleep : 1. Should I use Twitter a little bit ? No, the blue light will keep me up longer. Or is it UV light ? I should Google that. 2. Lol, imagine I am trapped on top of Kilimanjaro.  I wonder how it formed . Maybe there is a video on Yt about it. 3. Lmfaooo! (Recalls) when one fool tweeted it sucks being a baby , "imagine your foot is itching you and they're busying giving you milk". 4. I love baby slander. Them little crack heads  5. I am fully sure that...

You've gone so far from home.. Your mother doesn't feel familiar You've let your heart beat to the seductive tune of the invader All the while, Sitting on your father's grave . Orphaned in oppression, Singing values of valour, valour of your coloniser A lot like eulogies to your freedom.

The first time you kissed her , She swore she loved only you And would do so for the rest of her life. When you proposed to her, You believed the tears were of joy. For your love  Your faith grew. Love you never knew . And you grew to trust. In her gestures, her innocent moans Her snoring. You fell in love  And you never knew Or suspected A few years later , You would see her speak of love  Like she never did you, She had eyes only for him now You never knew She wrote about him , Like she never did you Did she ever love you like him ?  When you look in her eyes You never doubt she will die for him  She never did you... But it warms your heart  As much as it scares you  Because you know now  She loves this you And give away her life To this little part of you Forever That you gave her. To make her mother...

"It can never be me" Until it's you . Don't be that person.

I respect the opinions of lots of my close family and friends . But lately I have come to the conclusion that for me to live my life , I cannot let the fears of others hold me hostage. Especially in their own beliefs . We can be so similar but so different and it's important that you remember that when taking crucial decisions. I have always viewed my relationships , romantic ones, as a personal and private affair . So it's always been so sensitive for me to ask of anyone for any advice unless I'm near rock bottom. The reason why is simple ; projection and sentiments. People most often project themselves (and without much context) into your situation and work from there. The only context they have going is their own similar but not the same experience and subsequently inject their fears and reservations into your decisions through their counsel . Truthfully, you end up feeling uneasy about their conclusion yet so guilty if you do not accept their counsel if you had be...

Photo by  Lisa Herbert You can't burn bridges then ask me to find my way back. Like where all good things come from; Twitter, I read that you cannot heal in the same environment you got sick . Never appreciated the value of that simple statement  until I woke up choking , in absolute seething anger , at family mostly .Because although I have mastered the 'outside people' , here I am , the 'outside people' to my inside people . And there is nothing I could do . My mum said never to use the word "hate" . It's ugly and cheap and so absolute . So here is my unlearned lesson; that loyalty must be given to family . No ! Loyalty , respect and all that is wanted must be given to those that earned it . 

Painting by Lucy Harding I'm so mad at myself  That despite the foul stench of decay  That I'm emanating I'll still choose you  My murderer  Without thinking  From a heart not beating  Because of you  I'll still choose you Death over life Without you  Over me My lover. In death.  You.

Conscience: A place where guilt goes to die,  Guilt : A final resting place of shame , Shame: The resurrection place of ambition, Ambition: The dying place of morals,  Morals: The incarceration place of innovation,  Innovation : The side effect of growth , Growth : The incubation of faith,  Faith : The fool's capital,  Capital: conscience final resting place. 

/ ʃeɪm / Cambridge: If something is  described  as a shame, it is  disappointing  or not  satisfactory; an  uncomfortable   feeling  of  guilt  or of being  ashamed  because         of  your  own or someone else's  bad   behaviour;   loss  of  honour  and  respect; to make someone or something  seem  not good by  comparison. I like shame. It keeps everything together.  To locate shame ,  you have to look underneath your ribs where your heart lies.  Here lies my shame  My people love to tell a story;  of morality,  of culture,  of values; additives to my inherited shame.  My shame in being a woman, afforded to me by my birth.  shame on my growth ,  the shame on my liberation from my psychological bondage.  my cradle to the world.  ...

"Argue with yourself and win"

You have died  Without your soul Ever- leaving your body .                           -me too 

I stood on the queue  in the bank impatiently but almost immediate had to take several steps back .  Body odour. Something so despised but probably the biggest indicator of socio-economic status. The man in front of me was radiating a head smashing odour. There were two others in front of him, they probably stank too...who knows? This was overwhelming. But immediately I regretted moving away , because a closer look at them and I saw life . Their skin dark and burnt by this ungodly sun, yellow-y eyes , bald. All three of them as if they had planned it . Their clothes shabby . And it dawned on me . This is the look of honest men , who had actually  earned their living . Literally depositing their daily sweat as investment for tomorrow's bread . Not like me, with my crisp notes in a neat white envelope in my fancy bag. Money I hadn't sweat for . Probably more than they earned in a month . That's my weekly stipend . There , for the first time I smelt my dis...

Love me now , Before I realise my worth                      -a short tragedy