BELOW
Sometimes life gets so rough, That all a soul wants is to venture, Beyond the cacophony of shore, Until it disappears, Into the cold quiet darkness, Where bliss supposedly rests, In a long and dreamless peace.
Sometimes life gets so rough, That all a soul wants is to venture, Beyond the cacophony of shore, Until it disappears, Into the cold quiet darkness, Where bliss supposedly rests, In a long and dreamless peace.
Photo Credits – Google When you harbor fear, The kind that you dare not share, It soon eats up your insides, And leaves your soul an empty shell, But the world sees only your plastic smile, And nobody understands.
Photo Credits – Google I am the last of the brood. How I know this for a fact is a mystery, but I do as soon as my eyes open and I become aware of the others zipping around and feeding voraciously while I can barely even wriggle. It takes some time for me to move out of range, squirming slowly away from the brittle remnants of the shell I just emerged from to a portion of our living nest…
Photo credits – Google They say it’s work, Something compulsory for all responsible adults. With long hours of drudge, kowtowing to belligerent overlords, And pay that’s never ever enough, I think at best it is, penance for a previous life of wrong, Or worse, just torture. But my table prays it never stops. Sigh! So I’m stuck, with work.
Life is a bed, Half of nails, and another half of roses red. It changes seasons, Does usually without warning, From the sweetly soothing to painful sting, Of joy to mourning. Whatever life brings, Live it still, with thanksgiving Chin up, hang in there till it swings, As it will, nothing lasts forever, so it is written. The chill of winter precedes the thaw of spring, And joy comes in the morning… Selah! Picture credits – Amity
Six months ago… “I think she’s awake now, go and get the doctor.” It was Yele’s voice. I tried to turn my head in the direction it came from, but my neck muscles protested vehemently. I needn’t have bothered; he was immediately at my side, concern written all over his handsome face. I was in hospital.
If I could wish for a daughter Maybe I’d wish for a dark-skinned goddess Always smiling, a pearl toothed ajebota One smart and svelte, or a robust bundle of human sweetness Whom I and her mother, would lovingly call Nneka, Fatima or Kofoworola