There Was A Country

By Mayowa Odewoye

It is written: "the Glory of the Latter shall surpass the former" but it is pitiable that ours is a Nation that reverse is the case.

Once upon a time twenty naira (our highest denomination then) was equivalent to thirty dollars. Once upon a time education was almost free to the university level. There was a country that had a people of different ethnic but united in heart. There was a country that was made up of people of different tribes but respect for human hood made them united in purpose.

The people esteemed and upheld the spirit of unity in diversity which anchored the growth and progress of the Nation. The leaders buried there tribal and lingual differences to bring about quality education for everyone who named the name -Nigerian.

There was a country where the official government vehicle was Peugeot 504 not the one we have today where government officials buy cars worth millions of naira whereas millions of people live below poverty line and are starved to death. There was a country where snakes can only be found in the deep forests predating on preys unlike we see today; snakes are found in government offices swallowing millions of naira. There was a country where monkeys can only be found in the jungle eating banana not like the country of ours today where monkey now steal millions of naira -I'm still asking where the monkey will spend the millions.

There was a country where money is kept In the Banks Vaults not like the country of ours today where money is starched in abandoned flats, in the farms and buried at the back of houses.

There was a country where people considered the antecedents of strong and impeccable character before voting a candidate but ours is a country where the value of character is a thing of the past. People are after what they call 'stomach infrastructure package' they sell their four years for 2cups of rice and a sachet of oil. Ha! Those in authority see it as their birthright and do anything to remain in power. They glory in they hardship of the people, they thrive in the poverty of the masses.

I want Nigerians to wake up from their slumber. I challenge Nigerians to seek character from candidates not experience because those who have experience have failed and they keep failing.  With this, I know the glory of the latter shall surpass the former.

Thighs

(Soul Poet)

When weight of life
Bruises & Colds my heart

I ran to you
Like a troubled chick runs
To mother  hen.

On your thighs,
I found warmth and panacea.
_niyeric9518

Thighs of a damsel heals more than a pill and alcohol

Aunty Mimo.      Scarredpoet _

Aunty Mimo! Divine' unsung mother
Last bender of mortal's morality
Chief custodian of earthly ethics
Holiness commander of the highest order

Songs of mimo! Mimo! Mimo!
We lay at thy tender feet
Remover of the specked eyes
While a log lays seige in hers

Seller of the Divine's chosen Aso Ebi
The Heavenly fabrics fabricator
Aunty! Can we get you the divine's omo?
For a map of oil graces your Aso Ebi

Aunty Mimo- Mimo implies holiness
Aso Ebi- A group cloth worn to celebrate
       special occasions
Omo-  A local detergent

New Eve {sex doll🙎🏽}
.
Years have begotten ages
And ages baby-showered strangely beautiful civilization
In the garden of Eden men parked the vehicle of their sanity
To ride the bicycle of wonderous insanity
On the road built with hocus-pocus animalistic civilization
.
Years have begotten ages
And these ages breed beautiful animalization
That enslaves men with purgation of strange civilization
.
Alas! It's a new leaf with a new Eve
Adeiu to you labake,
Ashake! Let it ring in your father's hears
Your paid pride price I want
To  pay electricity bills.
.
~Footnotes
Ashake, labake =yoruba names
*Balogun David Tolulope

STOP ABUSING POETRY
(Shakespeare cries)

Each time we meet
I could feel the spill
The sound of gushing
Blood from his core, rushing

Shakespeare looked away steadily
As his room turns higgledy-piggledy
As proclaimed poet cheats us clearly
They abuse poetry willy-nilly

Are you stupid?
Of course you're
Desist, before I pour you acid
You ain't a poet don't be high

You just match rhymes
And tag it poetry
Do you even know about rhymes
Internal and end rhymes in poetry

The preface is the AABB you know
But where is the sweetness, the likes of assonance and Co
It's not that I want to show
Just to cob your acts little bo.

You only know the AABB
And that's all you know
You don't even know this piece is ABAB
Yet you claim you know

Don't mistake rhymes for poetry
For it's not
It's only a part of poetry
So, desist, stop being a thief and a slot

You had better be a rap artist
Than abusing poetry
How can you be an artist?, you bloody arsonist
When you don't even know rhythm in poetry

Just park your things and leave
For creative minds to speak
Leave, please leave
Never look back, peep or pick.

©Akanbi Taofeek 2018.

*TO ÀDÙKÉ, FOR VAL*
.
I'm on one noisy trip, to odyssey
Where fine silks and silken crowns
Are tendered on the braided hair
Of a hillside girl
Where love is placed on a thirsty tongue
And eaten with wild fruits
Where I can sail away with time
Without rhythm or enchantment
But if I'm long gone
Plough the land, a shelter for my grave
Over the contours of my love lines
Then, I'll gird my bare heart
In the hollow of my eternal bed
To celebrate deathdays and not val.
.
George O. Victor
*TheGhost👻*
— To the lovers.

*THIS IS LIFE*

The sun has lost its pendant
While trying to shun the stars in pride
The moon is grieved as
The Pentecostal sounds of chattering hopes
Are but maimed
The crickets songs are devoid of thanksgiving
Soul beggars are riding on mares
mere wishes are thrown aloft in anguish
A seers thoughts are but unseen
A priest vision is blur, paradise is armed
The patriarch is obsessed with water
The kingfish wants to soar high
The winsome tides have refused to be ebbed
Mere anarchy against a loosed world
Joseph's dreams are asleep
Our Dreams are on a voyage
But the sailor sank.
This is Life!.
.
©GEORGE O. VICTOR
*THE GHOSTwriter*👻

*BLANK DIALOGUE*

Ma'am can you hear me?
Are you angry?
I can feel the holocaust over this telephone
Over these halt-lines of vocal circuits
I can feel your reddish mood
I beseech you,
Break mercy on this hard head
With your tender mildness
Like august rains on oak leafs.
Hello? Can you hear...
it's wavy!...Hello!, Hello!!

#Poetaineering
#ipen
©The Ghostwriter👻

*CATHOLIC FUNK*

We sang and rasped and coughed
As the communion touched our sterile tongue
My heart uncoiled and fell
Like notes from a drunken guitar
We breezed away from the priest
And held on to our saintly robes,
The darts swirling in our clenched fist
Like immiscible fluids
Then an hymn blared from the cubicle
With voices like whispers from gossiping angels
"It is well with your soul"
As if answering death, I whispered, "Me?".

_Happy sunday_
*©The Ghostwriter* 👻

*DAWN*

The sky had veiled itself with a sea-blue shade before Alani woke up that morning. The sinister cockerels had bathed dawn with coo-like dirges, and the sun in its bleached majesty loom above the lucid clouds unsure of which way to set. He groaned as he turned his side on the cozy mat he lain on. He stretched out his arms so hard that his bones cracked joyfully, "ahh". He sat up and bent his heads craftily to the sides and yawned, a pint of carbon dioxide oozed out of his unwashed mouth. He looked around his hut as if looking for something or someone that's not actually present to greet him. He sighed and got up, staggering about the room with his hibiscus colored eyed slightly opened like a drunk. He reached out to a clay heathen pot just behind his raffia basket and gulped a sumptuous amount of water from it, rinsed his mouth and swallowed. Satisfied, he jarred at the heavy wooden door and pulled the log used as a lock behind it away and opened.

The misty morning welcomed him with a new chapter of an history book. Children, girls in their pinafores and simbi hairdo, with lunch bags, madefrom local raffia to match and boys with their ever haggard but smart shirts tucked into their over-sized shorts with marching khaki sandals, chatted happily to school. Farmers with their sickles and nets walked with zeal down their farm path with their illiterate but hardworking children trailing behind them like blood from a menstruating woman. Alani looked on and sighted the long chaotic queue in front of Iya Dara's akara stall. Few successful men with their bicycles wink at innocent girls coming from the stream, with waterpot sitting graciously on their choral heads. These sights bore him, he shook his head, and sat down on the lawn of his hut, bare-butted.

Just two moonless nights ago, he had come home from the farm tired and dehydrated and his mother had caressed and massaged his body with shea butter but today she has gone to rest with her husband leaving her only son, Alani, to sojournthis world alone. Tears well up Alani's eyes and it fell in tiny rivulets down his cracked face.

He remembered when Maami, as he fondly calls his mother, had bathed him herself on his ninth birthday and had opened floodgates of prayers onhim. She'd sold virtually all her clothes to buy goat meat to make a delicacy for him on that day. He remembered when she'd run to the village priest when he was sick and cried bitterly at the priest's feet to help her son. He'd watched her face then and felt something he would never understand.

Likewise today, he couldn't understand why God should take all his family and leave him in penury."Everything good will come", he whispered and entered into his hut again and that was the last of him.

Often times when I go to town, to ilè olùjí, I still see strange inscriptions made on the shackles of a broken hut. I can't read them but I have this feeling they're directed to me, like this man that always visits me at midnight on every moonless night.

.#iPenAaua#History#Memories#Creativity#TheGhostWriter👻
*George O. Victor.*

AMAKA

Amaka,
So I was right, when I
pointed at this bread fruit tree
two years ago, and
told you that that was how
this love may end.

I told you that it may fail
and fall unexpectedly,
like the huge heads
of those Ukwa fruits,

You smiled then, and
holding my hand, your
chiseled pair of honest lips and innocent eyes
reassured me
that that was not possible.

But we no longer talk!
You neither return my calls, when
you miss them, nor my texts,
when you read them.

And just  yesterday, I saw
you, holding a man's hand.
He was tall and looked rich.
And he was not me.

Sanctus

2014

I know a nation
Where the labours of the heroes past are in vain,
With barrels of empty cultures

I know of a heaven
Ruled by corrupt gods
An aristocracy of bigots
Amalgamating significant segregation,
Ethnic collage on ethnic collapse.

Once upon a nation
Of flourishing nature,
Bond by splendid culture,
Grew on the wings of civilization,
Now crumbling in confusion
Should we still blame the colonial masters.

          ©Nathaniel stella.

*ABÈÈNÍ*

Abèèní
Refuse me a final refusal
For when máámi sings my oríkì
In smouldering sounds
I will rustle into a romantic haze
And dance the steps of the blazing tribes
Of Ilè olújì, with your hand in mine
Cradled in a responsive grasp

Abèèní
For color and lustre, I beg
When the veil of Ilè olújì uncovers
Our interlocked legs
Wave your tender hands to the children
Armying after your gorgeous lot
Wave until their legs are free
And their heartbeats are settled.

Abèèní
If maámi welcomes you
with a twitch of an eye
Embrace the dust with your subtle knees
And kiss her embroidered legs.
For in her grace, our love is primed.
Abèèní, tend the weeds around báámi's threshold
And strike the mould— A thousand times!.

*FOOTNOTES*
Abèèní- A yoruba woman's name
Ilè olújì— A town in Ondo state.
Máámi—Yoruba name for Mother.
Baámi—Yoruba name for Father.

*©George O. Victor*
*Ghostwriter👻*
©2018

*THEY TOO*

They too, have lain amongst dreams
And perused, in tears, and in a streamlet
Down the torrents of retreating hopes
For the fading face, of happiness.
.
Oft' times, their flattened chuckles
Are accompanied by orchestrated sounds
Of hungry stomachs and rotten foliage
Of infected water.
.
They too, have implored for mercy
Lying on church lawns
Whilst their kwashiorkored legs kicked feebly
And their heart begged for a warmer home.
.
Their footprints are synchronized
On the path of the supple stream
Where they sought their dreams
In a bottle of liquid hope
.
Their hollow eyes
Traveled In plunged requests
To the hearts of the natives, at the market square
For a dime, to quench the belly
Of its humdrum
.
Their hands, held in an accord
Coveting each other's dream
And renouncing desolate days
Ready to flare a good bye
To suffering.
.
Perhaps one day, they would say
I would buy mother a silken towel
And look askance at her ashen face
And tell her the world is void of love.

If by the morrow
We wish upon a shooting star
And lay our heads against the earth
We pray to be deftly sewn
To the wild things of yonder realms
.
But now,
They will scavenge the refuse dump
For a meal or two
To last them a million years.
.
*The Ghostwriter👻*

Let me
.
I know from thousands of cuts you bleed
These cuts turn scars and scars repeat the deed
I know millions of pain has been deposited
Into the bank of your memory
.
I know you are the priceless jar broken in a millions pieces
Shattered with turbulence heart crisis
And just like Vasily Perov paintings, your face preach beauty
And tragedy
You are burdened and you wallow in misery
. 
But darling,
Let me be the glimpse of light your darkness
To lift up your burdened poor soul
Let me be the one,
To make you feel like Newton when he discovered gravity.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
Drunk_poet

*Penalty of Godhead*

The old man's bed
of straw caught a flame blown
from overnight logs by harmattan's
incendiary breath. Defying his age and
sickness he rose and steered himself
smoke-blind to safety.
A nimble rat appeared at the
door of his hole looked quickly to left and
right and scurried across the floor
to nearby farmlands.
Even roaches that grim
tenantry that nothing discourages
fled their crevices that day on wings they
only use in deadly haste.
ousehold gods alone
frozen in ritual black with blood
of endless tribute festooned in feathers
perished in the blazing pyre
of that hut.

© Chinua Achebe

Paradise lost

They said!
Creation's myth breathe
Clay we were at first
When He moulded a form
'nd breathe life with a missing rib

I ask!
Did I request thee,maker
To mould me Man,
Did I solicit thee!
From darkness to promote me?

Akunlegba! Akunleyan!
Your will for mine
Your image for mine
I am nought, but pawn in your hands

Ye that sedated Adam
'nd removed a rib from him
Without asking, "May I? "
Giving him his "Achilles heel"

All powerful and unquestionable
I was but nought before life
Why give life, while death lurks behind
Why choose "I" to be a pawn in thy hands.

Akunleyan &Akunlegba -Yoruba philosophies that explains human predestination

#scarredpoet_

*RIPE PLANTAIN*

All seated in class awaiting the next lecturer for what will likely  be a very long  lecture
Just then that moment arrives that moment when you look in somebody's face and you just can't look away because  you will be looking away from that thing you love,just like plantains, the ripe ones, the ones that have become so yellow with dark spots scattered across its skin.
You notice her face are as spotless as the ripe plantains when you remove its cover and you  fantasize because you know her body will be like her spotless face beneath her dress .
Just then ,she  almost  caught you staring at her but you look down and your eyes meet  her legs, her legs are fine and curved  like putting two plantains in an horizontal position.
She cuts through your heart as easy as knives cut through plantains.
You wish she will talk to you, you wish she will be yours one day, it hurts you ,she doesn't notice you,you know her dogs name but she doesn't know your first name, it hurts you so much like hot oil jumping out of the frying pan and landing on your skin, you should run at this point but you can't your eyes are focused on her ,your plantains are still frying ,you are ready to endure pains just for a moment of joy with her.
Then you hear her call your name, you are shocked,you look at her face again,your heart melts and becomes soft like the ripe plantains you just took out of the frying pan, she only wanted to ask if you had two pen ,you didn't but you gave her the only pen you had, you are a fool but what does it matter? ,your hearts feels this joy like that first bite of plantain,so sweet that you have to close your eyes just to savor the moment ,you encourage yourself that all hope is not lost she could be yours one day ,this plantain must never finish ,you want to continue enjoying it ,The ripe plantain; the beautiful omowunmi.

  ©Lami🔥🔥🔥

*WHAT WILL BITE YOU, WILL BITE YOU*

My biggest fear is, not getting perturbed by anything. I
just want to live for others. I just want to be the
cross carrying our pains and turmoils. But as well, I
want to look beyond the sky and see a sort of
happiness as bright as the morning sky has yet to
see.
I better begin to start caring…
But for what
There are many, many things- they are biting
If I get perturbed, then, I see my self-awake
And if awake, they may not bite me after all
After all I should be more rational than…
…they are
And knowledge, they say, is power
You know, there are not many things, many things, that are wrong with
introverts.
That is for an introvert. That is if you ask them. There is nothing
wrong.
I don’t even believe anything is wrong with me. My eyelids are blinking
up and down like a confused shadow now, telling me, am conscious,
am not sleeping. In fact I am hungry, and if I am hungry, what next?
…If I am hungry, then I am awake.
A hungry stomach should not even know what sleep is, not to talk of
describing it, or worst still, in big grammar- HAVING A CONCEPTUAL
KNOWLEDGE OF IT.
I am not used to getting perturbed even if the family roof is ablaze- there should be nothing wrong.Even if the President is on an escapade from his destabilized country, may be sick to make it light, I don’t still care. That is politics, it should be politics, what is my concern self. They are eating the money, and I am here reading how they are eating the money. And some other big bellied ones- the opportunists, are even waiting at the door post of his life. They are waiting for him to kick the bucket, that is, to die. And they will continue from where he stopped, in his fight against corruption.
You all know what I mean…
Something like-
Recovering TWENTY BILLION from a building One building..
Not just a building-a room
In the building
And people are dying in hunger
I heard some other recoveries were made, from graves and all that
blah blah blah.
I don’t even care is the worst of it. May be I am beginning to lose hope in our leaders. That is, if at all the hope is not all lost. Many lost hope, but they are still fighting their course.
WHAT WILL BITE YOU WILL BITE YOU
Even the roads to my very school should not even be a trouble for our type.
If they like let them come and repair it. That is, if they care.
And what if they don’t care.
Then, everybody can go to hell.
You see, many things have been stationed at various stations to station our lives at a station. To make it simple. The arrangers of life themselves, those guys, they know very well that there are many things that can bite.
Even those roads. The roads I care little of. That is, the ones they should work on, if they care, they can bite the hell of red blood from our skin.
***
Now, Imagine my very self, skipping past the busy car pack, waving to
the Okada man. I am still confused if he was deaf. Someone was
pointing to my direction. Then he turns, and starts coming. He made
me remember our popular slogan in school *LET ME BE* *COMING AND BE GOING*. You know, some times that can be the joy of being a student, experiencing life in a way that comes once in a life time, and later you will be surprised you did such a thing.
He stopped by the way, rode towards me.
“ Oga, were you dey go”
I stood still, pierced through his eyelids, I was seeing stupidity, I didn’t waste time telling him that.
“Where else I dey go, young student like me. Abi una get factory or company here, for this village”
He carried me any way. Money should be the heaven he so much hungered for, that very moment. I thought as much
“ Oga abeg fly if you fit fly” my lips was shivering.
“ Oga, hia, fly go where, for this road”
The truth of the matter is, there was nowhere to fly to. Wet, red mud was in fact waging a holy war against the Okada. It rained. I was late to school; the repercussion was bright as washed white ceramic tiles.
Something better might be the morning sky.
In fact I was late to school in a way that made me wondered if it was not better trekking, than taking the okada, plus the transport fare.
All the repercussions, I thought of, rained down on me as expected, as a typical frustrating rainfall will do. I thought as much. Now, they are eating their money, and I shouldn’t be reading and watching them eating the money. But shouldn’t my voice be heard, if i continue to cry. May be one day the sky will come with a better hope.
And I am even crying now, just because I have been bitten. Bitten by that good for nothing, bad, muddy road.
It is my road, your road and our road. What binds us, binds us very well.
I have just learnt to cry. You know, an introvert shouldn’t be crying, about a poor road, what concerns him.
What will bite us will bite us, if we don’t do that for which we are
human- that is to shake our body, and talk and scream. They must
hear our voice.
Even if we get bitten, at least we will be satisfied with our effort. And
we won’t cry much.

WE WON’T CRY MUCH...
© Ubani D 2017✍

there is an empty room in my heart
an endless space for your lifetme art
the door is open day and night
please come inside and see the light.

.

May i request you to stay and rest?
be my honorable and permanent guest
i will do my very best,
to give you everlasting happiness.
.
Your simple smile can wipe away
all of my tears and anxiety
but sometimes i'm stupid and crazy
i need to learn your sincerity.

.

If there is unfading loyalty
teach me how to serve you faithfully
just erase my doubt and fears today
If somebody will call you someday
and if you want to walk away
it's my honor to set you free.

.
my greatest dream to love you more
will remain true forevermore
my heart will never ever adore
anyone but your footprints left in the floor.
.
.
Floor in my ROOM
february 6,2018

©️S-poet

*EMPTY*
He walked into the empty room
Without even a knock
Neither did he ask for permission
I allowed him
Cos it was empty for quite too long
Thought I will get used to his presence
But then
He walked out
Just the same way he came
And till date
That room is still empty
Just as it was before
And well secured now.
    *Amiable.... ✍*

Tell Me

They tell us in sacred grooves
We read from sacred books
Mortal clothes for Immortal gowns
When we breathe our last air

Tell me a tale of heaven
Ye with the esoteric eyes
Build me a castle on earth
After the fashion of Angels

I hear of a great banquet
A wedding with a risen Lamb
When the earth ceases to breathe
For those that walked the narrow way

But alas, I have always loved Asake on earth
Is there love in heaven, as it’s in heaven?
For I would love to walk her by the aisle in heaven,
Just as I had done, on earth.

#Scarredpoet_

*A poem about sex dolls*

Omolanke [Dolls]

Days of creation were but six
Epilogued on the seventh day
Beautiful crafted! My handiwork
Fill and rule the green's surface

Baba baba agba told us these
By the shores of the evening firelight
Watched above by the ageless sun
Before our timid bodies found night's utopia

Maami only told me of the Eve
But I know of her seed's seed
Aduke, Asake, Amope,Aduni
Even Lalonpe the heavily breasted maiden

I have even tasted on those rainy nights
Of Lalonpe when her moans in ecstasy
Rivalled the deafening sounds of Ara
And her juices flowed like Agbara ojo

I remember the rhythmic rhythm of our thrust
The crescendo of her heart beats as our
chest kisses each other in sensual bliss
Lalonpe! Eledua crafted you well

I hear of another Lalonpe
Oyinbo mannequin, the life deprived
Mistress of the sons of Ajantala
Omolanke, my seeds shall not flow in you.

Scarredpoet_

Footnotes
Baba baba agba - great grand father
Maami-Mother
Asake, Aduni,Amope,Aduke- Yoruba names (female)
Ara-Thunder
Agbara Ojo-Erosion
Oyinbo - white man

DO YOU
~soulPoet

I thought about you often
I want to look into your eyes

And feel the warmth of your touch.

I went to dream every night hoping
To meet you in my dream.

When it rained, I wondered whether
We're walking in the same rain.

When it snowed, my heart
Arches with yearning for you.

I wonder if you yearn for me too.

I wanted to ask, I wanted to ask you
If you felt the same way about me.

Asake! Do you?
_niyeric9518

©2015
Contemporary poem

IFE

Today
My mind sings a lullaby
Not to lure you to the place of sleep
But to lead you to the place of Love

I will build you a castle of words in the air
Hanged by no magical thread
I will spell your name IFE!
on the ancient silks from persia

I will stand by the gate of ile-ife
I will walk the roads of Eko-ile
Preaching your tale, even along
the banks of Osun-Osogbo

Ife! Aduke might trump you
In the battles of buttocks and breasts
But trust me, my head will find
Peace on their sumptuous grounds

Scarredpoet_

Red Festival

Oh! Pretty damsel
Fair as sunshine
Glorious as peony
Virtuous as Virgin Mary,

I yearn for ;

Your backside that drunk men

Your bosom that sweet every eyes

Your red lips that emit lust

Your dove eyes that
Hypnotize my soul,

Oh! Pretty damsel
It's red festival
Won't you be my Valentine?
_niyeric9518

©2018
Soul Poet

👉 *"If you don't love yourself, you cannot love others. You will not be able to love others. If you have no compassion for yourself then you are not able of developing compassion for others." - Dalai Lama,*

👉 *"Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive." - Dalai Lama,*

👉 *"When the power of love, will overcome the love of power; the world will know peace." - Jimi Hendrix,*

👉 *"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." - John Lennon,*

👉 *"Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart and the senses." - Lao Tzu,*

👉 *"Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together,but do so with all your heart." - Marcus Aurelius,*

👉 *"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear." - Martin Luther King,*

👉 *"There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love." - Martin Luther King,*

👉 *"Love is the strongest force the world possesses and yet it is the humblest imaginable." - Mohandas Gandhi,*

👉 *"We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love." - Mother Teresa,*

👉 *"Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls. A joyful heart is the inevitable result of a heart burning with love" - Mother Teresa,*.

*F.O.G* wish us all happy valentine day.Let Brotherly love continue(Her 13:1).

Dear anybody who cares,
I hope this letter reaches you in time
Before the beautiful silver metal kisses my hand
And the crimson red liquid makes love to my skin
I am sinking
The population of voices in my head increasing
Seems like every minute a new voice is born
My mind can no longer process the random words they speak
It can no longer fight back with positivity
It's settling in the negativity
The silver metal over by the kitchen counter calls to me
Like the forbidden fruit called to Eve
These voices cheer me on
I'm drawn to it
I'm gradually becoming a puppet to them
I can feel my will slipping away
Help me!
Please

© Khaytee

Time flies,
When I was a chap,
My heart softens like the newly harvest wool;
I've no delight in hate
My attitude picks little fault
Which my memory never retained.

As I advance in age,
My memory long for adulthood;
Adulthood of ego,
Ego of self-own pride,
Pride for breeding hatred;
Hatred of the unknown.

                            Adulthood welcomes me,
                            After whispering at me for a decade.

Scores of moon later,
My taste for childhood increase
I began salivating for the impossible, to and fro.
Then,
I remembered have gotten to the bridge of no return!

©Taiwo Daniel

In the house of Ajala Onimori mori
There I have seen ladies of different backside
Devouring milk out of my manhood
Arousing sensual feelings
There they shake their buttocks

After my departure from Isanlu-Orun
Upon my arrival on planet earth
It was even more beautiful
I saw tempting hips
Along with ripe juicy mango

Standing firm in the body of this diva
My body taut
My john-thomas wiggled
But then our civilization master came
Telling us Olodumare is faulty

They have brought us new divas
Exactly a copy of Olodumare's work
Uhmmm; omolanke I call it
Built to satisfy man's erection
With a purpose of controlling humanity

Eemo wolu enire lo
Tis but an innovation of science students
Mixing zombie-ism to humanity
All for the sake of pleasure
Unto us; a sex doll was born

But have you seen my sexy Silver?
Adunni-Ola from the land of Ekiti
Whose body kills my imagination
Her juicy mango enough to warm me
Yet you say I should divert

Do you know I love it thick?
Yes! I love thick ladies
Perhaps you doubt me
Check the Kogi diamond I once romanced
Her thickness not a contention

Oh ye omolanke; how will you sensualize me
When I crave for Silver body
Tuah!!! I spit out this mess
Oh ye sex doll
You shall never drink from my seed

    Ogbeni Hercules
(21st Century Storyteller)
Write this to criticize sex doll