Penitent's Plea

No Retreat. No reparation
This is not that kind of sin
To request forgiveness is
To thrust some more in
The knife that pierced her skin

I'm sorry Father
For the hurt my thoughts might bring
A tender innocent soul
That does surely not deserve
The lust my depths conceal

To ask for mercy is luxury
I know I even remotely can't afford
Just grant me you will
Catch her precious heart
When I miss my step and fall

Dead Men Don't Dance

We held our dusty hands
Paced steadily towards doom
Ten thousand men
From different ends of reality
charging into another
Breaths heavy as bricks
Hearts dipped in blood
Destiny came to spill
Today. This moment. Nothing Next.

Darkness everywhere
No future to see
But the fading soul of a fellow man
The widow and orphan in his eyes
The gates pf another hell
And the power of god
In the swing of my right arm
His farewell was brief

My tone, thirsting for water
Stuggles to forget the taste of blood
As five-year old innocence approaches
Proudly, swingong a wooden sword
Rejoicing with a tune on her lips
"Dance, Papa. Dance!"
"We crushed our enemies like ants"

No words to say
No muscle clould harken
All I saw was tears filling my eyes
How can she ever understand

Dead men dont dance!

(Originally written 5th June, 2019)

I'm not gon' change my song

All seated.
Filaments heated,
Beaming with expectation from all angles
Cue given
One breathe is not deep enough
And does not ease enough
So with lids shut I take another
"OK, Lets do this!"

Wait!! this feels different;
These people; this stage
And wait...no, that's not my song playing
C'mon!!! not for this long.
Hey...this is not my song!
Yes...yes, I know this one
But this is not the one for today
I'm puzzled!

But who can hear
Beyond this silence and sighs of seeming confidence
Many emotions, many questions
Many tunes playing at once
Should I change my song?

Another second gone
And I'm still on poise
like Chiffon for a bullet
I wear hope for these rays
Piecing through my skin
As we all wait
I anticipate the second, 'Future'
Yes, my heart to wait a moment longer
'Cos this is not my song!
Mine has got much cheer and joy in its notes
Mine is a victor's song
I'm not gon' sing this one
I'm not gon' change my song

Bring 'em On!

One sheet after the other,
I flip each like the dollar,
They pick 'em when I'm done n
They keep 'em when I'm gone n
...Next thing, they bring me a number;
They weigh me like a scale so they've gotta be under
The top is ma spot; there aint no putting asunder
The Lord's ma support; there aint no reason to wonder
So you can, bring on the rain n bring on the thunder
Bring on some pain; It just makes me stronger!!

(I wrote this during my final year 1st Semester exam time)

Cleaving

It's that side that's hidden;
No one can see
It's that side that's bleeding;
No words can heal
Barricaded, unreached
By ordinary hands
Other hearts cant feel
That's where I'm leaning

Not thirty-eighth degrees!
Not figures!
Words don't even say
But you know, Lord
Don't leave me!
See how much I'm cleaving
On this hope you give me
Yes!...No!
You can't leave me!

Only you carry my heavy side
'Cos only you can
Yes, you can
Wrap your arms around me
That all of me may stand firm
And in you
Yes Lord, you can
Only you can
I'm believing!
Lord, I'm cleaving!

I Am Not Afraid

I am not afraid to 'lose' a battle which I wasn't fighting. And I am not a coward not to fight a fight whose victory is merely another form of defeat.

Thank You!

You taught me silence by letting me say it all
And taught me calmness by letting me do it all.
Now before another word I must weigh it all.
And before another move I'll replay it all.

You helped me to learn things I couldn't be taught
And led me to win fights I couldn't have fought.
So now I smile when I reminisce the hurt
'Cos now I see You were more to me than I had ever thought.

Thank You

I Can't Afford It

I can’t spend a second trying
To convince myself
I could give-in and survive
These schemes, distraction and things
Luring my competence
“GT, come play!”
Don’t say how much
I’ll have to pay.
Not now, not today
Anyway.
“No, you can't!” said a second, trying
My transaction.
With the complete amount within,
My mind's hands withdraw
Slowly, bowing the pitiable face,
I turn away.

“Sorry. I can’t afford it”

I can’t spend another moment listening.
They might be right,
I might consider.
I can’t afford to stay
So I walk
Away from the happiness & freedom
They offer
A good deal;
“I’m doing just as good as you,”
Even better;
"Can’t you see?
You’re a deprived version of me."
Okay. Okay, I think I agree
but still….

I can’t afford…

To steal her gift
Just because I hold it.
Then after I’ve sold it
Pretend to love her
But owe her forever.
I’m sorry,
I can’t afford it.

His grace is sufficient, efficient.
Forgiveness, enough for a life time.
It’s all mine
To receive if I ask.
How could I refuse it?
Why should I misuse it?
“Don’t abuse it!”
Was the instruction that came along.
But "We'll get even later," now lets play along,
They say, to coerce conscience.
I wish we could, more convincingly,
Prove them wrong!

But I try
To once in a while
Figure things out.
When? Why? “would I ever spend it all?”
Maybe, maybe not.
I can't foretell my lot but I'll keep all I’ve got
Till life’s December
And the next
And most probably won’t regret
How long I waited for the next page;
The Exchange.
‘Cos I really never had it all.
On a second thought
I shall always remember
My life has been bought
With a price of unearthly worth.

So I’m sorry. I can’t give it away.
Not now, not today.
I simply can’t afford it!

THRESHOLD

"Shut up!", she yelled, with sufficient rage in her tone to pass the message accurately enough not to be mistaken for a friendly command. The succeeding silence was not without much shock, immensely surprised heads stretching from study cubicles, sparse murmurs and attention drawn to one corner of the chilly ground floor of the library. Only one head seemed not to bear any expression deposited from the one-and-a-half second sound three seconds ago which had rapidly changed the mood of the room; her's. Her focus was fierce, guarded with palms on both sides of her head; she needed every drop of it which she had just gone the mile to secure. Whether that was uncalled-for, insensitive or totally manner-less would be resolved later. No one confronted her then; they either lacked courage or information. Her reaction therefore remained puzzling to almost everyone till the staff, identified by the school ID Card hung over his neck, walked in.

"I just couldn't take it anymore!", she explained. Her tone was lighter though laden with ample emotion as she swerved into a chronological account of the moments afore on the librarian's request. The library was the only place that held a promise for quiet study for students of her kind on the campus on such busy weekdays. Exams had begun for some and it soon would for others. For her, it was her finals. "These people. Same thing. Every time!" she continued, stretching out her slender hands but vaguely pointing to any particular person as she went on. Her frustration was understood by most who kept an ear for the ongoing explanation while the lad at whom she stared and to whom she spoke managed to show only little expression as he listened. Soon after, she was done. "I understand, but you didn't have to be that loud", he queried after a brief sigh. There was a brief pause then "I'm sorry, it was just so annoying and frustrating". "It's okay, just keep it silent from now on, okay?", he said mildly. And turning away from her, he said again, in a louder tone "Keep it silent people; you know the rules!" then walked away just as he came.Those few minutes and the brief yell that preceded seemed to have made a lot of difference.The small-statured pretty-looking westerner in her gray pullover could continue her study and the level of noise that had triggered her reaction never surfaced again, at least not for the next four hours.

"We all have our limits, Luke" said Kelly as they walked down the corridor leading out of the library complex. The gentle-looking, tall, African guy walking beside her responded with a smile. She noticed it and added "I know, I overreacted or something but I didn't really mean to be rude or anything ...". "I know!" interrupted Luke. "I understand. It's okay sweetie", he added, pulling her closer to him and giving a peck somewhere close to the forehead. She knew he meant it- and he actually did- even though he hardly knew that side of her before their relationship. Before, she was only a soft-spoken, seemingly smart, shapely, blond classmate whom he had found it difficult getting his mind off. But that was then, he knew better now. He knew what could make her feel like the luckiest girlfriend on campus and what could switch her mood. Luke didn't actually see what happened back there though he was also in the library; he was on a different floor; they didn't always study together, but her account of the event was sufficient and the trigger qualified for the latter. "We all have our limits, baby" he said. Kelly smiled, flung her arms across his waist where she would keep it for the rest of the walk and they walked on. They were a cute couple. But Luke's decision not to query her for the unladylikeness wasn't just a cute move , it was wise. He had his limits too.

In fact we all do. I believe there is always that point that marks a transition, "the starting point for a new state or experience" in attitude or behaviour of both animate and inanimate things on this earth and it manifest in different ways. It could be that point when you just wanna scream your fury out into the air; that point where you stop being you and snap into another you; that point when you 'tear your shirt' and make up your mind to 'face it' head-on; or that point when your dam of discipline can seemingly no longer hold back the urge to shut-up the reckless word-hurling mouth before you with the fling of an arm. Otherwise, it could be that moment you decide to let-go someone or something you love for the better despite how hard for you, unfair to the other and unnecessary to others it may seem; or the moment you realize your repeated failure is no defeat and rise to challenge the uncertainty of success like you've never done before; or the moment you begin to "flee" from certain encounters instead of risking another fall under the pretense that you would "overcome", despite how ludicrous some people may perceive it. It is that moment you realize things just can't afford to remain the same. That is the point...the Threshold.

What matters is not whether or not we could be bent till we snap - because we all could - or how we ought to react at snap-points - because we are all different - but the nature of our plasticity as visible from our thresholds, its manifestation and the events it ushers. This differs from person to person and from issue to issue. Certain people are more tolerant than others on certain issues than on others. Some have so trained or been trained that their thresholds on many matters have been pushed too far away to be reached by everyday odds and people (possibly why extreme measures such as in interrogation and torture are employed sometimes to 'break' suspects into giving away themselves or others), others are just that way by nature. There however, exist a breed that would never snap even at the face of 'fatal' triggers. Though this is uncommon, it is possible and sometimes a necessary skill to possess. But considering the average individual, every human would break if bent hard enough; that point is his threshold and it usually ushers an unusual phase, response or reaction which differs too. For Kelly, it was a loud "shut-up!" for a noisy library; for the guy in a relationship thorned by too many heartbreaking ups and downs, it could be a sudden 'it's-over-ish' statement or attitude to his partner;for the simple-hearted friend whose generousity has been taken for granted too often, it may come as a sudden display of cynicism and distrust.

We sure cannot and are not expected to know every one we see or meet so precisely as to predict their every move and reaction. However, there are certain truths we must not fail to keep in mind. Having noted that people have limits and it differs, while relating and interacting we must learn them and observe their tolerance level and threshold reaction on various issues so as not to mistakenly step too hard on their toes or be blown away by their 'explosion' even when we could predict they had had a little too much. Friends, colleagues and even strangers could act or react - and do strange, extreme and incredibly unbelievable things - in ways we never had imagined if pushed hard enough.

While we note that positive thresholds and extremes also exist, we must be more conscious about the negative ones as the results go accordingly. The results of negative triggers could be fatal to relationships. Words said and wrongs done may be forgiven but hardly forgotten. Distrust and silent hatred could be planted in hearts and would remain even if they never grow. Regret, plenty of explanation, apology, and lots of time would often go in in attempt to fix such results , however, with no guarantee things could be fixed back to exactly how they were before. So be warned!

For us, we must look into ourselves too. How easily do we break when triggered negatively and how much would it take to push us past our positive thresholds? That, indeed, defines reasonable our personality, strengths and weaknesses. Would we stick with a wrong or an unpleasant act or path until something (event) very humiliating or terribly heart-breaking gives us a push or would little experiences and friendly advice be enough to spur us to take the challenge to do the right and necessary? Are we very sensitive to offenses so much that our wall of reactions is usually only a few insulting words, hits below the belt, and disappointments behind us? Your threshold speaks a lot and means a lots too. Beware!

It's a two-way thing and matters much. It may be instinctive but could be observed, understood and kept in check. It is a critical point; the Threshold. Be aware!

Anybody?!

Hello! He-low! I know, I’m not alone. I know. But so sometimes it feels. And though I see no walls in the vast expanse of possibility’s horizon, I hear it. Echo. Calling. “Hello-o-o, anybody there. Be mad with me! Anybody?!”

Peering within for an answer, ears hoping for the bonus of a second voice paved with courage and blessed with a heart to match, too irritated to take another gulp of the nonsense with no anger, I’m desperate. “Anybody?!”

‘Anybody?!’ Indignant at the stench of decay and with vision fisted for change, men are sought and women who are only so declared by gender. Angry, equipped with exposure, ready and mad for a war to restore green-faded-into-black back to grounds which for decades it has never tread; stable sanity. Our Nigeria needs them. And now, only those mad enough can be the heroes.

“Anybody?!”

My Statue Friend

I was alone, sitting on one of the benches in the park, partly shaded by a tree-which I believe was there for comfort in such lonely moments as then. After throwing out most of the pebbles I had picked from around the bench, I looked to my left and sighted a figure standing just a few steps away. The couple who just left had been blocking it. Its shape and posture was what first caught my attention. So I slowly walked to it for a better glance. I got right in front of it and looked at its face. It was female. I was suddenly elated by the expression on her still concrete face. It was a bright smile. But it seemed to be expressing more. I smiled back, stood there for a while then sat beside her. She became my new friend. After that day, I visited her very often. She always made me smile. She looked pretty old and wasn't the most beautiful of the other statues I had seen placed at different spots on the other parts of park-which most people would rather be- but I loved her. I loved her smile and I loved the way she always listened to me, whether I was sobbing or sharing my excitement. She seemed like the only person around, with whom I could feel free to be me. So I cherished that spot and hardly again visited the other side of the park. The park was no longer a place I strolled down to mostly when I felt bored, lonely or depressed and I always looked forward to being there; about the same time, almost every day.

But things suddenly changed. One early Tuesday morning, while many were yet to fully rise from their beds, I ran down to the park to say hello like I had done some other mornings. But things weren’t exactly like it used to be. I hadn’t said many words to her when I noticed the difference. She looked the same except for the smile. The smile was gone. I didn’t understand how and why. But it was gone. While I stood there trying to grasp the mystery behind what I beheld, my mouth stood still and I felt tears roll down my cheeks. I hadn't finished what I was saying but it didn’t seem like she was listening anymore. I mean, she didn’t look interested. In fact the new expression on her face showed she may have been fed up with all I had been saying to her those other days when she was still smiling. I quickly ran down home with more tears rolling down as I ran. I was sad. Later that day, I decided to walk through the park on my way back home hoping my experience in the morning wasn’t real. I stood and looked from a few steps away; I didn’t go close to her like I would have done every other time. I really wished I, somehow, saw the smile again. But I didn’t. It was truly gone. However, as I sadly walked past in my disappointment, a guy (I think he was the park keeper) called me, “Son!”. I turned and he walked up to me. “She needed some work”, he said, adding that “she is one of our oldest. She has been here longer than all others in this park and needed some maintenance, especially on her face”. “Okay”, I replied-I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate response. He also told me he had noticed how regularly I came to the park to be with her and said “it’s okay pal. You’re free to keep coming. I’m here to keep her and everything else here safe. That includes those who come-by; and you”. “Thank you sir”, I replied, and quietly walked home.

Though I was glad to get an explanation as to how her smile had suddenly disappeared, we could no longer be close friends again. I could no longer talk to her like before and all the things I had said to her and all the time we had shared together now felt foolish to me. Why was I just realizing? She was just a statue! She was good company but she wasn’t actually there to be my friend. It was me who made one out of her. I had to move on. I somehow did and discovered she wasn’t the only thing that could make me happy. And she wasn’t the only good, listening and understanding friend I could have. I learned from the experience. I had to learn to be happy without her. I learned to live without her smile. Apparently, the power to smile and be happy was with me not her.

But what can I say to whoever took that smile away? Well, nothing actually. They probably didn’t know what that quaint smile meant to someone else or maybe they just didn’t care. I learned to see it as a privilege (and nothing to be prideful about) if something or someone else finds happiness and freedom to be themselves (and be as expressive as they want) with me or something I posses. I learned maturity.

I missed my statue friend and I don’t regret my moments with her and the things I had said to her. I believe she was there at that phase of my life to teach me the growth and maturity I hadn't learned from from anyone else.


"You can do without that thing you hold so dear to you, provided it does not form the essence of your being." - Pius Ile. Living With The Mindset of A Stranger

Still Standing

[Prelude] While some may still be counting in days, for me and many others here, it’s been three years. Thank you Lord!

A journey begun with a journey
Call it an experience, call it a story
Make it sound serious or funny
But surely
not as smooth a ride as ignorance may suggest
Men have risen and some have fallen.
Men have been made and some broken
Some bent, some straightened
Things have happened;
The good, the bad, the secret and unspoken.
But thankfully, Lord,
thankfully, I'm still standing.

Here, on grace, Lord
I’m standing, humbly,
giving you praise
Reminiscing the blue and white
that clad my naive beginning
The mixed feelings;
uncertainty how the days would pan
and how the moments will go.
All we could then do was trust.
And yes, Lord, I did.
And When time, time slowly unveiled
loneliness, scarcity of love,
scorching heat of academic demands
dressed with freezing-cold classes
And freedom;
freedom to kill my own dreams.
But you Baba, You kept me.
And I’m still standing

There were some good times, though;
Good grades, good pals,
good events and achievements.
But how would I ever forget.
How would I forget that there were times
when grades fell and reseat exam threatened faiths.
How could I forget that there were times
when hospital and hospital beds were necessity for some.
How could I forget those silent, lonely moments of depression
and the bumpiness of those emotional roller coasters.
And Lord, how,
how could we ever thank you enough
that through all these we have reason to each say
“I’m still standing”

[Note] I wrote this to as a recitation (with background instrumental: "Grace" by Michael W. Smith) at ASF (African Students’ Fellowship) UNMC third annual thanksgiving held on 29^th May, 2009.

My Everest

O ‘great’ Everest
Where art thou now
And where is thy glory
And height
which sought to thee exalt
above my God
Hast thou not become a plain
upon which I now dance
and engrave psalms
to Him, the fiber of my strength
who hath delivered thee into my hands

Where is thy voice
Quick to cry
“Alas! He has fallen again!”
Why art thou silent
Do thy words now scoff thee
Doth my victory now shame thee
Where is your crest
Where is your pride
founded on my many falls
Alas! Everest
“How art the mighty fallen”

When It Finally Counts

"It wasnt easy!"

That would be the theme of my song

on that day when it finally counts.

The elite, profound and freshmen

shall be my crowd.

Some cheering.

Some others staring.

I will walk up the podium,

fulfilled and proud.

The world will hear of it.

Men shall speak of it.

A great day it shall be called

when honour and I shall finally meet.

This Is Reality

What a way to say 'welcome'!
just one day and i already feel it shouldn't stay.
Yes. It was about real issues.
maybe a little too real.
Well,
the payback feels pretty real too.
i guess that's reality for you


Welcome to a world where swords are made from words.
poetry is a weapon
headed towards the writer.
so how could i have found it
a panacea of relief.
I'm puzzled!
maybe I'm taking it too hard
or maybe that's just reality for you.


Dear Lord,
please help me write better poems and
please, please
please help others to learn
how to read and interpret them
so that i will once again feel like sharing.
cos this wasn't a nice welcome.
but apparently,
that's just reality for you.

Petal-less rose

I cry for you O beautiful one.
I cant seem to stop the tears from forming
and eventually rolling off my eyes each time i think of you.
You had beauty that tingled men's imaginations
and aroused dreams in many.
fragrace that earned secret praises and respect
from all who had a taste for purity.
you had that scent.
even before you sprouted into the view of anxious eyes
and grasp of filthy fingers.
But then, unlike now,
they couldnt see it.
their eyes were too big to.
And you,
your eyes were too small to.


i feel for you, beautiful one!
Really.
Is this what is left of you?
Dust patterns as camouflage for your lost charm;
dancing aimlessly to the rhythm of false winds of excitement;
a bid to escape the sight of the truth that now hunts you.
tell me.
I want to know.
Is this you? now petalless.
is this you
who will someday be presented to another on the isle of sincerity?


I want to hear from you, beautiful one.
What is left of you now?
What is left to have or to hold?
what love shall you claim for the one whose treasure you willfully gave to another;
and whose package you've unsealed
and selfishly traded for your own pleasure.
do you not feel any guilt?
do you not feel any shame?
or do you just not care?


I'll pray for you beautiful one.
that you do not plant yourself in the shady hedge
where darkness shall daily clothe you.
where the stregth of your stalk shall daily dwindle
and ugly hands joyfully take a share of your remnant.

But I still love you, beautiful one.
and though you've lost the beauty i once saw
i'll still call you "beautiful"
beacuse the creator hasnt called you less.