My quill isn’t broken. My ink jar isn’t empty or dry. On this literary journey—aspiring to be as engrossing as Kongi or as imaginative as William Wordsworth—I’ve come to realize that taking breaks as a creative is often the best recipe for producing exceptional work. Just as muscles aren’t built in the gym but during […]
This is not poetry to tell you how wonderful you have been How you have been a guide, and a light unto my feet This is not a poem to tell you about how well you have nurtured me Or how invested you have been in my well-being. This is not a poem to tell
The answer is 42 But I don’t know what the question is I have asked the the ones flirting with insanity And the ones far from the border line crazy I have asked the young and the old And the one’s whose stories aren’t told The answer is 42 But I have no idea what
We seek happiness But sorrow seeks us too We seek love But sometimes, hatred gets the better of us We seek truth But lies won’t seize from the mouth of the trustworthy We seek trust BUt betrayal is somewhere in sight We seek justice But we are fed with only an abridged version of it
In the beginning was the word and the word was without a machete or sword/ But when we read still slices our hearts through our cords like a convict on his knees calling on his lord/ Whereas, happiness is not given as a constant in the mathematical equation of existence/ Whereas, tears is not inversely
There comes a time when flowers lose petals A time when the sun makes way for the moon to reign A time when babies become like those who birth them A time for welcome smiles and goodbye hugs Dr Hakim The time has for you for us to pour out our hearts to you.. And
In as much as I detest Candy Crush requests I will accept. . . But You sending me a challenge of the ice bucket Makes me wonder if you not suffering from Fracture of the eye socket/ The truth is, from the on set, I knew you would stray from the main goal The moment
I see you with hands in chin/ In thoughts deeper than wells of Beijing/ I see you constantly run your fingers through your hair, like you now live in a world whose problems you no longer can bear/ I hear you deep sighing/ Shaking your head and clapping your hands. . .well I know what
Remember when our Relationship was like the game of Tennis/ When love meant nothing When every hello or hi said was enough When I never cared if you had a cold or cough And when you were so comfortable calling the bluff Remember the days you will pass me by like you never cared/ And
Like an alcoholic confessing his sins to a toilet bowl I’m ready to let it all out And Run my mouth like Mohammed Ali would run commentary for the Super bowl And Be rest assured that Truth will be told Be it in the scorching afternoon on the streets of UTANGA Or on Obudu mountain’s