Balance that teeter

Why the world with wasteful lights

By the sun, by the moon

At dusk dawn the noon.


Why the waters part their plights

By the lakes, by the seas

Gushing soil and gorging skies.


Why the poles break the flights

To the east, to the west

Up north and down south.


Why we walk seasons

From winter to summer

And spring us to autumn.


Why life elutes like filter

And keeps the balance that teeter

The mountains and valleys, its clipper.


Roses are cheap without swinks

Smiles are bleak without weeps

Who is god without beasts?


Who are you without me?

Beseeching war without frith

Luring love without bleaks


The sun at night

Cloaks as moonlight

Both eke the world they ignite


What is right?

If the world be wrong

Yet we can’t right without a wrong.




On a board painted with dancing figures

The heavens to the earth beseeched X

All fingers pointed at god’s eyes.


But I, ensconced in my breast hide

Aloof in a clueless haven skin

Chosen, of all, to reconnoiter X.


The last time heavens beseeched X

Dad was summoned to Olympus

And I was demoted umptieth.


That night, it rained like waterfall

Then I knew dad, ingenious a flagellator

My crime; blind to a seeing wall.


Now its winter and heaven has called

I stared at the board again, then again again

X displaced all over its face.


But me, brother is an X pert

Who is acclaimed parrot of the house

To whom is showered the love in a mist.


I pummeled heaven, face affixed

The task it asks needs an X-ray

My eyes are blind to cynosures.


Then I kneeled at the prodigal sun

Bare my back to the god of whips

Heard my heart, dance to his beats.



Outshine and Even Outstrip Your Master (two paragraphs)

I know Machiavelli said you should never outshine your master, but what does that even mean? Here, I guess your master is anyone you are in a dependent relationship with. Or perhaps anyone you often get favors from. I think the real rule should be; never let your master know that you are doing all you can to outshine him, especially if you are fully dependent in that relationship or if you are yourself up to nothing tangible.

But the ultimate feat is to outshine your master, by becoming a master yourself someday; unless you intend on being a slave forever. It might not be in a competing way, perhaps, many of us are in ourselves master-destined. And not wanting to outshine your master means having to apologize or feel remorse for your successes. It means that you should self-destruct. It means that you should endure or even inflict on yourself-mediocrity. Never apologize for your success; you are better than those that you are better than, and those that are better than you are better than you.

Virgin Sun

     I am wont to sleeping boy

Now the world wants men

My sheets smooth as coarse soil

Young adults must coil like rose.


Walking the altar with empty coffers

The world beheld solicitous lovers

After much wheedling and simpering

The books wide open for thrusts.


The book bagged a brood

Flurry hoopla ushered with coo

Under the warmth of an oak tree

I lurked the whistle of bill spree.


What was well one now bad two

The coquet smile now sour like lime

Now it preen upon me to pamper

And feed and fees and cerelac.


If to drive the dangerous path

And the brood not borne gold

If to chart the bale course

And he not a doctor of drugs or laws.


O virgin sun!

I know not whither you go

I know not whether the rain

Will whet your roof with kiwi fruits.


When you love you have lost

To wail, to whiff, to whimper

When you love you have won

Gardens of orchids and sweet peas.




Self Empowerment (Two Paragraphs)

The world is perhaps a two-way traffic. Things either fall in or fall out. I know right, that when things fall out, you will think it’s all the dark forces of all the planets that are in cahoots to pull you down and make your life miserable. I know also, that when things fall in, you will think its nature with all its comptness that has conspired to bring you bliss. You will find yourself asking, what have I done to deserve these????!!!

Since I realized this important principle of life, things really, have stopped to amaze me. I am perhaps at that fall out phase of life, I can’t be sure, because I don’t let it get into me anymore. I have, for all that whizzes towards me, responded so-so. I have been strong and indifferent at the same time. Falling in or falling out, the things of this life only make me stronger. And when thing get messy and I feel like the world is coming to an end, I don’t shit my pants off, or beg or cow to frights, nay! I let it go to my department of empowerment, and by God, I have never felt this strong! After all they say; what doesn’t kill us can only make us stronger.

Travelogue: A Nightmare in Daytime (Zaria to Kano)

Of many short distance journeys, Zaria to Kano or Kano to Zaria is perhaps one among popular short distance travels in northern Nigeria. I have travelled along this route one too many times, but this time I thought about penning down my experience. Not because it was my most squalor-ridden, jet lag-inflicting or boredom-beseeching journey- perhaps it was, but particularly because my instincts have never compelled me, in a do or die manner, to do a thing as it keeps pushing me to write about this journey.

The journey shouldn’t be hectic; if you are travelling in a private or spatial car, or long cars like Sienna, Quest, Sharon and the likes. But I am a student in Zaria, who has to travel on every hiatus; holidays, strikes among others, and who is my daddy to think I will get a private ride home? So I take the public fare. Conventionally, cars popularly known as “Golf” are used as cabs along this itinerary. I don’t want to go ahead and assume you know what a small golf car looks like since you all don’t work in a Volkswagen company, so I will describe briefly:

It has two doors like every other conventional two-door car, from outside; it looks long and cozy, but a closer view will reveal that a quarter of it is the boot of the car where passengers’ luggage are stuck to its brim. The driver’s seat is so closely bundled with the front passenger seat; one will wonder if the car was intended to have two drivers. At the back of the car, the seats were closely covering on the front seats and the passengers’ knees tightly locking the rear of the front seat. In this stuffy and comfort-forsaken ambience, the cabmen carry four passengers at the back and two at the front, three including the driver. It is like having four people on a motor bike or better still, create a mental image of African slaves transported to Europe during the erstwhile infamous slave trade and yay! You got the image.

Ideally, the journey should take two hours or less, but you know its Nigeria, with the road hiccups and uneven potholes, one should be in Kano in three hours or less. I planned to convert my weakness to my strength by taking along a novel- TRAM 83- my friend had told me was amazing, to the car, who knows, my journey could just be jaunty! But trust me; it was the worst three hours of my life:

By my right was a fat woman, who consumed half of the entire backseat with her mammoth hips, leaving the other half for myself and two other men, the two men were in their late thirties; when one of them entered the car, he browbeat me with his notorious looking face; “Malan please adjust”, so I was forced to squeeze myself behind the fat woman, tilting and sitting on my right buttocks. My right arm partly squeezed behind my back, trying so hard to avoid touching the woman, while the man to my left was stepping on my feet and compressing my left shoulder almost meeting my erstwhile hidden right shoulder through the back. There I was like a roasted chicken who was begging for his life when he died and so I remained until I got to Kano.

What sustained me perhaps throughout the journey was the drama that was going on at the front seat; a lady in her twenties wanted to pee, but she went all choosy about the toilet to pee. At the filling station where we stopped to get gas, she was shown another toilet, but she refused for fear of germs and too many men around. She said she had been pressed from Abuja, and upon stopping at Zaria, she immediately boarded a cab to Kano like in transit. I found her very un-Nigerian; I mean she didn’t look all polished to be choosy; a typical Nigerian in that pressing situation shouldn’t and wouldn’t get to choose where to pee. But there she was, sturdy in her decision until we got to Kano and she dispersed. I am certain when she gets home, the first thing she will do is pee. And it’s perhaps going to be the longest pee ever.

What I couldn’t sustain about the journey was the fact that it won’t be my last in this helluva situation, and perhaps I don’t have anything to do about it. When I got home I still watched Barcelona’s match against Valencia, after which, I technically died until the next day.