Your glossy lips do not reflect your white lies but only attracts white flies

And then you stand out, so well the world might not see what holds you down

All your scratched branches or broken leaves that are not looking so evergreen

Are like doves in the wind or broken clocks that you don’t have time to fix

You’re busy with the lush at the top, the pretty birds and the rush, to remain forever young

You clean the surface but underneath is root, still you walk around with dirty souls

You take everything personal, everybody knows, and Anu said its no surprise since

Your clique, the garden of your type of trees, make the world their personal space

Your leaves do not spread as far as you claim so discover your zen my dear and stay in your lane

Why are you stuck with friends that love the top but are frightened of heights

Grow out of the box gardenia, Anu spoke real words, life is not abracadabra

If I’d to lose you, I’ll carry on my own, your so called friends will be no where to be found

A wooden cross the Christ carried, the only difference is the lack of miracles I could manage

With you, for you, you should know I came just for you, pour sand in my foundation

Gardenia be a fruitful part of my branches, let’s be one as my waters baptise you in holy matrimony

I just wa….

Oh, I sound like a creep… I was trying to sound po…

No i wouldn’t like a restraining order.. no i wouldn’t like pepper spray in my eyes either

I’m fucking off.


Tether me to the discreet nature of an old wise lie 

Only the teller knows it’s true purpose because the ignorance 

Maybe when I’m lost there, i will be truly free and found out of reckless chatter

It is a pitiful thing when just everyone knows a private matter or an affair 

A chat to yours sincerely will end up being a chat to theirs faithfully, therefore

A self disciplined hush between corners will recompense public murmurs 

Only for the mean time, because the public despise discreets more than lies and liars 

The fear of being ostracised, made a man birth to become a father of lies 

Then one day, as the ignorance is being lectured with poorly attended lies

A story contradicts, light bulbs are lit, suddenly theres an insatiable hunger for truth 

Someone just smelled fish there, but by now they should already have a dish served.

in Sanity 

Has this hit? I wish this hits, i could’ve been someone to you, please reignite,

See I’m tired from each exhale, every night things don’t seem quite bright,

You left me my ego, well I’m not fully contempt, I wish it fled I confess,

From the way my pride cooked and baked, I must’ve slowed our progress, now I guess this piece is slow to digest,

But you’re Lord divine, you’re definitely Lord blessed, and I don’t deserve history repeating itself,

Again and again, I only see my dusty self being picked and put back on the shelf,

Your friends are over the moon but you can’t tell, they returned all the caps I gave you so I’ll be mad hatter,

Most of these puss on hills smile as Cheshire cats, from the start they wanted my head on a platter,

My friends even confided I keep a bee in my bonnet about you, I remember I sang a song Mr. Lover too, but I don’t know where it landed,

You said it has become hard for you to see a spark, colours seen by candlelight will not look the same by day, then I furious shot and arrow, but I couldn’t find where it landed,

Desmondella showed me much later her heart deep, deep I found the song, from beginning till end and found the arrow, unbroken the remain,

Sigh, again the day is done and as darkness falls from the wings of night, again I hear a sorrowful funeral in my brain.


You should get away from me, there’s nothing here no more,

After I fell, deeper than the depth of my luck, I didn’t want you to take for me pot luck;

I wouldn’t mind your eventual icy stare, used to be homeless this heart i keep;

You walk in beauty, like the night and cloud my horizon with your starry eyes;

Like the black widow you’re a lonely child, only child you’re not used to sharing but I’m one of five so I’m not used to caring;

Other girls are as fair as a weather friend, most get the makeup down to a fine art, but as you just not as eloquent.
You should get away from me, there’s nothing here no more,

Though the night was made for loving, we were meant to meet like ships that pass in the night;

I’ve been a dark horse but since you darkened my door I’ve been whistling to myself in darkness and it’s not because I’m practicing for a choir;

Why do you weep only during the burial of the stars, if i don’t go to work who’ll weep for money?

Would you love me on a bus the way you love me in this Benz, I asked twenty and one questions and they were all about us.
Still you should get away from me, there’re things I feel but should ignore,

This is my trade secret, whenever I think of any man under heaven they may appear in my poems but only at loss for words;

However, you Desmondella, whenever I close my eyes you appear in my poems, so I whisper with my lips close to your ear;

I have see many men and loved may women but sincerely I love and see none better than you.

Half light

​You know I’ve seen you from afar right? I reassure you I’m infatuated. You told me you believe in unicorns and centaurs, well I believe in something greater than magic. I believe in us so I will March in on the 14th, the day recorded as your existence and death sentence, as a horseman. I’ll call three others and together we’ll fly away. You can call your friends too, tell them its your sweet chariot, it’s no pressure, they can swing low. I’m coming forth to carry you to Venus, you’re more familiar with but really home is wherever you go. I agree that there’s no place like a place with you in it, and if I’d my way kadan everyone walking on earth would be walking on your grounds. Of recent, we frequent the grounds in a half light not because I’m half god but because it’s my favourite colour and we spend moonless nights together talking about the lights in our mind because blacks the colour of your favour. Digging deep as if my religion is within you, I banished all carnal thoughts and love still remained, of course this is a new formula with 1 for me. Personally I raced through all the heavenly bodies to find something stuck on earth with me. Merely just followed my vibrations, till constructive superimposition when I met you. You know I felt you from afar right?

Colour blindness

I was whitemailed

By a white witch,

With white magic

And white lies,

Branded by a white sheep

I slaved as a whitesmith

Near a white spot

Where I suffered whitewater fever.

Whitelisted as a whiteleg

I was in the white book

As a master of white art,

It was like white death. 

People called me white jack

Some hailed me as a white fog,

So I joined the white watch

Trained as a white guard

Lived off the white economy.

Caught and beaten by the whiteshirts

I was condemned to a white mass,

Don’t worry,

I shall be writing to the Black House.

Siren for the serenade

​                         Nothing is all as it seems when you come to my mind;

I am no longer writing to you about my feelings because I have mentioned them all;

I stroke my beard as I write this part, it seems I am writing for you, what a hullabaloo;

Boo boo, the moon is a full as my beard and as I look out the window, it is pitch black out there;

It is the 20th of May, thus it rained cats and dogs said all but the weather reports;

I am on a path to enter the galaxy of my thoughts, I yearn to search for that which was lost;

Then I found it, but now it is unreachable due to its unavailability, so some nights I just want to stare at the lights;

No, not about the stars but the night time, the rain really did many a number on the night air, like a countdown,

To an explosion of beauty, what a conditioning, now there are unearthly visuals when I think of you;

Then I wish fireflies could spread as forest fires to communicate the rumours, I am missing you;

You are which I lost and since you don’t write back to me anymore, next time I will go to your window,

To see your reaction, in your elegant defiance, just to sense any character flaw;

If you try to stay hidden, a loudspeaker I’m coming with, to tell you are dangerously attractive, strangers beware;

I will tell it on the mountain, everywhere, under the hills too, so you will know what you do to me.

Spirits of the dead

​Not one, of all the crowd, can you look on, thus you glare at all the invisible faces around you and,

Only when it’s your hour of secrecy will the air grow colder,the head bigger and,

Be silent in that solitude, which is like showing compassion for them,

The spirits of the dead which once stood there, before you are standing there again,

The death around you and their will, shall overshadow you, be still.

The black night, though clear, shall frown, and the stars shall not look down and,

Their red orbs, without beam, like eyes to your weariness shall they seem and

As a burning like a fever which would cling to you for ever.

Scenes of now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, now are visions never to vanish

From thy spirit shall they pass through you no more, as dew-drop from the grass

The breeze, the breath of God, is still, and the mist upon the hill

Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, is its symbol and as its token and, 

How it walks on the floor and hangs on the trees, mysteries upon mysteries

For John

Spirits of the dead #inspiration

Self Search

John was beautiful, John was kind. John had a heart for the simplest things and in that heart, you would never find malice. John loved every soul as if they were his own. But John didn’t love his own soul.

John didn’t think he was beautiful, John didn’t think he was kind. John saw his heart as complicated and had malice with himself alone. John didn’t understand what it felt like to be special, John didn’t know what love could do to a person’s heart. John was alone, and indeed, in himself, no solace found. John didn’t like to push people, he just wanted them to be happy. John felt even though he wasn’t happy, he should at least try to make everyone else happy.

Everyone loved John, but no one understood him. They all saw John as perfect and beautiful and somewhat reserved. They were all so consumed by…

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These're the tales of Osiri, before thirty pieces of silver, when we were rosy,