POEMS

  • The Wind Behind You

    There's a tonne of life in the vein
    Waking up every morning and feeling the weight

    But you have to put yourself through the test
    Like passing through a furnace
    You could either make it through, or pass out
    Would you rather sit at home and guess the buyings
    And sellings at the market?

    Since the moment I entered this body, in the enclave of
    Mama's pouch, I've not ceased to move.
    But for every movement, there is a direction,
    Even to the aimless.

    Take heart, 
    Take courage,
    Take joy,
    The rest is for the wind behind you.  
    ..............................................................
    Abuja, 13.02.2016
  • Signs of a Struggle

    It is eight am and six degrees centigrade
    Fogs blind the eyes of the hills
    turning them to apparitions
    Through the window of a third floor
    with three others in the apartment
    The cold air came rushing in
    So did the chill of hundred and forty days gone.

    Flashes of images - moving and stationary
    Bright lights of sweet memories
    Deems of gloomy times
    And the in-betweens
    Told stories within those untold
    Like a frame within a frame
    Encounters of light-wieghted heaviness
    Fluctuations of histories
    Fluctuations of emotions

    Wounded walls plastered with faces
    Faces of mixed-feelings
    Monuments of remembrance
    Of the dead amongst the dying
    "I want to live!" A man is crying
    Street signs point to directions
    Muddled directions
    Children struggle for the embrace of their mother
    And for a cent more
    The rest live on for better days to come. 

    Sarajevo, October 2014 
  • Ego

    A long stretch of time
    And of road
    Hands, legs, faces intertwine
    Emotions constantly harrased
    In the cold the impostor is ever present
    Rearing a head of six snakes
    Feeding off its intestine, up to the feet
    And soon enough would empty bowels
    Of infested pudding.
    A dessert for a gloomy dinner 

    Berlin, October 2014

  • A Cold Morning in Berlin

    Soon it is autunm
    Time to shed leaves
    And have the last blast of sunshine
    But time to look back to a year almost done
    Picking thoughts and arranging them into wants
    If only the future whisper secrets to the past
    Should we not have come prepared?
    At least I would have more than one box
    By which I arrange all these versions
    Of myself and your impressions of me.  

    Berlin, October 2014