Wednesday, April 1, 2015


I am one of those such who like to do the romance with the tongue
But after a second thought, I stopped.
True Africans don't!
Kissing is the White-man's show of affection,
It is like two pouring their saliva into a cup and then thereafter drink up like milk.
Deep is this feeling of disgust and for it we all lust.
I am humble!
And on the floor I lay like a mat to greet my elders.
No! Not that contaminated handshake, a disease of over familiarity,
Making these young ones say "Hi" and "Bye" to Papa the Ogidigan of our village.
My fathers before I,
Snaked into several wrappers in the confides of their huts
Never a time was any hurt whatsoever, ever recorded.
Sadly, just a one night stand could keep one standing forever on the sixth feet.
Where did it come from?
We, obviously were the experiment right in the jungle of Africa.
I am humble!
And to the norms we all must conform and not grumble.
How the change from our past will forever last like kola-nut in the mouth of those who value it!
As for me, it is the worst calamity
And to it I say, Tufiakwa!

Here comes the potter!
Breaking the clay into its finest powder of golden brown.
With the water to mix
The potter gentle in the artistry
Feels the clay with his fingers.
The potter so glad with stains as they both play in the mix, continues to mix.
After going through almost an endless massage, the message is so clear to the potter.
The potter's hand in shape
Moulds the clay
Speaking the right words through his fingers.
Through these gifted simple hands
The clay that lay waste
Becomes a beauty too beautiful to behold.
The potter has done marvelously well with the clay
And all is amazed at me, the miry clay.
#Happy Mother's Day
To God the Mother of the world.


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