Lost Tonight.

we recently lost a 2 months old in my family (my aunt) this is my way of processing the trauma😟

Be refuged in this dwelling
as I lay you below, I also know your soul is gone to a brighter home.
I lose my self in the loss
torn between the “walk away”
or “sing one more lullaby”
as most people think,
Indeed I’m strong,
yet I fear when the moon rolls
it calls your echoes along.
I may never know how
to suffocate it’s voice
as parts of me hold in to the colt
that I want to let go.

Did you know my name?
Could you hear my voice?
I rubbed your puffy eyes to sleep
whilst you snugged in my arms.
I coiled your nappy hair,
cleaned your messy nose
–your tears, still mark my skin
–your love, still warms my heart.
Maybe it was a little while,
but you made every second count.
Be safe as I lay you below
even though I may go
here with you,
our hearts will always belong.

The Conspicuous Word

Caught in the subway looking for love. Hunting affection that once was.

Caught in the subway
Looking for love
Hunting affection that once was,
which maybe,
Only existed in my dreams
or sifted into a vapour
and drifted out my window
each morning.

I plunged my heart straight out-
laid forward into the north stars light.
I’ve wished, and hoped,
thought of nothing but good things
because they said
good things only happen
If you think them.

It hasn’t worked for me
I’m still lonely as the number one
yet foolishly hoping
that my dissolution turns into
something wonderful.
I also know am a fool,
but a lonely foolish man in tragedy
may be just the thing
that someone is looking for.


Don’t hold your breath,
you will be disappointed
in what I bring to the table.
We both know,
I am not enough for the world
and the world is not enough
for both of our rogue spirits.

And every time I stand before the crowd
waiting for my sentence
hoping it leads to the end
of why I ask a thousands questions
and yet not a word escapes your mouth.
because we speak with our eyes,
I will close mine,
for you to live in freedom.

You know, I can hear you cry
through your breath,
and see the scars of your heart
in the way you blink heavy,
hoping to be heard, but not seen.
Waiting to be rescued, but not saved.
Wishing to be loved, but not embraced.
That is how we survive,
through minimizing our existence.

Pot Of Tea-Years.

She collected all the tears
added them into her ink pot,
A perfect recipe for poetry
hoping that her thoughts
and words
will spill from the same place
so as did, her soul ache.

Until one somber night
when the clouds rolled up like pearls
just as she looked up
witnessed a shooting star
making her laugh hard
that tears squeezed through little eyes, and started down her cheekbone.

Until she gasped for air
left with witty, cute a smile
and a face of tears dried out
by sea breeze.
Alas, she recalled
the little bottle of teary ink
but too late, it was
for the tears had spilt and dried.

Until that night
she would write poetry about shooting stars, and unicorns,
and soon lost space
to store up all the sad tears
whence renewed commitment
to saving only her tears of laughter.

Source Code.

Hello to the movement
that stays awake in my mind.

As my body scrambles for sleep
deep in the night.

When the bats clatter,
I’m reminded of the times.

When you and I chattered
about freedom trans–night.

How we would be forever young
unbothered by the world.

Not worried about children
we would never have.

Just you and I
Ignoring the stars,
like the moon and sun.

But we were young
and that’s what innocent minds do.

And now we are old
doing what guilty minds do.

Sleepless nights, and memories.
Scents from the past, haunting.

Stuck with the secrets of old lovers
and dreams that never came true.

Frozen Stares.

Brown eyes like coffee beans,
You burnt bright for me to see
my darkness dissolved in your eyes,
when I found the light and became.

Now I fear to fight, in fact I vow to only war for your heart.

Everyone one can take a flight,
but I will stay.
I don’t care
I will stay and share, be silent and stare when you need me I will care.

Out there,

there is nothing for me to see.

–but you,
Lord knows

you are my musing star.
So I hope, and wish and dream on you.

And may we stay that way.

-Photo by Me-

[Short Story]Epiphanies Of Passion.

Epiphanies Of Passion.

“That’s not how I felt about you,” he said,
“I was fighting my own demons, so I couldn’t be there, responding, caring for any other person.”

I partly could believe his words because I understand what it means to be him, but also partly because I was love struck, in that moment.

You see, someone I hadn’t seen in over five years was finally sitting before me, apologizing for blocking, not responding to my emails and being woody and unresponsive to all my messages.

He leaned forward to kiss me. But I turned my face to the left. Setting my eyes outside the window, onto this beautiful climbing road, through a green farm that was so unending, like the anger- emotions I had locked up for half a decade now revolting against me.
He looked at me with his pretty-annoying-cute-face (he knows how to organise his face in such a manner, especially he wants to come off as needy or apologetic).
I looked at him, and still said “No!”
It was my turn to have the power, and I wasn’t gonna give in easily, he returned to his sit on the opposte side of the dinning/work table.
Then I looked him in the face and picked up a jar of factory biscuits from the table, opened it, while still fixing my eyes on him. Picked one, opened it, still deconstructing sharply at his chiseled face, and put a whole biscuit in my mouth, my gaze strongly fixated on him as he also seemed taken up by the work on his computer, until suddenly, he paused and asked.

“why are you looking at me like that? You won’t forgive me, –now do you want to beat me or something?….. am scared!”

“You know…,” I said “I hoped and prayed that the next time I see you, you would be older, ugly and chubbier, so unattractive to me. –But here you are, seated before me looking the total opposite, attractive as fuck! – that makes me a bit mad”.
He smiled, saying ” so you really think am still sexy?” Me “not really, but I thought you kind of would look a little more horrible so that it could be easier for me to ignore you, but yeah! Things are not going as planned.”

Ovcourse he was looking sexy, not as handsome as he did when I last saw him, in his early twenties. But he looked really good, —and mysterious.

“Well, do you want a cup of coffee, or tea,” he asked,

–”Yes, Coffee” I responded. He asked whether I wanted my coffee with or with out sugar.
“No sugar,” I said
—”Oh why no sugar? He asked.
“Well, I have read a lot about the body and how it does not require most of our processed sugar intakes. So the sugars go on being unhealthy for our internal organs, and the skin, eyes, and body generally .”

“Well”, he said, –”I think a little sugar is no harm to the body. I watch my diet and still take sugar moderately” as he put my cup on the table.
“Thank you” I said.

I took a sip of my tasteless coffee.
He kept on standing by my chair, so I looked up at him. Only to find his eyes set on me, mostly between my lips and eyes.
He bent down, bringing his face forward.

It took me a few second’s to realise he was leaning in for a kiss. Lightly, I touched his cheek and let him kiss me once.
I paused and looked into his deep eyes, oh how I’d missed him, I thought. But I couldn’t tell him, I was also glad to see him again, but maybe I feared I would not see him again after tonight. So I held on tight and I kissed him again for another thirty seconds or so. I can’t recall. It seems now both long and short but certainly hot.
See, I hadn’t kissed a person in over 4 years, and I didn’t slobber, or bite. So I didn’t do a terrible job.

And for the rest of the night, we talked about all things. About the poems I had written about him. About how depressed he had been for the last few years, about how anti depressants had receded his hairline. And how much he used to sweat during sex, and how I had failed to get into any relationship successfully missing him.
It was a long night.
After which I didn’t see him again.

Photo from Pexels


[Thank you for coming back. This is my first short story, please tell me your thoughts, and should I continue with it or end this story here. Short stories are not easy, they come with a lot of work for me, not like poems. If you have any tips I would also love to know. Stay safe!]


It ain’t right that you write poems
about stars and stars,
only ever seen on screens
and night skies,
but not me,
your ever present.

It ain’t a fight
but you fly on painful ache,
with words like broken glass and bare feet
where you dance
How you love to flirt
with the edges of despair.

It ain’t night
but the candles burn bright
through the darkness trapped inside
by thick curtains.
And sombre music looms about, restless.

Until you say
“Hello pain, its me again,
hoping for the 78th time
that this will be our last date.”
And he responds
“This was on short notice,
but am here for you.
Always have, always will.”

Edge Of Despair.

Painting By Martha

Praying for weakness in my knees
as I descend into the sea.
Not the one before me,
the one brushing on my toes
with waves and crystals of blue sand.


But the one raging with a violent tide
in my mind.
It calls me.
Invites me to the wonder of my existence,
reminds me that the world is vast,
and if I drown, no one would ever know
or dare to call my phone number.


So I may as well just sleep,
though I didn’t lay it
in this ocean bed of cold anger.
5 toes in front of the others,
I walk.
I hold my mouth together
as teeth chatter
and tighten the grip on my despair.
Deep breaths
Deep breaths
—No one care.


But together
The sea and I
We form a wind and anger
that could cause a hurricane.
Only if I will feel no more fear
but be the fear that fills others
So we could invite and watch them dance on the edge of despair.

Salty Years And Soiled Tears.

You left me hanging
You Left abruptly
I stayed hurting
Trying to understand things.

You left me crying
Hoped you were coming
I kept on waiting
You never returned.

You had me begging
My world was ending
Besides you,
nothing was all that I had.

Silence got louder
pain was in order,
What I had become
Was nothing close to sober.

Like the pieces of a puzzle
little ray’s began raining
on my decapitated soul,
green leaves began sprouting.

Healing is what you need
to bring your soul home.
Forgiveness is what you do
to bring healing to your heart.

So I wrote you a letter,
Trusting that you will read it,
now or later.
Its the last you take from me.

I forgive you for hurting me, I forgive me for letting you.
I take back my dignity,
This time I will let you go.

I forgive you for ghosting me, I forgive my self for pursuing you, to a point that I was ready to lose my self.
“I am choosing to find myself”

I forgive you for abusing me, I forgive my self for thinking you would change heart, or that I would change you.
“People don’t change people”

I forgive you for leaving me in this broken state,
for not answering when I called, for not replying my long texts.

I don’t regret falling in love with you,
but I forgive my self for choosing you, and now,
I chose me.

Thank You For Reading.


I wrote this poem from real pain by a loved one who left without communication. The same person recently emailed me asking to meet up. We did, but nothing fruitful came out of that meeting, except more hurting. And now after 4 years, it feels like am back in this place. But I am strong. And yeah I wrote this poem 3 years ago.

Thank you again🤗

(Did any of you notice what I did with the title?)