Teardrop germinates love from a deserted heart

I can’t cry, but I cry my words in speech

Mend my heart with stitch

Replace my teeth with thorns that bleed

Eyes won’t bleed but I made my words cry.





Wise Monk

I am

I am the remnant of time

in a boundless space

I am time with no end, for I

age not, though my fabric worn



When fire dwindles

low within who

will help rekindle

its glow


My thoughts wander

carelessly in controversy

of heresy in percept


I accept, for I have no legs

the shadow consumed it


My thoughts unkempt, that

I should discard with no

regard for regrets


So I did.






Why am I breaking

loose to condense.

Should I accept;

to digest to be free?


A white cloth

weeps for blood.

Yet many doves

rise from ashes.


The Nigh

Let the night enshroud us

as the day beckons

Take my word and infuse

with desire of your heart

till morning comes


Birth Story

In dark hour my existence

was conceived in secret.

Suspended in fluid like

aqua man, I’ve grown

bored of this cavity.

1989 I escaped from womb,

umbilical chord wrapped

around my neck choking

me at depth to death,

as I took my first breath.

Born in water, I rise like a

baptised child, the doctor –

John the Baptist.


I hear joyous sound but

blind to their happiness

for I am born into a world

of anarchy where protogeometric

pyrotechnic problems are

embedded in every footstep.








Love Season

Kiss of life you gave, I refuse to take

Love season, the angels by her side

The sky is blue its full of love

Her beauty flew the seven seas

How many times I took your breath ashore

She loves no more, it grows dark every season


Afro and Comb

From the multitude of

strands in my afro

I pick you out as special

with a comb, but

your emotions recede

like hairline

I bought you wings

ready to fly

but crashed my

heart into the treeline

Three-times we dined

I unshackled her

mind six times


Of my character you do

not know, and I yours, but

still I comb you up like an

afro ready to defy;

but you left my heart

soaked in gin with your lies


Here I go, deep sigh,

no tears no flow

as I script my

thoughts so slow

like the sex-drive of

a scorpio.






Cotton King

I dream a king

I duplicate

my thoughts.

I speculate
so much words
my cotton is
the canvas.
Same cotton-
picking history
I wear as
with black