Diary of a dreamy kid

As  a kid, I loved  pixies and fairies..
Even though I’d only read about them in stories.
I also loved adventure, Enid-Blyton knew how to weave fiction for children..
I used to imagine I was a smart detective who was better than the cops at catching villains..
So we formed a group, just like the famous-five and secret seven..
We used to have secret meetings believe it or not, I was seven..
We were three in our group , and I was the youngest..
We’d sit in my house, thinking up ideas,missions and new conquests..
One day on deep thought, I figured a club like ours would need money..
We might need some equipment, or go on some expensive journey(s)..
So I devised a means..
We had this paper game where we’d ask a player to secretly pick an animal,a place or a thing..
And through a streak of pure genius, we would deduce what was picked..
We said it was a Complex magical trick, and they could learn as well. They believed..
Sales boomed, people kept buying, I think I sold the most, after all it was my idea..
I remember a girl paid 90bucks, I wonder where she got that from, but I didn’t care..
My group had a common piggy-bank, I remember it was yellow..

We filled it till it had more than it could swallow..
Gradually I realized that we had lost focus..
Money had done its hocus pocus..
Even though we were privileged kids,we had let the thirst for money taint our innocence.
We were now part of the decadence..
One day a parent came with his son-who by the way was a good customer..
He walked into my class angrily asking for my teacher..
I remember I was worried for no good cause..
He spoke harshly to my teacher,and everyone wondered what was the fuss?
Soon after he left, my teacher -a good looking guy, called my name- Tokunbo! His voice, rather harsh..
I looked up innocently from my hardly opened book, I had suddenly developed goose-bumps, then, I thought it was a rash..
As I approached my teacher, I just knew I was in all kinds of trouble..
He glared at me like I was some crook, my legs started to wobble..
Before now, I’d never admit, but now its no big deal..
As I wobbled down the classroom aisle,feeling the heat from teacher’s glare, I felt hot piss flow down my thighs, through my shorts, my socks, too my little feet..
I was scared shitless..
And at that point, my beloved teacher’s eyes were cold,hard and soul-less..
He took out a familiar pack of paper, and asked..”What is this?”
I stuttered and stammered, and nothing sensible came from my lips..
I didn’t think it was a crime to sell my game..
But I could tell, adults wouldn’t feel the same..
My customer had been stealing money from his parents to keep patronizing me..
And to think what he was buying was a worthless piece of paper that should have been free..
So my teacher asked me to kneel down, and I got more than my fair share of mR.pepper-that was the baptismal name of my teacher’s cane..
From that day, my attitude towards my group was not the same..
That day I was so sad..
Unfortunately my mom was also told, and she felt really bad..
Blaming herself for not being more vigilant..
Unaware that I really wasn’t a deviant..
She whipped my cute butts that night..
But I held on and did not snitch on my partners..like a valiant knight
So many stories, how much can one say…
There were some actual adventures, but those are stories for some other day..

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Prest- the ex who’s left

You simply left
No calls not even a text
I’m not sure how you felt
Feelings first unfelt,came with stealth..
Blandness turned zest
strangers to chill and sext
Suddenly you gave it all a rest
Ground zero down from Everests’ crest
Everything changed within a sleepy breath
Fleeting, hurried like some August guest
Now I’m Plato with a quill and prest

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Cafe au lait

Different yet the same
Now 3 peas of a pod
Now the boy walks, he runs,he screams
And says lots of things that don’t mean nothing-gibberish..
Loving this phase..
I know it won’t last,
But boy oh boy, how the memories linger.
Grateful, thankful..
But not yet content.
It’s a lot yeah but not enough
Daily we push, hoping and pressing..
From the tripod Base, pray sprout more blessings..!



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My Son and Life to my quill

As usual I’ve had a block

Firstly it was work

Then it was routine

And that sucked me in

I said to myself “you need a catalyst”

What would that be, love, crime, politics?

And then, marriage came

As with most good occurrences, things hardly remain the-same

That took its toll; romance and frolicking were in the air

Then came responsibility, which comes with its wear and tear

Ups and downs, lows and highs

I figured that was the new life, but alas “sighs”

Life had more in stock for me

The baby was born, and i was filled with glee

He came to be, but not without incidence

His mom, my wife was in dire straits, in spite of my presence

Even i lost my assuredness,

Vital signs were spiralling beyond the boundaries of calmness.

Thank goodness, the surgery came through

Thank God he showed himself true

The boy came out screaming and all pink

His was even fairer than his mum’s skin

What a kid, gentle as the cool morning breeze

Suckling ever so gently and looking at peace

What a feeling, what joy the lad brought with him

His first smile stuck in my mind like pictures on photo film

He’ll grow to be better than his papa

So now, papa must make that a tough mount to clamber

Papa must ensure that he fulfils his own goals and dreams

So his son can uninhibitedly build his

A good example for my son and children yet unborn

Inspiration for them while I’m here and when I’m gone

This is how I unlocked this block

The downfall of many a writer and his work

I drew on last year, the ups, the downs, the highs and lows.

My baby even as he grows.

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Chai!! It’s been a while, 
Words I used to file in a pile
Have deserted me like traitors in exile..
My style was rhyme,but with time and how it flies
I lost my groove, my stealth,my guile..
Talents like engines need to be oiled,
Like fresh corn, it needs to be boiled
nothing good comes easy,hands must toil and be soiled..
No fear though,its never too late,
As long as there’s life,we can turn fate..
Nothing holds us asides unbelief and hate..
So push on fellas,till we burst through those gates..
Gates of fear,mediocrity and doubt, till those breasts of creativity lactate

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Don’t you sometimes ponder?
About how things have gone asunder
Why things happen and we wonder..
Why were we born, Only to return yonder..
Is there a point to the cycle of living only to embrace death?
Watching a baby take its first breath..
Then gradually watch it increase in height and girth,
Fight numerous disease, obstacles, rise to the peak with his youth and strength
Enjoy meals, sing a song, learn a trade, and learn to flirt
How time flies for the poor and the ones with wealth…
A once toothy smile becomes dimpled and drawn
The once broad shoulders now have a slouch like some gown
The bright sharp eyes have become hazy like the mist at dawn
His once virile and kingly manhood, has now become a docile pawn
Wars fought in the distant past, become images in the history books…
Leaving readers wondering, “They won the war, why does he have that look?”
Countries built on other countries, rivers become brooks
History is on repeat, reincarnated characters, heroes and crooks…
Business men play their goods , politicians play the people,
From the beginning of time people have been this simple,
Betrayals have existed and loyalties are fickle
Since the time of Caesar and Brutus-the old roman couple
Brave warriors have come and they have left
They fought like maniacs and died like the rest
Innocents have been convicted, villains have been absolved of theft
Nothing is new, it doesn’t matter that Jesus wept
No wonder we’re all enthralled by the afterlife..
Seeking for some meaning beyond this life
A place perhaps where there’s no needless strife
Where perhaps skin color, language, religion or sex would be merely words and different styles
Where perhaps 20 virgins would do and who’d need a wife?
Others just look forward to a place where the roads are paved in gold
Where the inhabitants dress in flowing robes and cloak.
Perhaps then, it would make some sense
So they keep burning incense,
Saying prayers, performing rites, each hoping their gods would teach others some sense
They scream into the crowd, “Don’t sit on the fence”
Let’s be allies, together we shall rejoice and dance
And our own god, will bless us for taking the chance..
I’m reminded of a passage that says, “For thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created “
We are but mere characters in a series of happenstances , fulfilling lives of vanity, with a thirst for knowledge, a hunger for more, that may never be satiated..
Vanity upon vanity!

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Every situation bad or good
May shield enormous blessings beneath a hood
So take heart and eat good food
Forget all the times people were rude
And remember all the while there God stood

Work hard or work smart
Pick a side, play your part
Everyone does some work, that’s a fact
A crook, a prince even a tart
One thing everyone hates though, is a snitch- a rat

Man proposes,the gods decide
The Olympus perhaps is where they reside
Looking upon men through the earth-heavens divide
They laugh at our foolery, on our issues they preside
When they will ,they intervene or just stand aside

There’s much to do, one life to do them
Ambition and zeal fixed like a totem
One has to come up with stratagem
So as not to lose sight of the grand prize, the priceless gem
Great riches,great influence, a good family and the peace of zen

There’s so much to be inspired by
The seaside, the gentle breeze, the big trees and the blue sky
Natural disasters, wars, and famous bad guys
So we write, we sing, surf and swim, and learn to fly
Because there’s just one life, we might as well try

it’s been a while I wrote a piece
i’ve been in a mix, like a drunk high on gin and juice
Drawn by the allure of the Golden Fleece
Reminded of my gift by the threat to world peace
Numerous wars, arm dealers feast
Stubborn leaders, rebellious rebels ,everyone’s taking a piss
Perhaps the right stimuli to the creative minds hitherto asleep

Iraq this, Libya that, Egypt arises ,Syria is imploding
Mugabe wants to rule forever,and his people are groaning
Mandela a hero, a martyr, sick perhaps dying
The North Korean president threatens nuclear sporting
The US has been delibrating ,
Nigeria is politicking
Terrorism and wars are so in the offing
Perhaps truly the story of the world is coming to its ending

Capitalism is taking over
Everything is really all about profit and getting the better of the other
The government, the shops, church are part of the suckers..
Higher taxes, higher prices of goods, and more tithes in no particular order
Everyone just wants to fill their coffers
There’s no succor, life is at a cost, you either pay or take cover

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many times i wa…

many times i wanna say things..

then  mid way i stop..

its like within me i’m tied in chains..

Eternally, we’re on a bus..

we think we know our stops..

but the driver keeps going, shouting, this is lagos

one chance.

from my very within..

i just wanna burst loose..

suddenly scream and break free..

i remember the light house song..

wishing he knew how ,it would feel to be free..

does this ever happen/ or we just learn to go along..


we go with the flow

act like we’re in control ..

and when push comes to shove, we bow

acting courteous and cautious, like a prisoner out on parole..

why does it feel like there could be more..

so here I am plate in hand , like Oliver Twist asking for more- shout out to dickens for his lore




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