Posted in On Life, The Society

Position and Entitlements!

A silent night amidst the clamor around. Blurred visions despite the blinding lights. Wandering thoughts based on the ambiguities of life… Of drifters among the stars and interlopers between universes. Of galaxies around in their own orbits but still a sense of importance clouding our own judgement. With all planets revolving around the sun, including ours. Why then would we feel entitled to everything including assuming the Sun’s position… For the planets to revolve around us?
Are we that important or has our sheer ignorance bred an entire multitude of self serving selfish humanity???

Posted in On Life, The Society


*(Session 1)*
Pin point everything you detest about death; like a butcher, lace them up! Place them on the table; one by one we wanna cut them into pieces! Sieve them! Feed them to the stray dogs if we have to. Or perhaps; whence the verdict is given; carry death high on our shoulders; praise him; beat drums and sing victory songs.
Death is on trial; handcuffed; in a frail body that supports itself with a stick; he feebly walks along the hallways into the courtroom; where the masses await! His skin, visibly pale, shows no signs of life; He makes his presence known; he talks less, but even in his speechless traits, silence envelopes in the midst! The masses who thirst for his blood; constantly shouts;
“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”;
while spurting mucously thick saliva on the defendant; oblivious of the court rules; are mad with rage! But this doesn’t bother him too!

Onto ye! Where are the plaintiffs?
“All Rise!!”
The judge makes an entry; He is rather a huge old man, with round glasses that slightly suspend itself on the nape of his puffy nose; leaving space between his eyebrows and his glasses; he’s slow to everything! Slow to sit; slow to speech; slow to think! But quick for food. His face, graced with cholesterol. His belly sags; none of his robe befits him; his belly button protrudes revealing his hairy stomach. But this too we’ve become accustomed to. He is good at his work. He’s of sound mind.
The masses are the plaintiffs; in existence are the victims of death, stakeholders of death and policy makers!
Heads down like hens scrapping into the ground; Each group conversing amongst themselves.
Meanwhile, opposite the jury, stares death. He smiles deviously like he owns the court. Yes he does! He summoned everyone here, or yet he volunteered to be the accused. Everyone knows him. Everyone abhors him. The CNN, BBC… The camera’s are on. The world is watching; *”Breaking news: A trial for death.”* This is what he wanted. An audience for his muse.
“Can we have silence in the court?!!!”
The murmurs dim away slowly.
As though in an agreement; the rest of the policy makers sit back as their representative rise to speak.
*POLICY MAKER:* “We think we have a solution on how to deal with death…”
The jury draw attention to him. As silence prevail. Even death himself seem to be perturbly curious. Curious about his end time.
*THE JUDGE:* “Let’s hear it”
*POLICY MAKER:* “To solve the mystery of death… To banish death from our societies then its prudent to erase its roots”
*THE JUDGE:* “Where are its roots? I’ll be delighted to know”
At this point, death has nothing on his defense; he didn’t prepare for this. He never scripted this part. He has no idea what’s on the table.
*POLICY MAKER:* The Coffin Makers!
The masses burst into uncontrollable laughter. Death on the other end; takes a deep breath as he rests his handcuffs on the bar. Deep inside, he says to himself, “it wasn’t life threatening anyway!”.
The judge hammers his gavel; at once order is restored.
*THE JUDGE:* Do you have plausible evidence to support you sir!??
*POLICY MAKER:* yes, your honor
He clears his throat as everyone awaits.
*POLICY MAKER:* we should pass a law that bars carpenters from making coffins. This is the reason why…..
Before he continue; A voice of a middle aged man sprouts from the masses. Dressed in a blue overall. Tooth brown with tarn. His shaggy hair laced with particles of timber. On his ears lies a pencil. He speaks with vigor.
“Then what!!? You’ll feed our family for us? We don’t ask people to die. We don’t advertise the coffins. Its the people who place orders… Young man I respect you but watch how you trade….!!!”
As if he’s the priest signalling the congregation to hurl Amen; the rest of the carpenters in unison, “Yess! That’s right!!”
*THE JUDGE:* (As he slams the gavel) This trial shall end today. The court will go into a recess for 30 minutes, to allow the carpenters and the policy makers come to a compromise.
(Slams the gavel again)
Lonely; death looks around in sympathy. He has no one to care for him.
As the masses walk out of the courtroom. The judge takes 15 seconds to step from his chair. He whispers something along the lines of, “God. I’m starving” its inaudible. Nobody pays attention.
The court is now empty; only silence reigns. And death sits there unmoved. I ignore it as I finalise my notes.

Phill Ibsen

(Master Of Descriptions)


Posted in Governance, The Society


Against all the odds,
We place our bets,

Our team tactfully picked,

Now…watch us play!
I am the captain,

Of the Faceless Squad,

To the pitch I will lead,

With our thumbs we shall print.
Enough is enough,

Death to the tyrants,

An end to the regime,

For we got the power,now we rise!
Stand up for all,

Choose the future we need,

Not with twigs and placards,

But with the print on that paper!

Posted in The Society


In the night, when darkness scares light away to where it comes from, when danger looms in the dark a loner, when the sweetness of slumber reigns over the lazy bones and while others enjoy the terrible beauty of rebellion, the village is rent with eerie silence. The villagers, Kokwonites, in a semi chloroform sleep and their treasures in the cowsheds redoing the chewing process. 
The night is calm with minute noises of vociferous babies defying the will of their mothers to shut their eyelids for the darker part of the day , twittering birds wondering why light had abandoned them and of course the turbocharged mouth dogs making known their presence. Since nothing lasts forever, at one chance it has to surrender, silence put the village under siege. 
However, the silence was not the usual one, it was abnormal. Why?For one, insects could be heard sucking their share from the natural co-existence. Two, the minding brains could be heard thinking. And three, the sliding organs in situ, the eyes of course, could be heard rolling from a neighbor recovering from a nightmare. 
At that specific time, that precise moment, when the village was lost in an undiscovered piece of land named slumber, a blast was heard. It was not the normal blast of a misbehaving Chelsea Yokohama tyre, it was a blast similar to that of a metal stick excreting fire. Resurrecting from their beds lazily, probably unsure of their hearing ears, for even the coastal people are not worth your trust while watching the _embe dodo_ lying on the sand. Another blast went again. 
The living and those barely alive, the hunters and gatherers, the teachers and preachers, the blessed in pocket and the pocket unfriendly, old and young, all turned into a solid rock. Can’t move, won’t move. Can’t talk, won’t talk. Others however, went further for it is always advisable to go the extra mile and did urine expulsion on their clothes. However, the rare group, the so called  _classic men_, released molten food oxide, I can’t say it was yellow. 
With a cloud of terror hanging low, pregnant ready to deliver its unwanted gift ;calamity, all spoke at once, perhaps in some divine language, then remained silent. Those who wanted to cry, laughed. Most who wanted to laugh, cried. However, those with a glow courage in them, reached their phones only to hear

      _Samahani mteja wa nambari uliopiga hapatikani kwa siasa_

Another deliberate effort to reach the _nyumba kuni_ leader formally known as village headman was met with a message-full skiza tune _Shake yo bum bum, kwenda sukuma, shake yo bum bum……_
Almost losing hope, they fumbled their touch pads to reach the ward administrator but the call was forwarded. ‘The Beast,’  otherwise known as ‘Papa’s car’, the governor’s car had been spotted somewhere in the bush. What was it doing in the bush anyway? 
To rescue the villagers from great hands of fantasy, Narema, whose assets are famous for swaying from left to right generously, was heard screaming. It was not the normal screams, the frequently heard, it was a scream of terror. It is there that it dawned on every Kamau, Ali and Onyango, that the bandits had finally come to take what unlawfully belongs to them. 
The bandits were people feared more than death. In fact, as all came to search for their deaths here on earth, which we will eventually find, death seemed to flee the bandits at all times. This made me say that. One, they had nothing to befit the title of a cloth  ‘my dress my choice  is an understatement. Two, they survived for many days with soaked maize their repeated diet. And three, their mode of transport, the _Footsubishi Lancer_, never showed any sign of wearing or even breaking down. 
Only a knock accompanied by a refrain _Fungua wenye ngombe tumefika_(Open up,we the owners of the cows have arrived )  was enough to make one open all the doors and windows all together. Since we are all born politicians, in a democratic world, there had to be an opposition. The opposer’s otherwise known as the rebellious, were granted an unpaid ticket to heaven. 
After collecting and setting all the cows in motion, they fired the remaining bullets to disturb the air. The crescendo of moving cows breaking the earth with their hooves, made them weep. As they watched them go to I. C. C (Invisible Cattle Custody ), they observed a minute of silence to honor their departed treasures. 
Insecurity is not a secret anymore. It’s like a furious fire burning over dry grass. For this reason the teaching scheme should be changed from A for Attack, B for Bazooka. It is you who can bring it all to an end. Don’t breed a criminal. Refuse radicalization. Don’t shut that mouth. Report that suspect. Use all means to fight it. Let the pains of losing our loved ones be heard till the LMS(Last Man Sleeping ) Wake up to the call of joining hands in solidarity to fight Insecurity. 

Posted in The Society



When you see two parallel lines


Then, You have seen life
So, wait not till your tongue feeds on ash

Or heart beats faint

For no trash can remind the sound of brass
Hope would hunt till you hang on cliffs

With your hearts in ropes

Beneath the mountains of certainty

Into uncertainty
Fast as these legs carry you
If a man sends you on NO errand, GO!

Nelson Vincent Ayomitunde is an undergraduate of the faculty of Law, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife.

Posted in Mystries of Life, On Life, The Society



Day in day out each week,

In their rickety stalls they seat

Running their mouths they sure do,

Screaming out to all who pass by,

Of the wares they got in their stock,

And nothing of what they have not,

For they can’t accept a lack.
The prices out loud they shout,

Their country of origin too they scream,

Of the safety of their merchandize,

Off all the tests they have been subjected to,

But never do they tell…

Of their real worth in your life,

Of the need of you to have them.
By hook and  crook they will sell their wares,

Demeaning those of the other sellers,

Telling of their worsts even when not asked,

Cashing in on their falls just for gains,

All that and more for their goal…

To run them out of the market!

And take over their stalls too.
Through the eyes of the tax collector I will speak,

To dish a word or two about them,

Of the market sellers that shout themselves hoarse,

Bickering and tarnishing others within the market,

Be aware of them…

For even I am wary of them,

Yet I’m just the tax collector.
So next time you pass through the market,

Use your eyes to view the goods you need,

Use your words to get the best prices,

Use your hands to feel the texture of your purchases,

Use your ears not to listen to ’em sellers,

For in no time…

You too shall be driven out from the market,

So be aware our loyal customers.

Posted in The Society


She walked with contempt 

Her face read malice

Her mouth spit venom

She was my co-wife
I attended her funeral 

To ensure she was dead 

I threw dust on her coffin

To seal her from the earth 

To lock her in hades forever 
I smiled 

A victory smile 

Having defeated my enemy

A fight for a husband it was 

Drinking from my well

Now six feet underground she dwells. 
Jebet Jebet

Posted in The Society


Dark night

Narrow lanes

Silent night

Moving shadows 

Owls hooting 

Wolves howling

Leaves rustling

Queer night… Maybe, 

Jinxed night… I doubt it!! 
Right from the thickets,

Shadows spring forth

Boldly and menancing they stare, 

All is dead silent… 

Heart racing, 

Too loud for my ears, 

Muscles tensed up, 

Guess I need to flee… 


I’m frozen with fright. 
One step… Two steps, 

They hold me, 

With the strength of a dying horse, 

I’m kissing the damp ground

Face down but I’m in turmoil

Shaking and turning but I’m stuck

I’m weak… 

They are strong

Silence once more. 
Hands pinned down, 

Pants pulled down

Tensed muscles 

Frozen torso 

Then I feel it… 




More pain

I smell it… 

My own blood

I hear them… 

Moan for joy
One for the road they say, 

Turn after turn they take me, 

Too weak to scream

Mind in a daze

My blood from a far I smell

My world seems to spin




I’m lost. 

It all stops. 
Off they go, 

Their feet I see

Their faces masked…

The darkness hides them

All I see… 

Is the full moon, 

All I hear… 

Is the wolves howls…

A dark Jinxed night

It happened 

To me.. 

They did it… 

On me

Right under… 

The bright moonlight!! 

Wish to just be struck

With the moon madness, 

As I am covered, 

In my blood


Their sweat

I want to be struck mad. 

Posted in The Society



©Heart_Art_Poetics Presents

It’s hard to think when all you can see is black and blue. The green on their faces as they tore her apart incessantly played in her mind like a loop. Over and over and over. The excruciating pain tore her apart as if to make room for itself in her body. Neither did she shed a tear. Cover girls don’t cry after the makeup is done.
 Her knees buckled from the weight of their blows and like a lamb to the slaughterer she meekly surrendered to them. She lay on the cold hard earth, her pain blanketed by the dark of night. Darkness was misjudged. It was perceived as a home for chaos, evil and death, but she had always found a companion in its arms, so even in this flailing times she bit her teeth into it and held it so tight in a lover’s embrace.
She was sprawled on the ground like a canvas, letting the painters have their way, resisting nothing. The more she was numb to it all the more the blows and taunts kept falling on her in riding crescendo as there’s an anger so powerless that comes when the victim is in utter surrender. There’s a rage that burns when one discovers that they’re trying to shatter an already completely broken vessel.  That all you’re doing is pouring water into an ocean. She had completely sold her soul to her purgers and they kept at her till she could smell the soil become moist with blood. Her childhood memory of sweet smelling soil after a drizzle was replaced with the dirty smell of fresh blood mixed with soil. 
She was one against many and if this was the price she had to pay for standing up for what was left of her dignity, she would gladly pay. She would die proud even if no one but the dark would know. And time being the most cruel of things dragged as if in collaboration with her purgers thus everything else, in loyal submission, moved infinitely slower. 
 She was in unspeakable pain and all her clogged mind drifted to was the two little birds, early in the morning, one named peter one named Paul. 
Peter was blue. Every morning he sang to her with the voice of a hummingbird. He would let the timbre of his voice glide right to the core of her being. He had a power to craft words into forms that made any sane mind erotic, as he folded his “I love yous” into notes that would perfectly fit the creases made of her insecurities. She was his muse and he would bend nature backwards for her if need be. His wings around her were the safest place she knew. 
Paul, the red bird, always had a raw desire in his eyes that burnt like dry wood when they met hers. He was moulded of pure passion so wild at the feel of her skin against his. His love was never pure, it bore undertones of lies, selfishness and lust. His wings around her were always in contempt of whoever else wanted to exist or even simply breathe around her. His love was always spoken in either breathy or wheezy voices anytime he was awash with the tide of her breathing. He was an addict to her drug, in so deep she could never even save him. 
If she would die tonight, there was only one thing she would regret. She should have let her children meet their fathers. Now she would die and they would remain all alone in a society with its hands too full of needs that they would just be part of the statistics. But they knew their names. They knew the song. “Two little birds, one named Peter, one named Paul”. They knew not it’s essence.
It was hard to tell when it all stopped but suddenly the air hung thick and quiet. Her blood was cold against her skin. She did not allow herself to shut her eyes as she had chosen,  unlike many people, to walk into the arms of death with her eyes open. To see her regret hurl itself upon her and cling like chains around her. 
She heard footsteps. They grew closer and closer and the heaviness in them, the way one foot stayed on the ground just a tad bit longer felt so awfully familiar. Then they hurried, running towards her. She felt a warm rough hand against her face and before she passed out she willed herself to face this person. She knew him and allowed herself to sink into the unconscious in his all too familiar arms. It had been long but they still felt the same. 
” It’s me. You’ll be alright.” He said.

*Stay Tuned For TUSSLES IN THE DARK 05*



Posted in The Society


​*©Heart_Art_Poetics Presents*


On Christmas Eve, sunlight cascades sharply through the tattered roof, revealing dark soot that hung above. Its in the morning. Hymns are being hurled left, right and center. Hymns of a silent night. Rumors had it that a virgin gave birth to a savior. For our sins to purge.  As it was a “oh happy day” like expected. People wined, dined, food and booze were in plenty. Times like this nothing could go wrong, but it’s during such times that bad things tend to happen.
Aroma of baked flour, roasted beef, and chicken pie, pilau; danced its way through the open cracks of the door to hit their noses with an aura of appetite. Sending chills down their stomach, making worms to bubble with joy. The children, who have been sleeping, suddenly woke to the unfamiliar scent in their single roomed house. The eldest was the first to wake. She yawned. Stared blankly at her siblings, then smiled. Today was going to be different.  She rubbed off her eyelids and called out,

Inside the room everything remained untouched as she had left them before she went to sleep. The yester night’s plates remained unwashed. It was 9am. The aroma that punctuated the air was from the neighbors’. She stared dry at the door, it was unmoved. Looked over the bed, the mess had not been cleared up; the make ups, the bras, stilettos, panties, perfumes and clothes all spread over the bed. Mom did not sleep in her bed. Mom never made it home. She was uncertain of it. She tried to remember if she had woken up to open the door for her mom like she always did. But nothing came to mind. She sat down. Asked her siblings who barely had any answer. Then again she called out, “mom.” Maybe mom went to get some shopping for the special occasion. But this too was odd. Usually mom sleeps till 12noon, due to the late and tiring working hours at night. 

Outside, the women were talking in loud whispers. Their voices were filled with some sort of pride. They laughed, giggled and shook fives.

*WOMAN 1*: (CLUTCHING ON TO HER WAIST) I see our friend has not woken up, must’ve had a rough night at work eeh?
*WOMAN 2*: all those men doing rounds on her, what do you expect, (LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY) cut her some slack please
*WOMAN 1*: you mean our husband ?

*WOMAN 2*: after what we did to her yester night, mh-hm! She wouldn’t dare sleep with our husbands.
*WOMAN 1*: I have to admit, after what we did, I felt spiritually uplifted, heehehe like I found a Jesus”
*WOMAN 2*: hahaha you don’t say, I meant to broke her tooth but it’s the heels I broke, I feel ashamed
*WOMAN 3*: (SLOWLY SHE RISES, FROM WHERE SHE’S BEEN SITTING ON) you two hold on, did anyone notice that it was my blow that took her down?
*WOMAN 2*: hahahah, you fought like Mohammed Ali’s daughter, girl I tell you this thing of boxing is genetically inborn. You should consider boxing.
*WOMAN 1*: you stupid woman, what do you know about genetics? You dropped out of school in form 2, when you got pregnant with the cobbler’s child.
*WOMAN 2*: (FEELING OFFENSIVE) you fool, don’t get personal with me now, it’s a common knowledge you lost your virginity in class 6 and got pregnant twice, aborted once and gave birth once !  mscheeeew!!!
*WOMAN 3*: (TRYING TO COOL THEM OFF) relax idiots, anyway, I didn’t know that harlot wore a weave, a Brazilian weave, otherwise she looked like a cancer patient. I almost pulled it off. I feel sorry for the men who spend time inside her.
*WOMAN 1 & WOMAN 2*: (IN CONTEMPT) did you just say a Brazilian weave?
*WOMAN 2*: Girl, the least she can afford is a Chinese weave! Only God knows the misery beneath those cheap make ups (BOTH WOMEN BURST INTO LAUGHTER)
*WOMAN 3*: anyway, why don’t we go and tell her that we don’t want to see her around here, she should pack and leave before 1st January
“Yeah, great Idea.”

(Together they leave.)
She is around 6 years of age with a round polite pumpkin face. She is not chubby. She is not thin. Her hair is not neatly plaited; it’s curly and entangled. Her lips are dry like a surface that has undergone dehydration. She has small fingers, but already she has gathered the art of responsibility bestowed in every girl when mom’s away. She had just finished spreading the beddings out on the sun when she started washing utensils. The two siblings rests on the floor playing with toys. They hum a song they were taught in school. “Two little birds, early in the morning, one named Peter, one named Paul..” possibly to pass time for mom to get back. 
Tap! Tap!
A knock is made on the door. Though they assume and continue with what they were doing earlier. Because usually they don’t get knocks on the door, they rarely have visitors. Mom usually don’t knock, she does when it’s early at dawn and she’s back from her tussles. 
Tap! Tap!
This time it got louder than the first one. She curiously responds, “karibu!”
With wet hands covered in foam, the girl opens the door to three women whose faces fumes, the only thing not visible is the smoke. On realizing that it’s the kid and not their foe, they give in to a slyly forced smile. 
“Hey kid, where is mummy?” one of the women asks.

“She’s not Around.” she replies innocently. 
“Where has she gone to? Are you lying to us?” the 2nd woman asks as vigor culminates in her tone.  Scaring the little girl. Her siblings who were humming inside the house suddenly stopped and came at the door, kneeling their shoulders on the foot of their sister.
“Listen here small kid, we want your mother, not you. I’m sure she’s in there Sleeping.” 
“Harlot! I know you can hear us. Come out you widow! Your kids will not save you!”
The women starts to call out names. The girl starts to cry silently, tears streaming from her eyes, her siblings bursts into cries. The symphony of hymns that existed before faded away. To be replaced by tantrums between the women and the kids. Yet the kids do not understand anything. 
“Let us pass! Let us get your mother out!” the 3rd women commands the girl. But the girl doesn’t move. She remains still. 

The women try to get through forcefully but their efforts are stopped by a screeching vehicle that halts into the compound. A land cruiser makes a stop near the house. Four men; three dressed in blue uniforms, looking young. And one dressed in a white cotton T-shirt tucked in a black khaki jeans, alights from the vehicle. The kids stops to cry. Calm is once again restored. 
One of the women whispers, “These are the police. We need to go” 

“No, let’s not look suspicious” the other cuts in.
The four gentlemen makes it through and the guy with no uniform introduces himself as Inspector Makali and his companions. He bends down and touches the chin of the kids, assures them not to cry. He reaches to his pockets, pulls out a ten shilling sweet and gives them.
 “Do not cry. You are safe with Me.” He assures.
Inspector Makali, rises up to the three women. Signals one of his companions. He removes a picture of a woman and shows it to the three women.
“Does any one of you know this woman?”
They stare at the picture in disbelief not knowing what to say. How could this be? They search each other in the iris with shock. They feel like running, but they seem stuck. They seem so powerless even the Inspector would have noticed.
“STOP WASTING MY TIME does anyone of you know this woman!!!?” Inspector Makali asks again, growing impatient.
“That’s my mom Sir.” Respectfully she answers the kind man. “are you our dad ? ”


What do you Think  will happen next ???*