About

Poetic Ideas is basically a medium of expression of my ideas, not particularly on writing, but understanding of life. It is not about rules but about flows - honest, natural flow.

It is about that guttural voice in my head, it is about that burning perception that may not be your truth. It is about own redemption, which just might also be your redemption. It is about the elevation of soul, not above humanity but beyond my many failings.

So this page is an outward reflection of my inner thoughts. If you sometimes feel like I do, you just might like it here.

Then I must say WELCOME...

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Finding The Bond

My strongest addiction as a single was reading. Being alone was bliss and gave me ample time to devour as much literature as one could come by. I had very little care for what happened in other social spaces.  When I got married some years ago I had fears my lifestyle might have some effect on my family bonding, so I chose family. I found a great partner in my wife and have bonded excellently with my kids. But my love for the books and writing have suffered tremendously. A few months ago, I decided to return to reading​. If you were a reader you would know that if you've ever read a book that it has a way of reaching back to you whenever you saw the title. Going through my shelve, I realized I could sense and recollect every book's content by a mere touch; these were old friends indeed. And it struck me I have not bought new ones in a while. I have returned to reading, having made friends with the kids. I know they must sometimes wonder why Daddy suddenly has to stare for
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A Letter to My Daugther

Dear daughter,   As I look down on this blank, unlined paper waiting to get inscribed with ink, I could imagine an angelic face on the brink of making a transition into a world of many wonders. I want you to know that you have been loved already. I could only imagine what it’s like over there on the other side, so I think you should consider it a fatherly advice and hold on to as much memory as you could while crossing over to this journey full of treachery and pain, hopelessness, and yet permeated with a lot of joy, and I hope you will come to add to its beauty. It is a world of many influences. A world of riches and poverty, highs and lows, wisdom and folly, fame and shame: a world of immense prejudice and little justice. But it is also a world where you can be anything you want to be, if you don’t let anyone tell you otherwise! You are a woman, yes? The world expects a lot from your kind yet! So you are also awaited. I want you to know you can do all that without letting
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Another Mother's Child

Not that Chisom had a thing to do with that tasty honey in the bottle, not that she didn’t desire it. She was just a child. But she’d hoarded the sugar for her pap and cooked the solution in an old kettle till it was brown and greasy and tasted like the honey in the bottle, and she buried it in her safe haven. When the honey bottle went missing, someone said they found a portion in the old metal box where Chisom kept rags of possession. She must have hidden it, lamented the woman, so she could sweeten her retched tongue. She made it known to all the neighbors so no one would mind the noise when it came. A dog needed a bad name if it was to be hanged. Just that the honey for her kids’ breakfast was missing and something that looked like it was found in Chisom’s box, she had to be kicked down the stairs like the worthless sack of bones she was called, and whipped till her skin felt like beef on a grill. And because her kids had to have sugar instead of honey for breakfast, Chisom had to
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