LINES AND VERSES

Where was he? He seemed to have released Those millions and me in such a hurry; Quelled his phallic hunger And cycled off without a worry. Where was he since he closed That door behind ? Perhaps opening more doors; Making more maddened babies - Plundering hearts of the ladies, Fouling their fine lives And brushing them all behind. Where was he since he brushed mama And I behind? Perhaps, he forgot we weren’t the only Things he’d brushed behind: He once did his glossy black hairs too, And his photos won’t hide that, too. And I'll ask once more: What did he do with his hairs’ blackness? Because he is bent and back And pleads I care for the grey ones. Where was papa? Where was he? By: Jude Ifeme Photo: Dreamstime

Poets of ghetto streets, They are not poets at all, Just a bunch of loose marauding louts Whose heads are best un-kept; They shout and foul the peaceful Air awakening the end of time. Poets of ghetto streets, Can’t be poet for us! Their manners stink Their minds in kink Of liquor and weeds And staggering dance They know not day or end. Poets of ghetto streets, Do they know the world at all? They are ferocious men Living dingy lives And blame the world for their plight. They are poets of ghetto streets, How come they speak for all? By: J.Ifeme Follow @mcjudeci Photo credit

Only a few of us will get to ever truly live life. The rest will follow their every line of thought, whim, will satisfy their every desire; and all they’ll ever need is express them. These few will be like the source for all men because they do things rightly. Man, though created to think and become, resigns to pursing the easy way through life, ironically the paths mostly perceived to be easy are indeed the most difficult and most fulfilling. The mind of man is one with the universe, and nothing is denied to one that is given to the other except one does not know how to ask or how to receive. Our dreams, our passions and fears constantly mold what we call our destiny. We fail to note that our destinations in life are in a constant flux, always responding to our decisions and actions. While some will always be rich and others poor, it is by no means the fault of the rich that the poor lacks, except when one steals directly from the rest which should then be treated...

  Photo credit Give, not to people who can give back to you; not to people who will become subservient in their honest efforts to show gratitude. And not to sycophants, men whose tongue can't taste their heart. Give to people who will think you an angel because they'll never see you again. Give to someone who will feel divinity in your act and call it that singular deed a miracle. They don't see you, they see the love. Though it is rare for man to truly help another without helping his own interest(s). But giving can only be true when we give out virtue and expect nothing. Be wary of them who, though may not expect money for their money: they ride on the wings of adulation; their reward is indeed paid in praise, and nothing more. Besides worship, what can man of dust give to God who enriches man to give to his fellows? How do you call it giving when you are only building a mansion for your self in heav...

There are a few people walking this planet who can maintain a form for long; one moment they want be like the latest pop sensation, the next moment they wish they had their neighbor's charm or luck or possessions. To maintain a form, one must learn to look inward rather than outward. One must learn to look inward without becoming self-obsessed, self-righteous, or judgmental of the choices others make. Though one may be non-conforming to ideas that do not agree with their innermost, or proven, philosophies of life; one must learn to avoid being contemptuous. Being able to develop an internal sieve that enables one to separate facts from fiction, fancied rights from frivolous notions becomes imperative. However, one must be able to look wrongfulness in the eyes and call it by its name, even if it is coming from within oneself or someone within one's circle of interest. To maintain a form is to have character, which is the consolidation of habit. This c...

A little sigh. A short gasp. A life lost. Silence. We spoke; Not in words. All gestures gone. Rigor mortis. The pain. The void. A rueful Submission to memories.                                                                    Photo credit ©Jude Ifeme

The things that appeal to us the most are those we never had. That lover that didn’t stay. That child we couldn’t raise. The union we had and lost; and when we do grow old, we tend to miss most of all the things we never did, while the ones we did once do and cherished are sometimes carelessly relegated to the background. We do desire - sometimes to a point obsession -  those things we never had mostly because they didn’t get the chance to disappoint us just as the ones we have had our hands wrapped around did. Just because we never got to familiarize with them, we tend to live on considering them perfect and most worthy. That love you never had could have made you perfect; the promising chap who died young could have changed the world; if you ever did harken to your desire to leave where you are now you could have become rich and famous or happier: yes, you 'could' have. But you could also have died or been imprisoned, or even c...