Used.

Here, I wait, holding back my hands from touching Kourtney because she would not be touched. I'd touched her yesterday like never before, fingering her every parts, thumbing away on her board till my fingers went numb.

Today, she sits in a corner on my bed, and would not be touched. I wouldn't hurt her if I could but yesterday, I'd used her like never before. My strokes were harder but with such fluidity like one playing a classical piece on the keyboard - her keyboard.

I felt the firmness of her curves as it responded to my touch. I chose my words carefully, stringing letters with my fingers, reaching notes never before imagined. In the throes of orgasm -with words spilling in rhythmic procession, she clutched my thumbs as the other 8 fingers stroke her bare back and muttered several random words but one stood out. " We've never done it together like this before". And I replied, "She made me do it. Elinor made me do it".

Kourtney went silent. I saw the red light blinking incessantly,
indicating a flat battery. I felt for Kourtney, my BB.

Through the eyes of a child

Time raced on.
Speckles of guilt danced lightly on his young face as his heartbeat synced with the pacy movement of time, creating a rhythm that nagged forever. His fattened thighs shivered under the weight of the cross he had chosen to bear and for the first time in a long while, his religious walls seemed to be crumbling.


He shut his eyes, immersing himself in the shadows of his religious fanaticism and shutting off the radar of emotions and reasoning that were beginning to cloud his thoughts. His mind raced back to the mountainous Shabwah province where he had met with divinity and like ‘Moses’ returned with a sacred mission – anti-western in every essence. There, he sucked from the breast of fanatics who fanned the ember of hatred, branded in religious hegemony and made men mobile explosives. There, he lost his humanity.


He felt warm.
His virgin mind plunged into sexual ecstasy, awakening the hardened phallus from his twenty-one year slumber. It roared and stretched its rusty muscles like a wrestler threatening an opponent, wishing to plunge just once into the deep waters of 'Vaginia' but … he was enroute Detroit.


He felt a tap on his shoulder.
Those large innocent eyes opened to meet the friendly gaze of an air-hostess, handing him a glass of juice. He lowered his gazed quickly like a child, cautioned by his parent not to look on fair maidens. He shook his head in disapproval at the startled hostess who moved on to the next seat.


Relieved, he reclined.
A feeling of self-righteousness glowed on his face as his mind wandered to the array of virgins that await him on the other side. In the same instance, death knell beeped, stirring the horror that is to come. Remorse flushed through his face and thick balls of sweat formed a ring on his forehead. No doubt, the time is near and his time is short.


Tears trickled.
He saw his mother’s face and the tears trickled more. He had not spoken to her in four months and as he walked through life’s final path; he wished he had called if only to hear her voice. More tears trickled.


He felt a nudge and turned to see a little girl holding out a white handkerchief. Puzzled, he looked at the girl’s mother who smiled in approval. With trembling hands, he accepted the gift with a smile.


His heart quaked.
For a minute, his humanity clashed with his religious values. For the first time in several years, he saw his true reflection in the mirror. He saw the monster religion had made of him. In the eyes of that little girl, he had seen what true religion should be. Angry, he reached for the detonator. Turned to the little girl sitting quietly on her mother’s lap and said with a smile,

“Thank you”.


He walked up to one of the air hostesses and whispered into her ears.

“I’ve got a bomb strapped in -between my balls that would go off in 15 minutes. I must get it off now. I don’t want anyone to die!”

He pulled down his trousers to reveal an explosive device sewn to his underwear. She raised alarm.


As they bundled him away, he waved at the little girl who smiled and waved in return. No doubt, he had seen the world through the eyes of a child and life for him would never be the same again.

Whispers from the Niger Delta

As the bullet tore into his flesh, Efemena gave a loud cry, “my children! my children!”. He slumped to the ground where his fellow village elders’ lifeless body lay. As he stare at death’s gruesome face, his thought wandered to his soon-to-be orphan children who had lost their mother to cholera, two years ago. He couldn’t stop the tears from pouring.

Another bullet pierced his sides.

His face contorted in pain as thick balls of blood drip from his lips, impeding his speech. His assailant – one of the uniformed men, trampled on the corpse of the slain elders and stood over him with a pointed gun. Efemena could only whisper through a splutter of blood, “God save my children” as his brain exploded.

Onanefe’s scream cut through the lone night like a bullet, puncturing the once serene ambience and frightening the feasting mosquitoes away from their nocturnal preoccupation. A greedy blood-drunk Anopheles whose tiny legs could no longer sustain the bulging thirty-three litres blood tank meant for an abdomen was squashed to death as Edafe wrapped her frail arms around her trembling brother, reminding him that it was only a nightmare. But Onanefe never got over it!

From the chink in the town hall, he had watched those uniformed men massacre his father alongside several village elders under the guise of national dialogue. That morning, they came beaming with smile, with their guns dangling from the side. As they converged at the town Hall, the village elders wore faces brightened with hope. They chatter away like excited kids until the guns put them to sleep. They muzzled them to death with rains of bullets, leaving the villagers fatherless. No doubt, the uniformed men were national assassins!

For years, Onanefe was haunted by that gory sight. Not even the intense African sun could heal the wound caused by such treachery. The seed of hostility evoked by that act of betrayal and nurtured through those nightmarish nights, awakened some sort of dissent – a quest for justice.

In the creeks, small groups of angry youths, without a home to hide when dusk settles have started gathering - learning to trigger the gun!

When truth is true...

Nagging thoughts drone incessantly on my burdened heart and like a heavy cloud, the imaginary weight on my head cast a shadow on the plain white sheet in front of me. ‘I am the man’ I whispered and so, should I mask my face with a smile while swallowing the bitter pill of pain? I rolled my sleeve up one more time - pen in hand, ready to give a voice to my lingering thoughts.

As my bare pen kisses the virgin white sheet, it appears that in their union, my worries take flight as I behold a spectacle - my pen and the sheet, entangled in a bridal dance!

A familiar rhythm rents the air, fanning the embers of a budding love.

I watch in awe as my old faithful pen do that romantic swing with the pretty white sheet who flashes seductive smiles, like a bride savouring each moment with gleeful pride. They danced through the night, unperturbed by my towering presence. The lone moon kept vigil as twinkling balls adorn the sky, in readiness for such rare celestial union. Against this background, my soul rest so profound…

I woke up!

I laugh at my illusions, but that laughter soon turned sour in my mouth when I found the same old faithful pen and the plain white sheet, lying peacefully on my bed-side table.

As I reach for the pen, the plain white sheet slips from the table; ferried by an ambitious wind, it drifts helplessly before it finally rested on the floor, close to my feet. Something caught my attention. The virgin white sheet has been deflowered!

The pride of her wall has been taken over by that ancient groom- the pen. Scribbled against that once virgin wall is the line:

"Forgiveness is therapeutic when truth is true"

His death...my birth!

Today, I add a year.

As callous men descended on him with whips and clubs, urging him to make that suicidal plunge on Golgotha’s lonely path, mother felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. The life in her womb seems to leap for joy. No doubt, her time has come.

Crestfallen, his frail frame shuddered under the weight of the cross as balls of crimson sweat trickles from his wounds, yet; they led him on, lashing out on his battered skin. He trudged on, not for the cruel kisses of their whips or the threat of imminent death but for the joy that lies ahead.

In that symbolic room marked “labour”, there where life is given and sometimes taken, mother lay toiling. She clenched pains in her teeth and drank patience from the midwives constant jibes. As her body ruptured in pain and her strength seemed to drain, she fought tenaciously, not for her life but the life of the one inside of her. She endured the perpetual agony of labour, knowing that a bundle of joy awaits her.

On Golgotha, he crumbled. Merciless men drove nails through the palm of his hands and feet, amused as he writhe in pain. Crucified, blood trickled down the cross and with each drip, life is drained. Yet, with his dying breath he prayed for his murderers and declared the work of redemption completed.

In that same instance, amidst the growing pain, mother gave that one final push and a new life was brought forth!

In his death, we find life everlasting.

Tear drops from a weary eye,

cease in its drizzling track;

faltering hope from a dying heart,

learn to soar in the morning breeze

when God's love, my broken heart finds.

The Greatest Show of Love

Whoever said innocence is a vice,
let him probe the guiltless stares of infants
who giggles as mother writhe under pain,
after hard bites on her tender tits.

Yet, mothers offer forgiveness, not smacks
knowing that such acts in innocence,
are the greatest show of love.



Pix from GettyImages

Maiden...no more

They left us...
Their morbid curiosity gratified;
But in our heart, a wound
The African sun never can heal!

Before I die...

Please read Murderous Intentions before you read this post.

Dear SHE,

I bleed.

In my hand is a gun, pointing to my head. In my heart is the dagger of words, buried between those bulging halves that beat with life. What hand drives the handle? What venom rides on the wings of words, tearing by heart apart? Waiting for that moment, that sacred moment when all becomes still and life becomes but a drifting lullaby fading with each seconds. Then we wake on the other side, if there be any. Either way, I am a dead man!

But before I am declared another feast for famished worms, let me break this sullen silence whose clouds are beginning to gather. Let me, on this platform unearth a maze of events that time has failed to heal. For who knows, in death, I might find my life’s long quest. And who knows what great benefit this revelation would in its rising tide, accomplish.

I have wronged you.

I am as guilty as charged. In this court of conscience, I have been found guilty. I have caused you much pain and in death would I not cause you more, if I by your hand kiss this world goodbye? Would human laws not find you guilty? And even if you escape the short hands of the law, can you escape the ever vibrant court of conscience? If forgiveness be far from you, then let me die, not by your hands, but let me with my own hands, end this miserable life of mine. For I do not wish to cause your healing heart more pains.

One more thing before I become history.

Is it true that a part of me -a part of us, now grows in you? If this be true, then my heart fails me. My hands no more can pull the trigger. My heart bleeds the more for that innocent life who would soon be rendered fatherless. This innocent soul who knowing no wrong would have to pay for a sin she never committed. I wish things were different. I wish I could give her the happiness she so deserve. I wish…

One thing I ask even if I don't deserve it but for the sake of what we shared, never make her a part of this sour tale.

I wonder what you would you tell her about me? What if she finds out that her beloved mother, murderered her father? What if…?

Better I end this tragic tale now!

Adieu.

John.

Ponderings...

Confused!

I search for answers. Walking on this lone and dusty path, knowing where I am going but knowing not where this trail - this silent travail leads. This road; I was told should lead to Eden. But here I am on life's almost fading track and time seems to have gone mute to my endless pleas and advances.

I am sinking. The ground beneath me seem to be shifting. Like a leaf cut off from its branch, I am left to drift helplessly. I can't understand why I am sinking so deep. I can't explain why I am falling so fast!

In the midst of these woes, I wonder where God is. I wonder if he is watching. I wonder if he cares. Will he catch me before I reach the ground?

"God, if you really care, please don't let me fall by the way side"

I guess there are a million others out there saying these words. But, how long do I have to wait till my morning comes? How long till he sends me an angel? How long?




Inspired by Ruben Studdard's "I need an angel"

A New Dawn...

I felt something in the air.

First came the instrumentals, creating an ambience that sets the soul in motion. Then came her voice, light as the tender flight of a butterfly; pure like the innocent smile of a baby, piercing through the stillness of the evening. My soul ballooned with ease in the evening breeze. For the first time in several weeks, I felt such peace as I have never before experienced.

I listened as one enchanted. Like a piece of metal flung into a river, the lyrics sank deep into my subconsciousness.

Her voice shot through my veins like a dose of marijuana, tippling thoughts from a mind already brimming with questions. The air echoed her voice. But my heart, with each throb, resounded her message – Ojumo ti mo, mo ri re o.

From a distance, I heard as though it were in a trance - the charade of supplications, drifting in through the winds, clogging the wheels of pleasant melody. I paused. It seemed like a congregation of drunks, who, having sucked from the enchanted bottle, now rant in a spate of senseless rhetoric.

I wonder how heaven cope with the endless stream of supplications that invade his privacy. Do the angels ever get tempted to close the door when provoked? Do they even get provoked? I sometimes imagine them, trying to shut the windows of heaven to stop those pestering peeps who would not mind exhausting the “blood of Jesus” if it can be exhausted. And God, thundering from his throne, would say, “Suffer not these ones to pray unto me, for the blood is sufficient”.

Sometimes I ask, is it the intensity of the supplication that determines who gets an answer? Or is there some sort of ‘churchy’ explanation to the unusual restlessness characterizing those fleeting moments that witness the demise of a year and the rebirth of another? For while we rejoice in endless spew over the birth of a year, we mourn the death of another.

And now the drum rolls, another year is born!

I felt the dove of music, perch lightly on my seeded heart and as it flaps its wings, the thick darkness of the night gradually gave way to the fresh smell of dawn…

…welcome 2009!

Inspired by Asa’s song “Ojumo ti mo”

And Scrotum speaks...

How do you explain the plight of the grass who suffers the aftermath of the clash between two elephants? Fate! Who decides fate? Isn’t there a provision for an appeal against the biased tendencies and unfair judgement of fate? If we make our fate, then why then do we have sudden twist of events, especially unannounced tragedies? What would make a man choose the gallows in the wake of his prime? How do we explain the brief exit of infants who, knowing no wrong, are snuffed away like a candle caught in the wind….?
Could it be that our fathers have eaten sour grapes and we, the children are fated to pay for it? Cruel fate!

Could it be that the cry of a baby at birth is nothing but a mournful dirge, sparked off by the gifted realization of the cruel interplay of life and death in fate? They mourn while the world merry away! Could this be a sign? A sign that we are nothing but some clowns scripted into this complex and cruel conspiracy called life, staged and managed by a divine muse, to amuse some idle gods!

I am a victim of fate’s calumny! I am burdened by fate or rather, I chose to be burdened! What man would choose to be burdened thus? Such is the calumny of fate.

I am scrotum, the sacred sac of life that is being sapped of life! I am the gate keeper, possessor of life’s trigger. The trigger that hangs loosely like a pendulum, waiting for that sacred moment, when my yoke is ‘unburdened’ with such convulsive jerks and watery humans are released into the race for destiny, there where only the fated survives, at the expense of a million others.
My children are innocently driven into a race which is more of death than of birth… and it is my fate that millions should die for one! What a fate!

What is my grouse?

I have been dealt with so unfairly! For centuries, I have been treated like an outcast! This is nothing but a conspiracy! For how else would you explain my exemption from the sex experience? Isn’t it obvious that this is a ploy to relegate me to the background? Pave the way for logic and let reasoning roam unrestrictedly. For what man would choose to labour like a beast of burden and be denied the satisfaction and beauty that comes with experiencing the joy of ones labour? I am tired of playing the fool! I want a piece of the action! I can’t labour for someone else to enjoy the fruit of my labour! I want to plunge into that sea of unending ecstasy with the Penis! No more playing the gate keeper! All I ask is to be included in the sex experience! I want to make my own fate!

Unspoken words…

She tried to hide the cloud of tears that has suddenly gathered. A product of the surging emotion, stirred by a past whose murky presence lurks in the air around her. She felt the life growing in her womb move gently. Her heart skipped a beat. Each time she feels distraught, the life inside her moves in empathy of her situation. It has a way of always reminding her that she is not alone.

As she cramped in labour, she could hear his voice in her subconsciousness,

“If you let that child live, count me out! We never met”

He had walked out of her life afterwards and had never come back. For nine months, she had drifted in a sea of confusion, perusing the sense in her resolve to keep the baby. Loved ones deserted her like a plague. To the society, whose accolade she has won all her life; tailing the norm like an ardent disciple, she became an outcast!

And there where the road ends, there where the wall stands, it is here she finds herself trapped - pushed to the wall. But then, she has to push! And so she pushed, pushed and pushed…and she pushed some more and the walls gave in…

And when she finally woke up, there beside her, wrapped neatly was a bundle of joy. She peered curiously into the eyes of the one cooing peaceful beside her, like one searching for answers. The baby beamed a smiled at her and that was it! That was all the answers she need. For in that moment, she felt loved…

Vagina Verses...

You are reading this post at your risk! You have been warned!!!

...I am but a pen in the hands of the muse…

I guess you have never thought that someday I would be here speaking to you. It has never crossed your imagination that I have a mind of my own.

“Can a vagina talk?”

Don’t be amused because that laughter would soon become a lump in your throat and that peevish smile on your face would soon become the frown of some village clown. When purpose is not known, abuse is inevitable! Call this a rant of some sort, or a mindless soliloquy, but sit awhile and suspend all personal biases as I take you on this journey of self (sex) discovery. Cry if it hurts, scream if you want, shout if you must and moan if you will, for I am about to disvirgin your thoughts. I am about to unravel some truth your Mama never told you! I am yours truly, Vagina!

Don’t pretend like you don’t know who I am! You are either a possessor of my infinite treasure and inexhaustible pleasure or you are one of those fragile folks with a dangling pendulum suspended in-between their thighs and a trigger of some sort like a sac, hanging loosely. Intoxicated by your pseudo rifle you go about hunting for me under different shades of skirts. You pride in the piles of skirts you think you have exploited and those sacred sanctuaries you have desecrated! What a fool you are! Didn’t your mother tell you, that I am the force that makes your ocean of passion swell? The flaws and strength of great men! Your masculinity ends where my femininity begins! I am your fate! Who then is the prey and who is the hunter? You should know better sons of Dick!

How can I forget those idle moments when you sit among your adulterous friends scheming and planning, sharing filthy tales of your unenviable conquest! How come I have suddenly become the object of amusement? But in the height of your lustful lure I was your angel, honey pie, sugar pie…I was everything to you until you dumped your slimy shame in me and then, I became the bitch! I became the slut! How could someone have condescended from such lofty cherubic height to becoming a thrash where every Dick and sons dump their messy slimy ‘thing’? The angel has suddenly become the bitch! What an antithesis! But wait Mister; has time your intellect deflated? Or is it true that when you get hardened, your reasoning takes flight? Some says it flows to your penis and is released during ejaculation. I guess this explains your after-sex exhaustion and uncivil mannerism.

Now, put that dusty brain to its primary use and let me teach you some vagina truth! If I could take your pseudo rifle in one swallow and dispossess it of its watery bullets, what makes you think I can’t swallow you up in a gulp? I am the cradle that rocked you to sleep when you were but a foetus: with one final push, I opened the door to your existence and made you a reality. I can as well shut that door this once and end your miserable existence! Is that the bitch in me or the angel speaking?

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror during ejaculation? What a sight! Faces contorted, muscles stiffened like one suffering from a bolt of paralysis; words tippling incoherently out of those twisted lips, breath coming in convulsive gasps; divorced of your pride and sensibility, a mad man’s glint in your eyes and like a goat that has just smelt its urine, a faint smile graced your lips…Is that the bitch or beast in you Mister? Never underestimate the power of a woman!

And to you possessors of my infinite wisdom, have you forgotten the creed of chastity and decency? Where lies your pride, when you have made me a commodity that can be purchased at any cost? Don’t I deserve your husband and soul mate? I am supposed to be your pride and not your shame! Those robes of innocence are meant to shroud your much coveted treasure from the prowling vulture. For where lies the masquerade’s pride but in its mask!

Sex. Is that all I am worth? C’mon sister, for how long will you give me out at the slightest mention of the word ‘marriage’ or ‘love’? Some men these days use love and marriage as an alibi or a justification for sex! What makes you think selling me out to every Dick and sons would guarantee your ultimate happiness and settlement in life? Where is Darlington, Dick-son, Dick-en, Oko-labi, Oko-juwonlo, Oko-dola, Brother Peter, Brother Paul, Alhaji Umaru, Aljhaji Ibrahim, Chief Ogadinma, Chief Nduka, Uncle Donatus to mention but a few? A few indeed!

Woman, where is your pride? This is not some cruise girl friend! Look inward and see how much I have been bruised by these brutes! A man who demands me as a criterion for walking down the aisle doesn’t truly deserve you! You should know better woman!

Daughters of Eve, why do you constantly chastise me with that malevolent object you call a dildo? Hmmm…this is definitely about sex, isn’t it? I have never ceased to wonder what would make a sister shove that parody for a penis down those private quartres! Is it a protest against centuries of peni(s)ficent or dickvolent slavery? Or a parody for the brutal tendencies of penile incursion? Could it be some sort of attack on male chauvinism? Whatever your reason, these marks are not tattooed for fancy; they are the relics of the pains inflicted on my fragile vagina walls by your uncivil sexual behaviour! Is it not an irony that I am bruised by that same instrument of pleasure which to me is but torture, while you cruise away in ignorance? What a woman you are!

What should I say of those moments when on the altar of shame, you desecrate my sacred sanctuary for your personal gains, selling me out as a commodity, to some sex starved slut and plucking my eggs, unripe from its stem? How many souls would you deny the joy of existence before you shut those sex puffed up thighs?

Woman, I am God’s gift to you! I am the wonder that makes child-bearing a miracle! I am that lost treasure men have always craved for, from generations past! I am your pride! Your duty is to see that I am given to that one true man after your heart. My worth lies in how well you can keep your legs shut until you find that special person! I deserve that special man – just that one special man!

And to you seekers of my vast treasures, when next you come across another vagina, treat her like your life depends on her because she could be your mother, your sister, your wife and maybe… your daughter!

Some respect is all I ask!

Yours truly,

Vagina.

Coming Home...

How time flies!

I can still recall that day, when I threw open the door to your heart and walked out, not looking back. I still hear your silent sobs as they trailed each step I took away from you and in the distance; I hear your still small voice calling out for me, calling out my name. I battled with the surging emotion that was beginning to build into a climax, leaving my eyes clouded with tears but somehow, I found the courage to walk away… blinded by my obsessions, your silent sobs I ignored!

You were my first love!

Like a tender plant you nurtured our love from childhood to maturity and I watched as our union blossomed with age and time. I can still remember that day when you look me in the eyes and said, “I know someday you would leave me but never forget that I will always be here waiting for you”. I never really took those words seriously because you were my definition of perfection and I could never imagine a life without you.

However, at a point in life, I started probing and asking questions. I got tired of the norm. I got tired of doing the same thing all over again! I wanted something new. I got tired of being told what to do and how to do it. I needed to express my individuality! At that point, I knew I was drifting away from you but I couldn’t help it because it was what I wanted! Something in me longs to be free - to be me. Thus began my quest for an existence outside the norm.

Seven years down this road and my regret lingers still! Seven years of doing it my way and living the life I have always wanted to live. Seven years of vanity, a greater part of which is spent in trying to be better but not getting any better than I am. Seven years of pains and misery, though not without its lessons, learnt in the most cruel manner – experience. For what pleasure lies in that ancient bottled death-trap consumed by many, making a fool of the wisest of counsel or the making of a chimney out of a man? Is it those fleeting high moments of orgasm or those transitory tingling of ejaculation which leaves us drained, limb, exhausted and lesser than a man? Tell me, do they all last forever? What last forever?

I am done trying to do it on my own! How could I have thought I could do it without you? I have been out there where the frost bites so hard at night and life does not get any warm. I have been there where the sun burns fiercely at dawn and nothing can shed one from the scorching sun! But in you, I have found life’s long lost harmony; in you I found balance. As I trail these almost fading tracks back home, I know you would be waiting for me at the gate but one thing I ask from your Lord, “don’t ever let me leave your presence again”.

In the name of Love and Marriage!

What is happening to the profession of undying love? Why are there so many broken and wounded hearts lying on this ancient path, the path to cupid’s abode? I stumbled on a post recently by Parakeet titled “The woes of a single girl” and one by Jayjazzy titled “On the verge of a break” and I can’t stop pondering on the sudden transition from a once sublime and sacred institution as unconditional love to a rather ludicrous and farcical glorification of lust!

The things we do in the name of love…

As much as I would frown at such a show of shame and a display of ignorance of the fundamentals of that sacred union called marriage by some men, either in the name of chemistry or love at first sight, I still think to a great extent, women are their problems!

Marriage is no doubt an admirable enterprise but when such sacred oath is taken without the benefit of the intellect; mostly due to pressure from whatever quarters, it becomes a show of shame rather than a celebration of boundless love!

At some point in the life of most single women, they resign to fate and the available becomes preferable! They make a life time decision with someone who most likely doesn’t cut their idea of a life time partner, forgetting that their happiness is worth the wait!

The issue of men taking advantage of single ladies either on the internet networking/dating sites or in a real life situation simply suggests the culpability of most single ladies whose desperation sometimes seem to becloud their sense of good judgement. Though some might be smart enough to detect such antics but several have lost their will to love and life as a result of the pains of their past mistakes and hurt.

You can’t litter the floor with granules of sugar and not be invaded by soldier ants! Somehow, I guess this truth seems to evade the consciousness of most single ladies that they probably out of desperation to find a life partner or get hooked-up, send an unconscious signal which some desperate men capitalizes on, hence making them vulnerable to the antics of such shallow minded men!

As a result, men now sell the idea of marriage even at first meeting knowing fully well that it is the brand every single woman wants to be identified with. But beyond those sugar-coated words and sweet promises, there lies deceit and emptiness! They only get to realize this when the deed has been done and they are the worse for it! Marriage is not the ultimate; your happiness should take first place priority!

Knowing where to draw the line between friendship and intimate relationship is of great importance and should be one of the skills a single lady should possess. Times are hard and true love is hard to find. If you don’t want to end up being a trash where every man dumps his ‘thing’ in the name of love and marriage, then you have to start looking inward and stop giving the impression that you are desperate or under pressure! True love is worth the waiting!

Women are the pride of our world! Lets keep this dream alive!

Saint or Sinners?

I am not in my element at the moment. I am trying to get my life together. Things are happening rather too fast or maybe I seem to be the one behind. I have got a lot of things going on in my life at the moment...but, I will leave that for another day.

To some good news, WE (You and I...lol) made it to the next round of the blogvile idol 2008 contest! I guess if we keep it at this pace, we might get to the final and even if we don't, well we have made a statement already!

I posted this sometimes in february but now, I feel the urge to reawaken our consciousness to the evils that men do in the name of love. The evils that no longer live after them but has come to settle with them! What if the unborn child speaks? What would he say of you? what whould she say to you?


I will die in thirty minutes! My fate has been determined by the powers that be. I have been sentenced to death in the most horrible manner! I am to be tortured and yanked limbs apart while still alive! My voiceless cries would not stop the executioner whose expertise in the art of murder of the most cruel nature has earned him respect and recognition among the female folks who constitute the bulk of his customers. I thought mothers are usually moved by the tears of their children but mine has lost every sense of motherhood, as she connived with my father to sign my death warrant! I could hardly believe my eyes as she led me amidst my voiceless protest and streams of tears to the altar to be sacrificed! Innocent me! Guiltless me! Helpless me! Why should I be sacrificed for the inordinate sexual urges of my parents? Why should I be the one to pay the price for their negligence? Why should my life be the ransom? Why…?

Amidst the tears, I fought for survival. The ones I trusted the most have turned their backs on me. I am left alone to suffer such horrific death in the hands of the merciless executioner whose glove clothed hands could not shroud the stains of blood and lives he had taken over the years. I grew weaker every passing moment as I watched my mother surrender her life on the execution altar. She lay facing the sky, with legs wide open and a face laced with fear. Tears trickled down my eyes, for I realized that her fear was more for her survival than for my innocent life, which would soon be snuffed!

Helplessly, I watched as the executioner plunged his instrument into mother’s uterus; intended to hold the walls of the uterus apart, so he could watch with pleasure as I am tortured to death. Mother groaned as he defiled the sanctity of her vagina. Satisfied with his feat, the executioner launched his death instrument, which he flaunted for a while, sending cold shivers running through my fragile spine. This time, I saw a glow in his masked eyes. It seemed my pains ignite his pleasure!

I battled hopelessly as the torture instrument approached. The bulging walls of the uterus quivers upon detecting the presence of an alien object. I struggled in vain to move away from the approaching doom but death’s mournful knell trailed all my actions. At this instance, just like every child in the face of a helpless situation, I listened to my instinct to turn to my mother for support but she turned deaf ears to my plaintive cries. My heavy heart sags under the pressure of rejection as it became apparent that no one wants me alive. Brimming with this realization, I gave in to the executioner’s lustful lures as I could not hide from his treacherous instrument which seems prepared to tear my frail limbs apart.

I have no past and the future seemed oblivious. I might have relished in the memories of a past that once was mine but emptiness stared at me in the face, except for loneliness and rejection, which had been the hallmark of my few weeks’ existence. As the executioner’s instrument tore into my flesh, I slipped into a state of coma as I recalled my father’s voice venting his anger on my mother, at the news of my existence. My traumatized mother fell on her knees pleading for my father’s understanding. He hesitated a while and curdled her in his arms as she asked,

“What are we going to do? My parents will skin me alive if they ever get to find out that I am pregnant! Please, help me!”

She sobbed uncontrollably as my father patted her on the back saying,

“We would have to get rid of it! That is the only way out and we have to do it as soon as possible”

Father’s face wore no sign of remorse. He exudes such confidence, as would one who is used to the ritual. I waited in futile for mother’s defence against such an inhuman act but she made no comment. Rather, she fastened her grip around father’s neck in approval. Thus, the decision to terminate my life was reached by my parents and I had to die for their sins!I felt a sharp pain piercing through my heart and with one last voice I cried, “please, let me live!” My pleas fell on deaf ears as the murderous instrument found its way into my heart. In that instant, it cleaved my heart in twain! The little flame of life that remained in my wretched soul was snuffed out permanently amidst the watchful eyes of my mother who sighed in contentment. No doubt, my death was her pride!

As my innocent soul ascended into heaven, with tear-filled eyes and a broken heart, I took one last look on earth and I was shocked to see that behind the unmasked executioner was my father!

Never Far Away...

The drum rolls once again as is our custom, to usher in some noble events. But in this instance, it is the drum for the second session of the blogsville idol 2008 and I am so excited that I made the list of contestants that sang their way through to the next session. I am not quick to forget that I couldn't have come this far without your support so I dedicate this to everyone who voted for me and also to my fellow contestants Ibiluv, Fresh & Fab, Archiwiz, Lightly and Unbiased who have shown great courage and resilience, in spite their brief outing.

At the moment...

I am trying so hard to get this voice off my head but the more I try, the more my heart seems to connects with the lyrics from that classical African piece playing in the background. What is never far away? Why does it seem so hard to put away some memories? Is it true that there are some memories that elude time and can't be subjected to the twist and histrionics of that ancient healer fondly called time? Is it true that love can touch us one time and last for a life time? is it true that some people come into our lives so briefly that even after they are gone, we live never to forget that angelic voice, touch and warmth that reminds us only, of the innocence of Eden? What is this lone quest all about?




Yesterday...


We were so young and full of life..but in my innocent heart, I could tell that what we share was rare! There was never a me without you! I could recall in awe times in our prime, when sitting in the class, the teacher would scold you for getting an answer wrong and I would be on my feet staring so hard at her, with my fist tightened into a ball, ready to strike! Where in the world did I get that courage?I can't tell but in the midst of my friends, I am usually the weakling. For you, I became the hero!

I recall with nostalgia, how we would sit together at night, gazing at the stars and making endless promises. In my timid heart, I knew that I would give everything to be with you. And then, when we part at nights, I could hardly sleep out of excitement, wishing that daylight would erode the thick darkness of the nights and I can be with my beloved again!




As we grew, so blossomed our love! And then suddenly you disappeared...




It was like a dream! I noticed the sudden calmness that now welcomes my presence each time I come asking for you. Your parents too seem to have suddenly disappeared! I asked everyone but it appears no one knows the whereabouts of your family because every quest brings a different tale.


You missed classes and then I started getting so apprehensive! People talked about you in whispers and whenever I get so close, they hush the conversation. I was dying inside!



And then, four weeks later, the teacher came into the class with her eyes all red and swollen with tears. I wished in my heart that you were here to see the hard hearted Mrs T, go so soft and limb in tears. Still in deep thoughts, her words broke into my thoughts, jerking me back to reality...

"We lost Angel four weeks ago...She died of cancer!"


And that was all I knew...


Today...

It's been fourteen (14) years down the road and I am yet to believe that she is gone. She lies dead and buried in the dry and parched earth, but in my heart, she lives forever!

"wherever I go

wherever you are

Baby, you are never far away

You're always on my mind..."

This fictional work is dedicated to everyone who has lost a loved one...

Flashes From Yesterday...

I did my first song recording for blogsville idol 2008 today...

I crumble afterwards like a pack of cards on my bed, trying to escape to that world where the mind ceases to wander and the heart ancient cadence becomes like the tender lullaby, tippling from mother's soothing vocal chord, whose rhythm has become my definition of serenity.

I battled to halt the heart mindless soliloquies, for in such moments of quietude, the mind becomes disentangled from the trappings of life and is ferried on the fluffy wings of the unseen chariot of slumber. However, like a beehive, endless thoughts swarm around my head; inspired by the music constantly playing in my heart...

the lyrics shot into my consciousness like an arrow from Cupid's bow. And like a spell from Harry Potter's wand, yesterday stood right before me! But, the music played on...

"How do I say goodbye to what we had?

The good times that made us laugh

outweigh the bad..."

Mixed emotions from my past reeled backward like a movie in an incoherent manner. Memories of days gone by, faces and phases of life - scenes from my past coming to life! I relish in the innocence of my childhood. A childhood that reminds me of of the true worth of making sacrifices and to love unconditional in the midst of want, pains, hunger and cold. Yet, the song played on...

"I thought we would get to see forever

But forever's gone away..."

That innocence that makes childhood a bliss has gradually drifted away, absorbed in the current of life; withering like a tender plant whose root has lost its grip. But here I am, lost in the frenzy of nostalgia, on this lone path called life. And once again, the song echoes...

"I don't know where this road

is going to lead

All I know is where we have been

And what we have been through..."

I frown at the seeming endless attack on yesterday by some greedy motivational preachers who feed on the meagre earnings of the poor whose search for hope have made them vulnerable to the antics of such wolfs, parading as sheep! "Yesterday is dead!" "Yesterday is meaningless to your destiny!" "Yesterday is a waste!" They speak their fears - their past. But they have forgotten that our interpretation of today is subject to the vagaries of individual experience with the past - yesterday. For how do we learn to appreciate today, if we forget the memories of yesterday? If we live all day for tomorrow, who knows if tomorrow may never come...who knows! And the song played again...

"If we get to see tomorrow

I hope it is worth the wait..."

The beauty and innocence of childhood, the inexplicable and inextricable bond among family members, the joy of going through pains and hunger together, the numerous quibbles among friends, the hurt and betrayals, those elusive moments that take our breath away and those moments that witnessed our watery pains, the enlightenment of education and life's greatest lessons learnt in chalk-less classrooms! Above all, the joy of of finding a soul mate and miracle of childbirth...And the music played one last time...

"I'll take with me the memories

To be my sunshine after the rain

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday..."

What does yesterday mean to you?

Listen to the song "It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday" By BoyZ II men

Get on the move campaign III: Always Pad

This is the final ad in the 'Get on the move campaign' for the Always brand. It has been a very interesting ride, with all the brain storming sessions and all the beautiful comments to grace it. I must appreciate you all for your comments and suggestions.

On a lighter note, I am really thinking about this Blogville idol 2008 contest and I think I would love to join in the contest! I am not much of a good singer but I love to sing! I am going to do this for my love for music and I hope you guys would wish me luck!


I am really getting so weary about this Youth Service year and I can't wait for it to be over. The weather here in the North has been so unbearable and to the extreme. When it rains, it appears as if the heavens would crumble to the earth and when the sun comes up, you would wish the rain hasn't stopped! What a world of antithesis!


I am working on a post on Branding with emphasis on the Nigerian Banking Industry. I would be exploring their brand achetypes with a view to suggesting ways to building a stronger brand which can deliver on its brand promise as well as take customers through the brand experience. I should have this published next week.


In the mean time, I would appreciate your criticism, comments and suggestions on this ad!









A period
shouldn't end
your statement




Get on the move with













Always logo from P&G website

'Get on the move' campaign II (Always Pad)

This copywriting thing isn't as easy as I thought it was. At the point when you are thinking you have really cracked the brief then, the sledge hammer comes down on your creative and makes a nonsense of it! Lol! One just have to keep on learning and moving because it takes that extra squeeze to get the creative juice out sometimes. So go on baby, squeeze me! Lol!

It is on this note I would want to appreciate everyone who dropped a comment and suggestion on my last Always pad campaign. I noticed that most of the comments and suggestions were based on the suitablility of the graphics. As much as I am not a graphic person but an aspiring copywriter cum brand strategist, I try not to give a hint of the product from my graphics like we have in the mainstream ad concepts (I realise I still have to keep it simple). This is why most of my graphics don't really have a direct relationship with the product but such relationship exist at the inferential level. The copy explains that better...
'Your ON days shouldn't be your OFF days! Get on the MOVE with always' Just trying to play on the colours of the traffic light!

Well, based on popular demand, I have decided to work on my graphics and lets see how much this print ad can sell our product-always.

It is still the same campaign. Although, I have made some changes on my graphic concept but the copy might read differently but it means the same! So what's your take on this???












Your FLOW days
shouldn't be your SLOW days!



Get on the MOVE with













Always logo from P&G website