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Showing posts from March, 2018

need balance

there's some beauty in darkness:
something interesting about
the way the air would heavily light
an irony of perfect juxtaposition. there's some beauty in ugly:
something intriguing about the
huge grotesque scars that
seem to never want to go away. there's some beauty in evil:
un peu de la purité in
the heart of a condemned man,
an innocence buried beneath a blanket of
bottled up emotions. these little beauties we
choose to neglect
aren't they the very things that
make living bearable? who would be good without the existence
of evil?
who would be beautiful without ugliness?
or what story could ever be told without scars? need beauty and ugliness,
need scars and healing oils,
need good and evil,
need all the balance to remain
steady and sane in this
crazy crazy world. need balance:
then imbalance to
balance the human equation
now and again.

TRANCE

my eyes are
intelligent,
brilliant: a firework of events.
my thoughts are
limited,
weakened; how come it took
this long to realize?
my screams are
silent,
crippled: hence the irony,
suiting this madness.
my heart is
bound,
consumed: inclined to a seul,
the imperfect affair.
my life was
easy,
still is: when will it fully blossom?
some lies are
unharmful,
a sign: love's very true own
protection.
my eyes are
not for seeing,
but feeling,
all these other lives
i dare not intrude
or touch,
for the better part of
this dreadful
trance.
g.o.

The City That You Were

i was Jos
and
he was Lagos. i was the quiet streets of Rock Haven:
the houses separated by the heavy silence
of unanswered 'hellos' from neighbours.
the absolute conservation of shades the trees
cast here- was totally me. he. he was the busy streets of Obalende:
the unrepentant conductors yelling,
'Yaba! CMS! Yaba! Yaba!
the circular circulation of human sweat waving
through the air like Oxygen.
neglecting the weaknesses of island Ajebutters and JJC pedestrians. at night i was the city of J-Town after 8pm.
quiet. eerily so.
soldiers securing fences of the selected few.
smoking stuff and drinking liquor,
with AK-forty-somethings to bring down any rebel who dared to equal. he was the busy streets of Lasgidi at night:
the traffic, in French translated to, "la circulation"
right up from Admitalty Way through the Toll gates.
Cars honking, drivers cursing, almost excitedly at each other.
LASTMA officials obeying the call to rip-off 'rich' drivers. …