Alamu

More visible than a palm oil drop on the Virgin Mary’s garment, Marks stronger than the tendons of an eighty years old African farmer, A thicker Ladoke Akintola’s tribal marks! Bruises on the forehead not even Tara could hide. Strong tongue, an aftermath of fifteen years on the farm before the miracle, The miracle of exportation. With an accent that makes mockery of the English language, A deliberate show-off of his newly found status, Waves at his former brothers with

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Regrets!

I heard people are all we have, all that matters Maybe I heard late, maybe But I am by the door already, Deep in thoughts. Alone again, Just as dreaded. Perhaps I saw it coming, perhaps I didn’t Roof shattered; windows broken The door hangs on a tiny nail The next wind will blow it away The cloud is gathered, The darkness can be held, and I am here, helpless I chased them away, the friends with nails, The big

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Movie Plot

This play starts with no preamble We don’t need it anymore, we know the plot, We can write it. We know the cinema too, but the narrator takes no chance, He dangles his green-white-green cap, rubs his moustache and stays, Take the tarred road at Monatan but he warns you to mind the potholes. He says, when you get to Orita-Meta, park your car, the road is bad, it can’t go beyond it. Take an Okada from there to Kiriji,

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About Me

About Me

My life’s journey is that of many parts, every day I try to bring all the parts to an agreement, but I am yet to succeed at that, or maybe I shouldn’t even be trying to do it, I really don’t know yet- but while at it, I try to find how each part makes me better, and how each part can make the society better

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