CULTURAL HERITAGE

What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?

Not narrow narrative could typify this,

Else, we tend to segregate by colouration of pride,

Negro, mongoloid and Caucasoid,

All in one common undeniable format,

Human! any other addition is ephemeral.

Relics of our domiciliary corners

Might not reflect our true heritage as human,

These are natural gifts or man-made

That can be replicated in other clans,

We will be narrowly minded as humans,

If only these magnificent relics typify our cultural heritage.

From the creation of man till date,

Universal cultural heritage of man,

Has traveled with time till date,

But men have continually shy away

From it reality, possibly for it intangibility.

Entire world can only be proud of itself

Across tribes, races, colours and languages

When we all begin to heartily appreciate

Human tenets that distinguish us from the

Animals in the wild.

In my understanding of universal human heritage,

I will rather pitch my tent towards the global landscape of:

Hospitality, where all human are homely, irrespective of colour or tribe,

Mutual respect, where none is ridiculed or humiliated,

Generosity, where man is willing to willfully give to man graciously,

Charity, where love for fellow human comes first,

Contentment, where greediness is put to death,

Transparency, where our bilateral relationship is void of hiding agenda,

Trust, where everyone is trustable and honest,

Commitment, where all is consciously working towards a good global estate.

No cultural heritage among humans

Can be more holistically encompassing

Than to make the world habitable

For fellow men.

Stop the wars and spread the love,

And we all enjoy our relics in their beauties,

As we appreciate the wholesomeness

Of others in love and undeniable unity.

BRAND

What brands do you associate with?

Brand walks hand in hand with choice,

On the street of abundance and surplus,

The heart merry as it chooses what pleases the eye.

But on the crescent of lack,

Where scarcity rules as an emperor,

Brand is locked up in the prison of the mind,

Where desires can only exist in the world of fantasy.

In the golden castle with high valued notes,

No brand can be too expensive to come bye,

Only that the mind is troubled on what is invoked in the market square.

Brand walks with want while lack only endures with basic needs,

On the mind of bourgeoisie resides luxury with her twin called brand,

Only a proletariat nurses luxury in the cage of imagination.

As we imagine brand on a global scale,

More than eighty percent of the world populace knows no brand,

Just about ten percent manages to belong to the stratum of affluence,

Where their choices are limited because of the statue of their pockets,

While less than ten percent rules the world in luxuries,

Whose affluence have put the market square at race,

In search of a more appealing brand,

That seasoned the heart of the wealthy.

Down here we combat with the essentials,

And nurse our brand in fantasy.

We work and walk daily,

As we climb the stairs of social strata,

When we get to the top,

Our brand will not be ephemerals,

But will be crafted in humanity,

Seeing the world smile even with our little

Widows’ mite,

My brands are not of goods or possessions,

But the smiles on the faces of all.

I choose to associate with the brand of global smile.

MORE

What could you do more of?

Writing to brighten the darkened corners,

Beaming this little light of mine,

With wordings of hope, courage and love,

I wish I can do more over and over again.

Like a lily in the mire, I long to show,

That in every imperfect situation,

There is a glimpse of a perfect order,

More of this I love to do in writing,

Until the world begins to appreciate one another.

That my pen will be a lightening,

To the hearts along the path of night,

And my ink can reflect more of wholesomeness,

To the weak while climbing uphill in the life’s journey,

Many are crushed daily by emotional accident,

Hatred and subjugation has beaten them low,

To these ones I like to crest more of words,

That gives solace, comfort and relief.

More of courage sharing,

More of pleasantries along the stairs,

More of encouragement as we walk hand in hand,

More of writing to liberates the world around.

Over and over again,

More, more and more,

To do more of shining with writing,

More of inscription of words on the marbles.

PRESUMPTUOUSNESS WORSEN MATTERS

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

Too quick to judge he was,

Dagger of words to pierce her heart,

For an action judged presumably,

Later to realize that he was wrong.

The tales of Madam Margret and her boss was told,

Throughout the night she was physically humiliated by her husband,

Beaten, battered and emotionally injured she was,

No help, no rescue and no one she could have called close bye,

As a strong woman she was, she summoned courage as if nothing has happened,

Early enough, she prepared and set out for office,

No one can ever be stronger than his/her emotional state.

Madam Margret tried hard to frame a happy face on her way to work,

But the more she tried, the more her injured emotion betrayed her.

She was lost in thought at the entrance of her office building,

She was so unconscious of her environment to the extent that she walked pass her boss without a word of greeting,

Straight to her office to begin her daily routine.

Though with frustration and a dejection clouded mind.

Her boss on the other hand was furiously angered,

This is an height of insubordination he exclaimed,

Margaret is too full of herself, this is the third time she will walk pass me without greeting me!

This is nonsensical, she is too arrogant,

She is uncultured and incorrigible,

I will show her that I am the boss here,

She must be fired, I can no longer condone her insolence.

Madam Margret’s boss spewed fire as he rants from one corner of his office to another.

In his rage, he beckoned on his secretary to prepare a letter of disengagement for Madam Margret,

The religious secretary tried subtly to reverse the boss’s decision but all to know avail.

Without fair hearing, Madam Margret was disengaged.

With bleeding heart and a facial waterfall,

Madam Margret penned down her ordeals in marriage,

And the presumptuous acts of her boss,

It was a lengthy heart pouring words on the white leaf,

Hot tears were stamped on the paper as she writes.

Her trauma was misunderstood for arrogance,

Her emotional instability was mistaken for disrespect,

Her unexpressed pains were misjudged for an insubordination.

To worsen the matter, her presumptuous boss never give her fair hearing, let alone calling her for questioning and counsel.

In her helpless state of mind, she brought out a wrapped paper from her bag.

Your guess is as good as mine,

It was a dose of poison!

Madam Margret took the poison with water right in her office,

She quietly struggled in pains and died in silence.

Not too long the security personnel boost into Margret’s office to lead her out,

What he saw was terrifyingly alarming.

He called for help with an untold exclamation,

But it was too late, madam Margret has gone passed the Rubicon.

All the workers, the secretary and the boss could not hold their stands,

Fear gripped every heart looking at the lifeless body of madam Margret on the marbles and the note she left by her side.

The boss was confused within the Vails of self-humiliation and the option of suicide,

Though Madam Margret’s horrible husband is the demon to be executed here,

But her boss is the chief slaughter of the demons clan.

She was dehumanized by her husband, but

She was sent to her early grave by the senseless and presumptuous act of her boss.

Little show of love could have sufficed,

little sense of compassion could have lifted her burden,

little delay of nasty action could have avert,

Little words of kindness could have helped,

little consciousness of emotional states of other people could have been a way out,

little words of counsel could have saved the day.

The magnitude of a presumptuous act can never be imagined.

PRESUMPTUOUSNESS is the major problem in our present world,

Men tends to suspect other men by infaring opposite meaning to what is not.

Our world will be cool, when we diligently investigate actions before reacting.

MY SOURCE OF ENERGY

What things give you energy?

Reaffirming words crested on the pages of papers,

From the golden minds across the global shores,

Spreading love, courage and tenets of humanity,

There lies the fountain of my energy.

Inspiration resident in the post of men and women of like passion,

Though scattered across boundaries of countries and continents,

Yet daily posting and reading keep us in bond of neighborhood,

Creating a deep sense of belonging and unfathomable communal link,

From there springs forth my energy.

An assemblage of WordPress,

Where ideas are daily shared

Irrespective of race, tribe, language or colour,

And everyone from everywhere mutually tolerates one another,

Without discrimination, prejudice or nepotism,

That’s my source of energy.

Smiles from shore to shore without sighing,

Encouragement from heart to hearts without deceit,

Truth from lips to lips devoid of falsehood,

Freedom of expression without subjugation,

Food for the famished,

Water for the thirsty,

Help for the helpless,

Liberty for the oppressed,

Love for all without reservation.

Seeing all these permeating the mental faculty of all humans,

Is the source of my energy.

JIM REEVES: THIS WORLD IS NOT MY HOME

What’s your all-time favorite album?

Ever green sounds of lyrics to my ears,

A performance orchestrated by a spirit man,

Just like the latest release of last night,

The sound that draws me closer to the celestial.

A countryside cowboy singer was he,

With a touch of heavenly burden before home going,

Just as if he knew is time was up,

He sang to my heart the need to prepare.

“this world is not my home” caught me at the corridor of self-will,

As my eyes were opened to the vanity of earthly accomplishment,

Just as Ecclesiastes puts it point blank,

All is vanity as the celestial home awaits all

Each time I listened to Jim singing,

I felt him standing by with a contagious smile,

But tears rolls down my chicks like a gorge,

Why he left earlier before my birth.

The track narrated the life journey of every man,

Through this world on the lane of temporal,

As the existence of everyone is but for a short moment,

After which the spirit is separated from the mortal body,

No permanent home for anyone here,

The need to prepare for the home above

Can never be overemphasized,

After our passage on this side of eternity,

A home definitely awaits all and sundry.

If all the good and the bad have a common home,

Heaven will be a replica of this sinful world,

But the King of heaven and earth is a righteous Judge,

He prepared separate abode for the good and the bad,

With a criteria of righteousness through Christ for the eternal home of rest,

And the unrighteous for the eternal home of damnation,

Jim can boldly say he was just passing through,

And that his treasures are laid somewhere beyond the blues,

So I sing along with grace, hope and love,

To be beckoned upon by the Angels at the golden gate,

As I cannot feel at home in this world anymore.

Friends and folks in this community,

Our times are numbered on this path of life,

Death is inevitable for all no exemption,

Should death meet us unprepared?

Jesus said “I am the way, the truth and the life”

If we must boldly wish to live in that

celestial home after our time here is gone,

The only way to the celestial abode is Jesus.

He has the redemptive power of salvation,

Through Him our unrighteousness are purged away,

Through Him our names are written in the book of life,

Through Him we have a sure passage to eternal life.

All we need to do is to acknowledge our sins,

We must confess all our sins to Jesus,

And we must accept Jesus as our Lord and personal Saviour,

With all humility and sincerity of heart,

Then we will be justified by faith in Christ Jesus.

That’s the key to the celestial home.

Then we can boldly join Jim Reeves to say,

“this world is not my home,

I am just passing through,

My treasures are laid on somewhere beyond the blues,

The Angels beckon on me,

From heavens opened door,

And I cannot feel at home,

In this world anymore “.

Jim Reeves my best artist,

My best album and my best track,

This world is not my home!

Hope to shake your hand by the crystal sea,

After my time is over here.

THE COST OF GLOBAL PEACE

Which topics would you like to be more informed about?

In a world of chaos and conflicts,

Where world leaders are confused and perplexed,

And innocent lives in their thousands

Are daily sent to their early graves,

There I stopped to ask,

What is the cost of global peace?

Compendium of literatures are littered

In our book stores,

All counseling on the global path to peace,

But neither our leaders nor their lieutenants

Have taken time to reflect,

As they are daily driven by self,

To throw the world into the den

Of chaos, conflicts and calamities,

There I stood to ask,

What is the cost of global peace?

When NATO accuses Putin on the

Invasion of Ukraine,

And Putin accuses NATO on the

Invasion of Libya and other African shores,

As none is ready to step back for a redress,

Then I asked,

What is the cost of global peace.

When the unjust accuses an unjust,

For an unjust act and actions,

And commentators have soon forgotten,

That the accuser is also an unjust,

There I wander in thought,

What is the cost of global peace?

The globe is sitting on gun powder,

Just a spark is needed for an explosion,

Are we really ready for third world war?

What is the cost of global peace?

Neocolonialism still hangs up Africa,

African leaders and and their Western

Accomplices are daily sweetened

By the tears and the sweat of helpless

Populace on African shores,

And African democracy is daily threatening,

As men in uniform are on stage with guns,

Then I asked,

What is the cost of global peace.

The middle East is not getting better,

Daily bombing across Lebanon, Syria,

Jordan, Iraq, Iran and Israel,

Countless of young soldiers and and armless citizens,

Rushing to grave like waterfall,

I still stooped to ask,

What is the cost of global peace?

Intertribal conflicts in India, religious intolerance in China,

Political ideological conflicts in north and south Korea,

Uncurtailed killings in the America and entire Europe,

What is the cost of global peace?

On the peak of Kilimanjaro I stand,

To blow the beagle of caution,

To the ears of an unconscious world,

On the volatility of globe on gun powder.

Our peace is on the verge of sliding

Off the edge of a peaceful cliff,

Into the abyss of an irreparable wars,

The cost of peace is still my quest.

Friends and folks,

Our writings should be noised to the ends of the world,

Till our political leaders on the global scale know,

That their personal interest should not be equated with global peace,

Till the world is pulled out of the corridors of war,

Our writings can be the cost of global peace.

MUSIC: THE LIFE’S MELODY

What would your life be like without music?

Straight from the heart to the hearts,

Is it that calms the soul.

A universal language on men’s lips,

As we hum along with rhythm unknown,

It’s a therapy for the wounded mind,

A melody for the merry heart,

A steady momentum for the soaring soul.

It is the beauty of the solemn hours,

The rocky jazz of the lousy crazy night

All nations anthem comes in music,

It inhabits the palace of love,

It is crested on the street of peace,

It is the instrument of war,

The power to make and mar our world lies with music.

Though the world is divided,

We chant in unison at the sound of music,

See the moon smiles in tears in the cool song,

See the sun blast the air on the wings of sounds,

It is an extra-terrestrial sound with no boundaries,

Even the Angels sing hosanna in the celestial,

It is loved and woo across languages,

Tribes, races, clans and colours are her unbending suitors

In the good, through the bad, on the air and

In the deep, music flows with no pulse.

it is MUSIC as

Men Universally Sing In Choir.

Life will be gloomily boring without music,

When the world is bereaved music is her comfort,

When the world is pained, music is her solace.

HOLIDAYS

How do you celebrate holidays?

REST: in a serene homing environment where the body feels at home.

RELAX: in the cool of the evening breeze, where the mind is let loose from matters that borders.

RELATE: with families, friends and folks who have been seeking for you attention.

REACH OUT: to the less privileged, bereaved, orphans and the homeless with gifts, food items and words of hope.

REFLECT: on your past actions, inactions, and reactions, and seek redress if needed.

REJUVENATE: your lost appetites, interest and your dieing optimism for a better future.

RESEARCH: on new ways, methods and new strategies you can employ for greater productivity on your job after holidays.

REHEARSE: your newly discovered methods and methodologies to improve on your job before the end of holidays.

RELEASE: your mind from all entanglements of displeasure, wrath, malice or hatred towards a person or group of persons that have crossed your path.

RESTORE: peace, emotional stability, love, affection and calmness to your soul.

REFORM: and rebuild your broken walls of relationship with families, friends, colleagues and folks.

REINFORCE: your passion, zeal and doggedness to be a change agent in an uncultured work environment after holidays.

REACT: promptly to matters of the heart, and give maximum attention to building a life long relationship.

HAPPY BLISSFUL HOLIDAYS!

IT WAS A REPEATED BURNT OFFERING

Write about your most epic baking or cooking fail.

Belly was flat, mind was unsettled,

Need for food, food uncooked in kitchen,

Then rose the man out of his mind,

Though busy with many stuff

On the table littered with thoughts,

Straight to the kitchen,

To cook beans for meal,

Few preparation he did,

Then the beans is on the heat,

Boiling and bobbling,

Man went back to the table,

To articulate his littered thought,

An hour is gone, beans is burnt,

Man was lost in thought,

When the smelling smoke struck him,

He flew to the kitchen like a bird,

To rescue the burning beans,

So unhappy with himself,

He changed the pot and

Scrape the unburnt from the burnt,

To continue the cooking,

He spiced the remnants unburnt beans,

To complete the cooking,

Ten minutes he timed,

To complete the cooking,

Another hour later,

On the table of thought,

He perceived a thick smoke,

Migrating from the kitchen to heaven,

Alas, it was a total burnt offering,

The pot was black the kitchen was clouded,

So pathetic was he,

As he turned off the gas,

He only managed to rescue the pot,

For thorough cleansing,

The belly is flat, the beans is burnt,

Double trouble for a creeple belly,

Back to the table of thought

To continue to articulate,

Inspiration ceased,

Because of the crisis at the

Middle Belt (stomach).

It was indeed the distress of a man,

Living alone, and trying to combine

Cooking with mental work at a time,

It was my personal experience of

A continuous burnt offering.

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