Thursday, November 15, 2018


because the earth is the prime jewel
of the universe, we, the children of her womb
shall drink the elixirs of the high gods of the eons.
we will drink from the waterfalls of slim woods as nature baptises our nights with bird tweets and sublime winds.
we will drink from the labours of bulging muscles and curse the demons of the night.
we will gulp the blood of spirits and our souls shall find music in the burning moans of curvy dames.
we will drown our sorrows in the foam and
puncture the silent night with inebriation.
we will drink rum and breathe fire.
we will drink wine and exhale sweat.
we will laugh at life and yell at death.
for it is through wine and silence and pain and
laughter and folly and wisdom that men become gods.         


nothing makes
a man look stupid
like wanton misery
and consistent failure.
And love.

i tell you, dear reader -
not because i have drunk sour wines;
not because i have seen the sky bleed;
not because my memories have grown
grey beads and have become arthritic;
i tell you this to show you the vanity
behind having an human existence.

if you see a man crying, run!
his soul is filled with shadows.
his memories are Unclad and silty.
run! - before the heaviness spreads and
makes you a city beneath the earth.

truth is: the mind of every man is filled with grief:
consisting of sorrows that sting like desert arachnids and
hurt like the jests of blasphemous demons.
we hide our pains behind our teeth everyday,
praying in dense notes for death to run away,
waiting for God to show his face in the clouds.

another truth is that happiness requires sacrifice.
it is the reward for hearts
that have chosen to ignore pain
and learnt to live in a world
filled with dangling windows,
punctured destinies, broken stories,
false friends, envied pedestals,
desolate cities and empty rooms.
happiness is not for cowards.
be illumined.


puberty is more than a word.
it is more than an escape of hormones,
more than heights and fat and flesh,
more than bleeding mounds and voices,
more than pictures of dance and hate,
more than girls hipping up in lingeries,
more than boys taking their first, hard breath
as men in jean trousers and cotton singlets.
puberty is a boy crawling into punctured
silence over tasteless salts and nightmares
puberty is a girl trying hard not to cry,
over mossless hills and arid portals.
puberty is prejudiced, the type that colours
entrants in the paint of passion or grief;
in the paint of luck or acceptance;
in the colour of butterflies or worms.


the sky waits
and the sun tarries
for the bird to remember
it can fly and soar high
even when its wings defy will
and the storms rage unkind.

see, my dearest reader.
it is not strange to forget purpose.
it is not new to drift into cluelessness.
it is not a sin to fail and falter.
even the crow oversleeps seldomly
until the dewy dawn tickles her
long throat to obey nature's order.

even the flaming fire may forget
how fiery and bright it can burn
until it sees the ashes of past exploits
and remembers itself as a song
of lights and thunders.

at times,
frequent or infrequent;
our finest moments in life
are often borne when we remember
the forgotten words: that
we were made for more than
what is; that this cannot
and will not be the end.

5. LEADERSHIP: A perspective.

leaders are sufferers.
men and women that constantly fight
and wrestle with their minds so as
not to run mad and clueless and arrogant.
leaders are revolvers.
entities that ply realms of pain and superstitions so as to stay patent and alive.

the call to truly lead is spiritual.
like a baboon on heat,
you swear oaths and make vows
in the name 0f the seen and unseen.
and then… "it's long live the king!"
but … wait… we all know that
it is not that mathematical and plain.
we all know, from the history of the world
and by the knowledge of the ancients
that leadership often sucks out good souls.
the throne is an abyss for angels
and a palace for brutish shenanigans.

see, my dear reader, if we would
not ignore our ever roaring consciences,
it will be revealed to us that it is better,
at times not to be the one to lead.
because it tends to corrupt even the strongest
of minds and the plainest of resolves.
as men; with blood and bones in body -
we all have our inner fiery cravings -
and when selfish desires meets purpose -
so much can go wrong and irredeemable.

truth is: if any hell exists,
then, leadership: true, unbeguiled
leadership - is built over it.

Pat Ashinze

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...