Summer haze…

morning comes with joy, the flowers laugh too…

here, the end is near I see it..

I should be happier, my attachments hold me.

These people, this city, familiar auras.

This life I know, these street turns I have mastered.

but change is inevitable…


I try to breathe bigger..

walk these roads longer.

Drink these last moments… slowly.

I said a prayer then another..

I hope when the universe pulls us all apart, I hope the rift is not too wide…

however,hope is a fools delight….

I always wondered what bitter sweet tasted like…this is it.







The ones who made mother bleed.


And I watch her, disgust pitting in my throat.

here, her desperation on display. On bent knees and red eyes. There is nothing subtle about this pain. She can not hide it.

Daddy, I know you can help me. you are my last bus top’  she says.

I can not hide my disgust. my throat bubbles,my ears hurt.In this moment I realise, pain can make you worship anything. Here, sprawled at the preachers feet, my mother is an example.

She continues her ritual, flinging herself on him as if her sorrows will leave her body with this gesture. He holds her, pats her back. Motions for one of his minions to bring her a chair. Mother takes this as bait, a beckoning…She spills the contents of her heart all in one breathe….

‘My son is running mad, my husband has brought his mistress into the house, she has a child, my home is on fire…what will they say, what will people think?’

I have not moved from where I have been standing since we got here. Rage comes, it shakes me,I hold the church doors for support. Sadness comes next, it breaks me, brings me to my knees.  I look at my mother, pouring her heart to the preacher man as he pats her pain away. She shudders and shakes, crying still. The preachers minions are oblivious to my presence. They are transfixed on my mother. listening intently with pity plastered on their faces. Who is this woman? I do not recognise her.

I weep, bitterly…

I dry my tears

I will never be her.

here, Foreign


Where I come from, you do not say your deepest wants for fear of who is passing.

Everything is a completion. you have troubles, I know still, They are not bigger than mine. You are the happiest human alive, you must learn to wear this camouflage till you have enough privacy to nourish your truth; sadness.

You mustn’t be sad too long either, it is impossible to have your depressions kill you, there are demons in your fathers house already nailing your coffins. Gather your strength, you must bury them all. Death by fire and holy water.

You can wear your happiness but do not parade it too long. Truly, do not parade it at all, you have no such rights. Tell your good news only to your lover at home. Actually, do not tell him, the gods from his village  maybe listening. They may grown resistant to the fire that burnt your family’s juju.

You must lock your flight details in your minds safe. A million times it has been said, tell not a single soul. You must trust no one, your mother has echoed it enough, the world is dangerous.

Where I come from, you have not lived until you have danced the dance of suffering. you are only half alive if you have life easy.                                                                                            Where I come from, you can not have life easy, who is your daddy?                                          we will take good things but only in  bouts, The lights must come on but not for too long. Nothing very constant or fear sets tents in your hearts.

Still, where I come from, resilience is abundant. We love from our souls and feed our love to you. Sharing is second nature. Everybody’s spice comes together and dinner is served. Your neighbour is always your sister until branded enemy by the preacher man.

Sitting in winters hold, home calls me, the hustling and bustling of the markets, comradeship, Saturday morning, the aroma of your neighbour’s cooking..red oil and purple onions..

here, no mans land.


The gag.



My ex lover said I was selfish still, he only put himself first, second and fourth too. I could come in third but 3 is a crowd he told me once. My lover told me he had never felt the depth of attraction he felt for me. when we met, he said he was drawn to broken people. I spoke of this tale to my friends but they asked that I be more open minded, they suffocate me with their analogies but they are My small circle, a closed group.

My therapist told me he had no one to talk to about his troubles. I was in search of clarity and windows to openness so I listened. He said his daughter died from a tumour in her brain. she was a neurosurgeon. I found this hilarious so I laughed, this is how I was diagnosed with misplaced emotions.

I talk too much, I share very little.The sessions did me no good so I went to my priest. He taught me of God, his unconditional love and how he hates me for all my iniquities.  My troubles came as consequences of my sins he said. My soul was dead and satans minions had chained me to hells graves. Fortunately, there was hope for me he said. If  I walked the walls of  repentance, Graced his sheets quietly enough and stood in my truth. I had never met a more gracious fibster.

I decided, I would get rid of my troubles alone so I searched google for all the ways to set my old soul on fire. I got 27,310 matches. I realized then I wasn’t gassed enough to start a fire. I have left that fit for the arsenics.


none of this has brought me clarity or pulled the lid my mind has been said to have however, I’m off to have a chit-chat with my closed friends.

I know, this wasn’t funny.





giphy (5)

Make of this what you will.

I am grown and tired.

The chase, the guess ,inane games.

I will reiterate, please listen.

I’m too grown for this , lost my auction at assumptions gates, the will to stand shifty tides, sort through mixed signals and read between ill, faintly crafted lines. The world is moving and I must scurry along with it.

I have no room for guesses or tic tac toes on where you stand.

are you here or there?’,

this is no lovers brawl, no tug of war either. I have given enough self, I must preserve what is left for me. Regrettably, I have left too much space for your frivolities, and wished for too long that you abandon juvenile manners. Time has taught me to careless for drifty ways.

I will not read minds, poetry awaits.

I will not chase, I have given up feline ways.

I will not plead for intentionality or open honesty.

I will not bleed for trust, still, I’ll stay worthy of it.

I will not push for transparency or leap out of comfort zones to comprehend the unsteadiness of your tides.

I will not intently open my souls doors for you, still I shall not close them. I refuse to present you with the chance to betray my efforts. Again.

I will not wait to catch hints and pick up crumbs of real intent. I simply do not have the time. Frankly, I care not for wavering allies.

Come if you will, stay if wish, go if you please.

whatever you please, be intentional.



I’m attracted to light.

in skin,cities and teas too.

I have swam in too much darkness to let my self drown there.



Everything but nothing.

Grey is the blandest colour. It doesn’t scream but isn’t drowsy either. it swings on a fence just enough to not be completely ignored. how meh, It is the blandest feeling too. Nothing  is wrong but nothings right either.

Some days, dawn comes with its party, other days it drags melancholy with it. You feel peace but you don’t quite taste happiness still, far from sadness.

My tongue doesn’t know me sometimes, other times it amazes me. how can one have everything but nothing? be so much but so little? how does one be sunlight and still carry this much gloom. Its not sadness, just gloom.

Many, many friends but still no one. Be so loved but easily discarded. usefully useless, accommodated but not accepted. alone but surrounded.


what is it when you feel everything but nothing?

not enough sadness to be pitied not enough happy to be noticed

oh so tastefully bland. grey.



heart on chords.


Break my heart,

stitch it together then, break me.

kiss my senses, let my members go to war.

Bring me happiness,

invade my soul, let my feet dance to your tone

body follows suits, seduction.

Give me closure,

you understand me, speak when my tongue deserts me.

this feelings I cant put in words…

euphoria, desolation, calm, turmoil, blithe…

you make me feel it all, art.






wolf and woman.

shape shifter.

There are a few things I find completely amazing.  ‘woman’ is somewhere after God and before medicine. Really, think about it. have you see anything more astounding?

Youjin Lee 이유진:

I am out  having lunch with a friend who is the epitome of a strong, independent and easily intimidating if  your man guts aren’t firmly rooted. somewhere between her oven knuckles and our almost heated debate her man friend calls. My girl goes from fire breathing to vanilla voice and wind soft. I am perplexed. I realize then that this is power gifted to us by Phanes. The  ability to change swiftly,go from fire to ice in a second. Get an attitude for a lover but bend voice, distort body, speak honey before favours are asked. Brew his Ego, butter him up, feed him mirages of power then ask what it is and receive graciously mother told me once,you must learn the art of shape shifting.

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There are brands of magic not all can experience. the art of child birth. Although it is a mans world, this one power they will never have, a brand of intimacy the male specie will never  afford. I imagine it to be a pretty bitter,sweet and scary experience. of scary things I do not write.

Jacqueline Bissett is an illustrator, expertized in Hand drawn and book illustrations:


Hellen of troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. 

Countries will go to war, brothers turn foes, years of friendship crumble at her feet, man loses his will, his wit, man dines with sheep. My good friend once entertained thoughts of leaving his job cos his lover fancied men of a different profession. I couldn’t fathom this for days,Some men have left wives, neglected kids and morals for  mistresses who have mastered the art of finesse. still, its a mans world they say, a moment of laughter, now silence. There is great make believe at work.  The art of finesse.


I have learnt, there are things one simply doesn’t get in the way of. A woman deep in love, a woman scorned, a woman with a mission, A mother fighting for her kids. A wolf watches, learns from her. similarities.


                                                   some days,

                                      I am more wolf than woman.

                      I am still learning to stop apologising for my wild   ~Nikita Gill.     



Overlook The City.:

I have always thought, it would be nice to live by the sea. To be sent to bed by the peaceful bustling of beach waves. Something about peace, serenity and its beauty makes me humbled.

I have dreamt of weaving through a city with bright night lights, to be wakened by croissants and butter dancing in its air at dawn. something about baking and pastries makes me think of goodness and tranquil dust.

snippets of a life that’s not mine.


what do you think of?