Simple World: Using Culture for Survival


Using culture for survival, not to antagonize: creating division amongst a generation that have more things in common than any era to have lived on earth.

Imagine a world, evil hiding in the presence of good. Acting, representing all the glamour and glitz associated with serenity only to lose one step down then the true face appears.

The idea to go back home after all this years of pillaging through the mud and rain of another country has hope burning crawling through my veins. Having fought hard to come here to this place, I now find myself fighting life itself to go back home. Rejection spews out of me with every attempt, every sweat, and every shiver. Through the seasons, I long for the abode I seek. Yet in another land, I am uncounted for. Without a name, a number they call me. And with force, I answer.

I stood up and looked around, and the eyes in the office met mine. It was bone chilling, seeing all that looked but could not see look at me and reveal the secrets beyond their minds to me. It was an eerie feeling. Evil yet sweet like the sweetness of a mother’s love. All pure yet if used could be bring the burden of suffering and abuse.

Pursue me, pursue me. Watch me grow into a man and see my mistakes every step I take. I call for you and come forth, with your hands out wide, like a lost lover ready to let go off any grudge, any pain that might have planted as a wooden stake into your heart. Yes, I see you. That wicked, wicked smile.

The idea of my blackness only sunk in when I landed at Dallas International Airport. The summer torching humidity was the first to welcome me. It was unbelievable stepping out from the well air conditioned lobby into the bare intense heat. It felt like the melting heat was tugging at my skin, reminding, sucking away any trace of bodily fluid. This was different from the northern sun of Kaduna I was used to. This was the in your face type of sun in a way mirroring much of the attitude I was to receive later on.

Through the red lines, our subject pupils adjusted to the green emerald light that emancipate every breath of the room; illuminating the high taste that encompassed the whole building. Our subject still deluded: entranced, walks towards the now increasingly bright light stationed at th


Simple World: dream, dream on

Wonderful plays, it seems. Slowly the tides shifts gears, with the pedal revved, the acquired sense of direction attains a new set of waves. Like a pair of new shoes, the delusion of enchantment smells too sweet at first. Only when you see the decays of the sole then, and only then you can boldly say “thou feet are worn out.”

The louder it gets, the smoother the lullabies get. The high pitched voice from the folk-place is always under the buses. Must water fall from the sky? When the land bears bountiful fruit. In the need for cheeks and checks, the kiss smears longer till the bite on the neck becomes apparent.

A striking resemblance you see on the wide world screen. It gets madder by each channel or Chanel. It grows wilder by the sound of the speaker; less reality, more distortion. The fetish of the street-grain-rodeo brings the compendium of highlighted thirst to a new low.

The steps of the queen drags a little too long. The stare she receives adds a year or two to the tale of the Sheeba and a mere man. So strong, yet her kiss settles easily on mouth. The want breaks loose setting another yearn for lust. Such and such, the silk dissipates and all that was hidden bears front in the room of embrace. The pain hints at a later time, but the Queen continues to hold her spell. The mirror says all, she reigns supreme. At day, her face. In night her cries.

Another maybe. Pass away smiles; dreaming on till laughter from the face of the passer-by rings into mind. The workout to bring sane goes south and sends messages to the unknown up north.


Old Soldier, New War

During the times that have come by, I pray for war to come. Not these new modern warfare. The old kind. Those ones stationed between battle noise and mud trenches. The zipping sounds of mortars, as empty bullet shells illuminate the blood heavy war terrain. Soldier boots marching through old places that were once called new homes.

Yes, I pray night and day. Night and day! Yes, for at night sleep refuses me and tosses me in between my past memories and a future I remain nameless.


These drones are empty vessels. They are transporters of bad news and death. For our souls do hunger for a reason to accept sleep, but no! Not these ones. These silent birds made with fiber like materials only look down, fall flat, and never return up.

Like thin dots silently scattered.

Only if your hands be wide as the oceans floors and you bring them together then one might see how much these dots have cost us.


I grow sick by the hour. Every hour eaten in silence. Every chance taken just to remain still. I grow deeper into my own anger. Madness beckons daringly close ….and I fear I will welcome it back home.

Commander Bull. ENTRY #204881

Battlefront Shagari Sector, Year 2098

Simple World: Origins

Space..The beginning of all things created deep within the furnace called life. From void, we arrived. Celestial in size, eternal in depth, spirit beings in our true state. A speck of some form floating, wrapped tightly around milky linen sheets.

We, from the deep darkness awoken into the truth that is called Light have come very far.
Far, into the parallels of different points in existence, we have journeyed: timeless
I opened my eyes and my birth origins flashed right by. An enormous bird stayed stuck gliding on the wings of the gold coast skies, i saw.

I once dreamed. Dragged and buried under the ambient galaxies. Forced to witness my tomorrow unfold, my eyes free from any manipulations. The smell of daylight lingered strong pushing away the burnt reflections of any known pain. Here, stationed in this shuttle named tomorrow, i saw that indeed the human life in full was blunt with words and brief to experience. Like a good high..the memories vivid, duration always shortened.

Simple World: the southern Queen

The smell of freshly mowed grass runs through me and like a herd of belly hungry cattle, my desires for green grass deepens, forming into my voice which hurriedly writes out
“How I’ve missed you, Southern Queen
Your arms wide and stretched far
across your green lands”

My cold skin from the east coast gradually shedding away as the evening mosquitos of the southern heat suckle away my now fading winter memories.

Southern Queen with your ever welcoming grace: of your dwellers I have no immediate recollection but of your skin I have smelled before. With your pace defined, I remember your open roads.
My ears retuning its canal back to string played guitars and crooning voices telling tales of southern love and bar-fist fights.

Southern Queen, your open arms full of unforcing love; memories of the old days I spent with you comes flooding back.

“Stop right here,” you whisper into my ears.
Lost in the country side, only blue and green I see, of sky and of earth. Distant, across the fields where black cattle graze and brown horses pretend to fly, a small wooden house shaped like a hut made of clay sat amidst dog barks, chicken feather flapping, rattle snakes crackling. All melodies of the beauty within the bosom of your care.

Southern Queen, you know well the difference of highways and red sandy paths. Of tower-like buildings and hills of old tress, the difference you know well. Though of your dwellers intent I fail to remember but of your thickly formed heat, I remember well.

Southern Queen, in the heat amongst the low cut houses, you sing to me: pleading I stay here with you. Here away from the maddening mechanical ways of the east lands. You tell me of a place within your heart; full of water wells and ripened maize.

Give me your labor tears, be you boy, girl, man, woman. Give to me a lake full of your pore-dripping sweat and to you I will reward with land to call home and plants for food. I ask for your sweat, only so I may refill my fountain during the conference of the golden sun and the coarse land.”

Simple World: dreams of the growing ocean

And in that dream, I saw myself right at the edge of an ocean, looking across the lavish blue water body. In the light, the sun providing me an ambiance of humid energy. I, then saw myself at the steps of a brewing river. Across, there the land of the red rested. Smells of the evening preparations lingered in air, mothers giving incense to firewood, stirring earth secrets and leaves in clay pots. Round and round. Milky-eyed children on bare feet, grain of sands entangled in their little toe-nails, pranced around their mothers playing the growing rhythm of life.

During the settling of the sun, far-east, warm-red attached itself all over the land giving meaning to its current dwellers. Mountains and hills providing shield, the people of the red peaceful ways living right in the center unaware of the many things beyond them.

In that dream, first my mind opened, then did my eyes. In that steady floating motion. Slowly paced. On wings I flew beyond the blue water body. To a flowing waterfall sitting at the edge of an old hill, I placed my gaze, pouring downwards from the waterfall was water and specks of stars. Both combining, forming into an overwhelming, overbearing light. Up, this light rises above me and the surrounding trees and sky creatures. Up, past the epic blue sky full of moon-colored clouds, deep into the holdings of space, the light reached and finally settled. Another beaming fire of the universe conceived from the deep wells of our own earth.

And in that dream, right at the moment before my eyes was to awaken and my mind back into the shadows of sleep. I, now guided on the wings of an ancient phoenix, around me soft sounds of breathing clouds played the keys of blue and green. There, I saw the ocean growing in width, length and in great depth. Its wide arms stretching out to the land of the red. I saw the earth, trees, leaves, birds, blue, green, grazing herd, mountains and last the voices of the red.
I saw them all, awakened, freeing up space and air. The ocean rapidly increased, growing in length, width and from within: the earth’s innermost crust. Arms continuously stretching, reaching further across the ends of earth.

And in that dream, suddenly I was no more

Simple World: a diary in space

Found my being in space
Eye balls both blown out
Raised hair spiked with electricity
Chakra moving through my thoughts
Black space
A canvass to create another masterpiece
Where’s my lab coat though?

Another moment
In a state of inhabited silence
Particles of my flesh floating
Body organs close to touch
Are those my bones over there by the red looking boulder?
Wait are those space ships?
Sheet! Things are getting more weird
Bright zooming lights,
alien abduction?
I’ll probably get a pros…..?

A spring of thought
Sight of internal influence
Expressed with a clear view
All co-existing in one entity
Planets living with planets
A star with a star
A soul with flesh
See where I’m going?
Galaxies all compresses with life
Some of which: walk, move, eat, produce, create, and of course destroy
All carefully held by their belief of existing
Well, thats my view from up here
Here in this circular motion of black space