Lighten my path, oh lord.tat i may journey tis world with ease. Erase my past, That i may walk beside you in peace. Make my sail smooth and plain. Take me on to a higher plane. When i sleep, Wake me up. When i slip, Refill my cup. These shadows i see through the panes. Take them away and help me overcome its pains. Help me believe, And in you only,trust. Be my guide,my light,my beacon. Upon my path, I seek your eyes. Within my heart, I seek your light. Cant journey this world alone, Dont leave me fragile and error prone. Make me honest,steadfast and just. That i may wholeheartedly,fulfill your cause. Lighten my path, Night and day, Let me revel in this art, Dwell in you till my dying days. ............... DO YOU LOVE TO READ AND WRITE POEMS, POETRY, FICTION, ...
Let me take you back, to about a decade ago, when there was no love lost between women and football. Scenario: He’s tried to do football banter with her for a couple of days now. The big league thing is coming. ‘Up man united’! Duh! She won’t budge. Analysis: You see she’s not into football. She just doesn’t care. ‘What’s the fuss about?’ Big shot footballer earns thousands of Dollars. ‘How does that affect me?’ Scenario: Well, the game is here and the living room is packed full. He won’t watch it alone. They scream and holler, follow the ball around with their heads and feet. They sit at the edge of their seats ready to bolt out of them the moment the rubber hits the net. They’re sweating and puffing, short of foaming at the mouth. Analysis: Humph! Whateve
This threatened road leads nowhere, Except to the barren lands of loneliness and despair. This unending road bordered by gutters of unreason, This roads that reeks of fears,tears and hearts imprisoned. I am left with my heart stale, To journey this tortuous road and tell its gory tales. I trudge up its hills of pains, My being scorched by this heartbreak. From here,to there,to nowhere, I search away from this road a path to redemption, I seek a hand to hold,one to call dear. One to rescue me from this dire emotions. ................. DO YOU LOVE TO READ AND WRITE POEMS, POETRY, FICTION, NOVEL EXCERPTS, ADVENTURE, THRILLER, SUSPENSE, SCI-FI, FUTURISTIC, HORROR AND SUPERNATURAL, NOVEL EXCERPTS, ROMANCE, MEMOIR / NARRATIVE NON-FICTION, SERIES, FANTASY WHY DONT YOU...
The sight of Jamal at the door sent Nabila’s heart beating faster. It was like she had been caught cheating. Theirs was not a marriage you advertised and to speak ill of it- despite the truth contained- was equal to a violation of their wedding vows. Nabila could only stutter… “Do you want me to hang up?” Amaka whispered Nabila nodded like Amaka could see; but as best friends do she somehow got the message and soon Nabila heard the soft click of disconnection. She still kept the phone to her ear because putting it down would mean giving Jamal an answer; and he eagerly awaited one as he had barely flinched from the doorway. When Nabila noticed it, the enjoyment he was deriving from putting her on the spot, her embarrassment ceased to feel appropriate. Her husband was not
I want to write For as long as I can breathe I want to reason For as long as I am free So I think I am free Yet there are still hidden cages That bound me and would not loose me Still in these constrainnts I strive to write, unbridled, unrestricted Pleasure, feelings that go through me when I write So like the after taste of a lover’s kiss smile of a happy bride for groom So I keep writing I tire not Continue writing It pleases me to no end There I am free to come and go as I please I am the master of the pen My most lethal weapon Let me ease your pain with what I write Let me fight for you with my pen Let me conquer wars writing tirelessly Let me show you how I feel writing Let me kiss you with my writing Let me hate you with my pen Let me keep you safe with my words Only through wri
Many fathers have spoken But my father’s words were most profound Many women have cooked But my mother’s food was most tasty Many ladies have cared But my sister’s care was most tender Many men have loved But my brothers’ love was most anointing Many fathers have brought home wine But my father’s palmy had the taste of his sweat The taste of his toil His palmy was most strong, And quenched my direst thirst The man is tall like an Iroko tree Big like an elephant Harsh like the sting of a broom Yet his strides are swift like an eagle, Paced like a cheetah Yet his silence is golden His silence, is wicked His silence is harder than words In his silence I pray for death The man I call my father, paale With words softer than soap And words as strong as the palmy he brings And as soothing as
He peered into the sachet through the lacerated edge. Sucking at it vigorously, he drained the last drop. The 35cl sachet of water did nothing for him. His throat was parched as the Sahara. He had walked all day, yet nothing. He looked down at his dust covered shoes and shook his head. I’m poor, poor as a church rat. He crumpled up the polythene sachet and threw it in the rusted recycle bin. He wondered what percentage of whatever goes into the bin ever made the said process. He at least tried to keep the city clean. One good thing if God was counting. The sun was high up now, glowing in all its fury. Sweat glistened on his near bald head, he wiped his entire head and face with his faded handkerchief. Turning the corner into the dirt road that led to his dingy apartmen
“How dare you?” the words were punctuated with a stunning blow to the side of her head. In a move made perfect by years of repetition, Ebere dropped to the floor and curled up tight, her hands moving up to protect her head. She knew from past experience that any mark on her face would only upset Chima more. They would have to come up with a story to explain the mark and Chima would blame her for making him lie. The blows rained down on her from all sides as he kicked and hit her repeatedly. She gritted her teeth and held back the screams threatening to spill out. No one must hear or know anything. Marriage is sacred. She had had that drummed into her from an early age. Whatever happens between a man and his wife must remain between the man and his wife. No other person must be party
When she thinks she has forgotten, she remembers from the start, again. It keeps happening in widening gyres, and she thinks it would never end. Her memory is not sealed off; it has not disappeared with her change of name. It remains inside her, and she cannot forget. Her name is now Atna, it was once Anta. She now writes it backward. Her husband says she is mischievous: why did she not change the name altogether? She asks herself this too, often, each time she writes her new name. But she thinks there is something in the old that should be retained. This is why she cannot forget. This is why she will always remember. Atna plays this game each time she comes to this restaurant. A game of forget-and-remember. Sitting with or without a bottle, she would stare at a blank space on the w...
In the two minutes Rabi Bello stared at the text message, her brain comprehended a lot of information. Her heart dreamt up a couple of wishes and her memory dragged up a few mentionable events. In the end, her hatred for two seemingly innocent materials became absolute: Rain and John Mayer. As long as Rabi lived, she would never again merge the two together. It did not matter how well your intentions or how high your priorities, morals could even be the most uptight. The mixture of those two dreadful components was the catalyst to her current predicament. She just wished with all her heart someone told her… She was minding her own business that Thursday six months ago. It was rainy season and she let her window down so she could get splashed by the light drizzle that had turned late