Evanescence: The Sacred Sin

Evanescence is not 

a sin. It is the truth 

that nothing holds still.

Love arrives, 

and leaves, and 

that is why it is love.

Thoughts rise, 

and dissolve, and 

that is why they are true.

  

We are borrowed fire. 

We flare, we warm, 

we go out —  

and the universe 

does not ask anything 

but candidness to self 

...and sojourners. 

So let me be heretic to the permanent.  

Let me worship the passing.  

Let me believe that meaning 

...is not kept in a vault,  

but scattered — 

in the steam off tea,  

in the last note of a song,  

in the way 

our names sound once,  

and then become memory.

If there be 

an after, may it be this:  

that I did not wait 

...for permission to be alive. 

That I love without escrow.  

That I look at the vanishing  

and did not call it empty, but holy.

Because everything holy,  

by its nature,  

does not stay. 

-Amami H.

Ojodu, Lagos 

July 26, 2026

I Want to Cry, Man

By Frank Guru

I want to cry, man.

I really do.

But I don't know how to tell you that

without sounding weak,

without making you look at me

the way men are taught to fear—

with pity in your eyes

and questions on your lips.

So don't ask me what's wrong.

Not yet.

Just sit with me.

Because I have spent so long

telling everyone I'm alright

that I think I have forgotten

what “alright” is supposed to feel like.

You see me laugh,

don't you?

That's the trouble with laughter.

It makes a convincing disguise.

I have become rather good at it—

smiling at the right moments,

making jokes when the room gets heavy,

carrying conversations

so nobody notices

how desperately I want someone

to ask me to stop pretending.

And yes,

I know you care.

I know you care

but I just never care about myself enough

to notice that I matter

because my feelings are nonexistent.

Or perhaps they aren't nonexistent.

Perhaps I have simply buried them

so deeply

that even I cannot find them anymore.

I feel things, man.

God, I feel things.

I just don't know what to do with them.

So I swallow them.

Every disappointment.

Every fear.

Every goodbye.

Every night I wished someone

would notice I wasn't okay.

I swallow them all

until my chest feels crowded

with words that never found a mouth.

And sometimes I wonder

what would happen

if I stopped being strong.

If, for once,

I admitted that I am tired.

Not the kind of tired

sleep can cure.

I mean tired of carrying myself

like I am not heavy.

Tired of being everyone's shelter

while secretly praying

for somewhere to hide from the rain.

You know what hurts?

Sometimes I don't even want advice.

I don't need you to fix me.

I just want to say,

“Man, this hurts,”

and not have to apologise

for hurting.

I want to sit beside someone

and let the silence speak

without feeling ashamed of it.

I want someone to understand

that sometimes a man doesn't need

a solution.

Sometimes he just needs permission

to be human.

So if I ever go quiet,

don't mistake it for peace.

If I laugh too loudly,

don't assume I'm happy.

If I say, “I'm good,”

maybe ask me twice.

And if I finally tell you

that I'm not—

please don't make me regret

having trusted you with the truth.

Because I have spent years

building walls around a heart

I was never taught how to hold.

And tonight,

for just a moment,

I think I want to put the bricks down.

I think I want to be honest.

I think I want to cry, man.

But tears have always stood at the corner of my eye

but they never fall

because why should I cry

I am a man....

UNHEARD

By Frank Guru

I came again tonight, Dark.

Don’t pretend you didn’t hear the door.

I know the sound my loneliness makes when it enters a room;

it drags its feet like a tired prisoner.

Sit with me.

I have carried another day that did not want me in it.

Today I laughed at jokes I did not hear.

I shook hands with people who never looked into my eyes.

They called me strong again, Dark—

that word they use when they want my shoulders

but not my sorrow.

Tell me, how long can a man hold himself together before he becomes a knot?

I am tired of being everyone’s shelter.

Tired of answering midnight calls with a steady voice.

Tired of saying “I’m here for you”

while no one notices I have disappeared from myself.

I have become a bridge, Dark,

and everyone crosses me without asking what the river has done to my bones.

Today I prayed for a woman whose husband left her.

I prayed for a child in hospital.

I prayed for a friend drowning in debt.

When I tried to pray for myself,

the words stood at my lips like strangers refusing to enter a house.

Tell me, Dark, does heaven also avoid me?

I came home and spoke to an empty room.

I set down my keys carefully, as if someone might be sleeping.

I served food onto a plate and lost my appetite before the first bite.

I washed a cup that had only held water.

Explain that, Dark.

Explain why a man can be surrounded all day and still return home untouched.

Look at me.

I am talking too much again.

That is what grief does when it finally finds a listener.

I speak because walls do not interrupt.

I speak because pillows keep secrets.

I speak because if I stop, I will hear the crack inside my own chest.

You have mistaken my silence for patience,

the Dark finally said.

Night after night you arrive carrying the same wound,

and night after night you ask me to bless it.

I have watched you feed everyone else while starving beside a full table.

I have watched you give away the better portion and call it kindness.

I have watched you smile in photographs with your hands clenched behind your back.

You do not come to me for truth; you come to me for permission to keep breaking.

“Then tell me what to do,” I shouted.

The room trembled with my breathing.

“I have no strength left.”

The Dark answered, weary as an old grave:

The world did not leave you all at once;

it left one unanswered ache at a time.

I was never real enough to stay,

and now even your imagination is closing the door.

Collaboration With YourQuote Baba

 Date: 13/08/2026

Time: 21:52 PM IST 

Collaboration With YourQuote Baba 

Good morning. Start your day with #freshthoughts. #inmywholelife #YourQuoteAndMine

For the first time in my whole life,

I understood why you need to have a good Wife,

Why you should have money in Rife?

And why sometimes life becomes a Knife?

We all need Love,

We all need to use a Glove,

We should try to know when to Shove,

And when to become a Dove.

We should know when to Smile,

When to walk beyond a Mile, 

Which cases we actually need to File,

And which numbers to Dial.

We should know when to be Sweet,

What things we should actually Tweet,

How much food we actually need to Eat,

And how to respectfully Greet.

We should understand why people are Sad,

Why people are Mad,

Or why they are Bad,

Because maybe they didn't get that love from their Mom or Dad.

Life is a Test,

We should try to be better than the Rest,

We should try to give our best,

And lay back peacefully in our Nest.

● Father Of Poetry and Rhyme Guru 

● Author Nishant S Vaidya 

Country: India 🇮🇳 

Instagram I'd: Nish361328

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF FREEDOM

I closed my eyes to sense a freedom unknown,

A beautiful, unique creature with golden spots in its ears trotted by.

It seemed like a different feeling of being independent,

Into a land of fresh breath, where love is a gentle caress

through an unknown realisation.

I see a deep forest, thick and dense,

where I run and run to chase the unknown path.

I am not conscious of what I'm doing;

I'm in an oblivion,

a very indefinite maturation leading to sagacity.

I fell upon a branch of a tree that had fallen to the ground,

and was pushed through the weeds into the water of a pond.

I don't know how to swim, 

and I was struggling to come up.

There was so much peace in that crystal water;

a mirror-like vision amazed me.

I reckon that my heart is a wayfarer,

wandering towards an unnamed awakening.

I'm in deep introspection of the peace that binds me to an epiphany,

in such a vicissitude, I'm a witness to my reconstitution.

The animal with golden spots hops and hops in my imaginary path,

untrammelled in its own timeless continuum.

In liminal emancipation from the vulnerability,

the apprehension of what I cannot be,

I am rejuvenated over this transformation,

as if a fountain sprinkling the elixir of metamorphosis.

I'm a new person,

devoid of any fear,

any worries or anxiety.

As if I'm cleansed of all the spots of self-doubt upon my skin,

it is a profound transmutation of the self,

where vulnerability dissolves into newfound

emancipation.

As if I'm cleansed of all the spots of self-doubt upon my skin,

and the waters of uncertainty become the elixir of awakening.

©️®️Somdatta Mitra

Author : Somdatta Mitra 

Country : India 

Dated : 13.08.2026.

UNHEARD

By Frank Guru

I came again tonight, Dark.

Don’t pretend you didn’t hear the door.

I know the sound my loneliness makes when it enters a room;

it drags its feet like a tired prisoner.

Sit with me.

I have carried another day that did not want me in it.

Today I laughed at jokes I did not hear.

I shook hands with people who never looked into my eyes.

They called me strong again, Dark—

that word they use when they want my shoulders

but not my sorrow.

Tell me, how long can a man hold himself together before he becomes a knot?

I am tired of being everyone’s shelter.

Tired of answering midnight calls with a steady voice.

Tired of saying “I’m here for you”

while no one notices I have disappeared from myself.

I have become a bridge, Dark,

and everyone crosses me without asking what the river has done to my bones.

Today I prayed for a woman whose husband left her.

I prayed for a child in hospital.

I prayed for a friend drowning in debt.

When I tried to pray for myself,

the words stood at my lips like strangers refusing to enter a house.

Tell me, Dark, does heaven also avoid me?

I came home and spoke to an empty room.

I set down my keys carefully, as if someone might be sleeping.

I served food onto a plate and lost my appetite before the first bite.

I washed a cup that had only held water.

Explain that, Dark.

Explain why a man can be surrounded all day and still return home untouched.

Look at me.

I am talking too much again.

That is what grief does when it finally finds a listener.

I speak because walls do not interrupt.

I speak because pillows keep secrets.

I speak because if I stop, I will hear the crack inside my own chest.

You have mistaken my silence for patience,

the Dark finally said.

Night after night you arrive carrying the same wound,

and night after night you ask me to bless it.

I have watched you feed everyone else while starving beside a full table.

I have watched you give away the better portion and call it kindness.

I have watched you smile in photographs with your hands clenched behind your back.

You do not come to me for truth; you come to me for permission to keep breaking.

“Then tell me what to do,” I shouted.

The room trembled with my breathing.

“I have no strength left.”

The Dark answered, weary as an old grave:

The world did not leave you all at once;

it left one unanswered ache at a time.

I was never real enough to stay,

and now even your imagination is closing the door.

DRESSED

​*DRESSED*

*BY FRANK GURU*

How fortunate, they say, to see me smile,

How charming that I laugh with such delight;

They praise the grace with which I bear my days,

And never ask what keeps me wakeful through the night.

For sorrow, dear reader, is terribly polite;

It would never dream of causing a scene.

It takes its tea with sugar, wears its finest lace,

And bows most graciously whenever it is seen.

I have taught it how to enter drawing rooms,

How to curtsy when my name is called;

How to sit beside me through the evening,

And whisper nothing whilst I smile at all.

I have become quite skilled at being well,

So skilled, in fact, that even I believe it—

I converse, I dance, I offer pleasant company,

Whilst something within me quietly grieves it.

And should you inquire after my constitution,

I shall assure you, as etiquette commands,

That I am quite recovered, quite content, quite happy—

Whilst sorrow trembles softly in my hands.

For what is misery, if dressed with sufficient elegance?

What is despair, if one maintains one's grace?

Perhaps the world requires no healing heart—

Only a pleasant smile upon a sorrowful face.

Yet when the music ceases its gentle persuasion,

When candles surrender their golden light,

And the last of the company takes their leave,

Silence has the audacity to ask me how I am tonight.

And there, without an audience to impress,

I find the truth I so carefully conceal:

I have spent so many years convincing everyone I'm well,

That I scarcely remember what it means to heal.

​*UNHEARD*

*By Frank Guru*

I came again tonight, Dark.

Don’t pretend you didn’t hear the door.

I know the sound my loneliness makes when it enters a room;

it drags its feet like a tired prisoner.

Sit with me.

I have carried another day that did not want me in it.

Today I laughed at jokes I did not hear.

I shook hands with people who never looked into my eyes.

They called me strong again, Dark—

that word they use when they want my shoulders

but not my sorrow.

Tell me, how long can a man hold himself together before he becomes a knot?

I am tired of being everyone’s shelter.

Tired of answering midnight calls with a steady voice.

Tired of saying “I’m here for you”

while no one notices I have disappeared from myself.

I have become a bridge, Dark,

and everyone crosses me without asking what the river has done to my bones.

Today I prayed for a woman whose husband left her.

I prayed for a child in hospital.

I prayed for a friend drowning in debt.

When I tried to pray for myself,

the words stood at my lips like strangers refusing to enter a house.

Tell me, Dark, does heaven also avoid me?

I came home and spoke to an empty room.

I set down my keys carefully, as if someone might be sleeping.

I served food onto a plate and lost my appetite before the first bite.

I washed a cup that had only held water.

Explain that, Dark.

Explain why a man can be surrounded all day and still return home untouched.

Look at me.

I am talking too much again.

That is what grief does when it finally finds a listener.

I speak because walls do not interrupt.

I speak because pillows keep secrets.

I speak because if I stop, I will hear the crack inside my own chest.

You have mistaken my silence for patience,

the Dark finally said.

Night after night you arrive carrying the same wound,

and night after night you ask me to bless it.

I have watched you feed everyone else while starving beside a full table.

I have watched you give away the better portion and call it kindness.

I have watched you smile in photographs with your hands clenched behind your back.

You do not come to me for truth; you come to me for permission to keep breaking.

“Then tell me what to do,” I shouted.

The room trembled with my breathing.

“I have no strength left.”

The Dark answered, weary as an old grave:

The world did not leave you all at once;

it left one unanswered ache at a time.

I was never real enough to stay,

and now even your imagination is closing the door.

The Incomplete Journey

​Name Nisar Ahmad 

Country India 

Title: The Incomplete 

Journey

Everything changed so fast,

You left my hand in pain.

The love we had is past,

I walk alone in rain.

The silence makes a sound,

Dreams cut like broken glass.

No comfort can be found,

As lonely hours pass.

I pick up memories old,

My fingers feel so weak.

The world is dark and cold,

With tears upon my cheek.

I call you in the air,

Then laugh at what I do.

I wish you knew my care,

And understood me too.

AN ODE TO PRINCE HAMLET

​Author : Somdatta Mitra 

Country : India 

Dated : 07.01.2026.

Title : AN ODE TO PRINCE HAMLET 

Your naivety, shrouded in disingenuous penumbra, Was a poniard in an entail ; 

Like a pontoon adrift in turbulent tides bound to fail.

Marked by grief, suspicion, and the thirst for revenge,

You bore the scars of reason, swayed by a vow you pledged.

Torn in agony, your soul cleft in twain,

Echoing the deceit that Claudius’s rule did regain.

In the storm of admonitions your father’s ghost did stir,

You donned the veil of madness, justice was what you were after.

Feigning derangement to avenge that grim crime,

While damnation danced through your mother’s misaligned time.

You staged a play to mirror mendacity’s face,

A cunning trap dressed in theatrical grace.

Your sentience sparked a prudence bold,

A maverick spirit in tragedy’s hold.

Is this a paean or a dirge to your name?

A painterly plea to rid yourself of shame.

In strong defiance that robbed you of peace,

You stood as a tempest that would never cease.

Oh! That grim moment when you struck down Polonius,

A floodgate of horror, your soul uproarious.

Locked in a moral and vengeful plight,

You faltered when Claudius knelt in prayer’s light.

My heart sinks at life’s fragile thread,

Fate’s cruel dance, where so much blood was shed.

Through you, Shakespeare etched his tragic voice,

Stirring my heart with life’s transient choice.

Oh, dearest prince, your skepticism birthed many woes,

A tale of indecision where madness grows.

Yet, despite your flaws and erratic schemes,

I revere your nobility, your cynical dreams.

Your death, a truth too painful to bear,

Yet in my eyes, your heroism shines rare.

A destiny sealed in sorrow and breath,

You mourned with wounds the world left in death.

©️®️Somdatta Mitra

Morning grace

 In the mornings 

My heart opens up,

My thoughts that drown

They come alive 

My voice clears

My tears dry up

All I can say is......

I have no words to describe this.

Over the bright skies 

I hear nature's call,

Her beauty springs to life

In this moment and beyond 

I forget my misery 

Though it lies open 

I seem to be reborn 

A rebirth I want to bask in 

If this would be eternal 

Let my mind be aware 

Open up you gates 

Let this bright light in.

Through the cracks 

I see people great and small,

They who could survive 

Those who can't 

They band together 

They cry to our Creator 

They ask for strength 

A strength only He provides 

A thousand times they ask 

A thousand times they received 

So why do I struggle

Under my flesh

A spirit resides 

A stronger being than I can fathom 

Take me over let my strength show 

Cast these words over 

I'm here to ask for strength 

A strength I lack 

Give me grace, lest I'm overwhelmed.

Through these words 

I wish to gain insight,

To who inspired me 

Let my prayers be heard 

I've been drowning for too long 

Holding on to cares

Cares that You hold

Receive this heart 

Let ur be baptized anew 

I'm burnt but not dead 

Scarred but alive 

To be alive is far greater than death 

Leave no hurt behind 

This I ask in humility 

A humble heart I forgot.

© Adiela Michael

Trapped in your spell

 Trapped in your spell

........

You got me in your spell

I'm trapped right in your trap,

Your enchanted arms laid this trap

A trap I could always fall for.

Whatever you wish 

I am willing to do,

Whatever you say

I'm willing to listen 

Whatever is best

Only you know 

Just be careful with me 

I'm but yours to command..

My bones you've trapped 

My thoughts you've erased,

All I think about is just you 

If ever I want out

You know what strings to pull

So where else can I go 

If not back to you.

Like a voodoo doll 

You control me,

Like ancient sorcery 

You kept me trapped 

Oh what else 

What else could I do

My heart is not mine anymore 

This is where my thoughts end

And yours begin.

Here are the signs 

The signs that lead to you,

My every moment starts with you 

My every thought paints you 

Do I continue, do I fade away 

All I've known is you 

So release me lest I'm lost 

My heart is gasping for air 

Yet I drown more

This enchantment leaves me weak 

A weakness I'm bonded with 

Please release me.

© Adiela Michael

*I AM A DRUG ADDICT*

*BY FRANK GURU*

I am high, high for the need to plant a seed of weed just as Sid did.

I am high, high that my blood flow becomes slow for I see no flaw for it to show

You see these drugs, these drugs open my eyes as I see no rugs

They silence every voice I hear no bugs

I fail to box her for my trouser sags

With no tags in a bag I elude the rag

I am high and I and I say hi because I am a high

So high that I fail to call-kane for only my cola-coke can

So high that I behold a black label holding two keys just to see strawberry lips being labelled as a brutal fruit

So high that I fail to say hi cause I can marry-Juana you see

I am a drug addict, no not the one with an edit allbeit I choose not to take a seat because of the heat

I am a drug addict, addicted to the meth that induces a birth of release I feel to soothe me on this earth

My blood intoxicates a mosquito it's a tequila shot made red hot

My blood pressure is high like I and I it fails to hi

Whether it is in plain sight or at night my plight is a sniff to overcome my frieght oh I am I high

With these pills bally chills as my soul it steals

It's an escape that heals with need of therapeutic hills

I am a drug addicted, addicted to find a muse of which I use no blues as my body I choose to abuse do you traduce my queues?

I see the pain within of which I conceal with this sin

I wish to be seen not because of where I have been

I want to be washed clean

But without my tools I am unseen

I am an addict because I find comfort that I fail to resist

I pray but these demons persist and I insist

Let them win so you can call me a drug addict

*JUDAS' KISS*

*JUDAS' KISS*

*BY FRANK GURU*

A table for two please!

Pardon me a table for me and you please

Can that be done with ease?

Is it possible without a lease?

Awesome so a table for two please!

I took a seat with friend to grab a bite for the FRI was removed though I didn't think it would END my dear friend

My flaws you heard, with my mind you played a friend whom just like me was a nerd yes that's well said do not put it to bed

Secrets were shared crying together yes we dared but whoever cared it was just us

A table for two please!

A table for the idiot who opens up to a sheep in wolves clothing

A table for two please!

A table for the son termed a bastard because he is a retard not to be mentioned in your ballard for it you don't will

A table for two please!

A table for me and you

Like a broken glass the word sorry fixed no wounds for the pieces were to scattered to be made whole again

A friend in need is a friend indeed, a friend indeed is a friend to weed, a friend to weed is a friend with no seed in his creed yes in deed a friend in need is a friend indeed

We sat at the table as I poured my soul out to ears, tears fell from my eyes along with my fears

I told you I was victim of abuse but you chose to refuse as you wouldn't traduce my dues for I was of no use to dues as you watched them burn my bruise with loose screws they distorted my cues

I told you I was raped like a good friend your mouth was untapped the words of hope in you escaped you kept silent because as a man the pleasure mattered even though my dignity was battered

A table for two please!

Yes a table for you dear friend, yes you the one reading this.

You took my words as art when I was in turn being torn apart and broken at heart because I failed to be blunt

You took my suicide claims as fragmented when I failed to reside within the stride of which I always hide

Dear reader, I have been depressed since I knew that feelings had to be expressed

I have been betrayed by my own heart for my soul it hasn't blessed

I have been cursed painted with a canvas of dull colors maybe because I am a black sheep

Yes a black sheep filled with ruin and disgust

Left with nothing but dust for his lust was last and not in the past

A black sheep who's been a burden since birth a black sheep with whom you all ate with but forgot his name but somehow I am to blame

Dear friend I told about it all on the supper which was our last

You exclaimed "Praise God!" But stood enjoying your sin

As you read this dear friend remember, the last time you heard my voice, when you saw my face, when you spoke to me remember it all because it was aswell the time I existed

When time came to show your worth you made me regret my birth

You sold me out of this earth, with a show of love to me but a sign of death to them on my cheek you placed your lips and gave me JUDAS' KISS

GOODBYE DEAR FRIEND ENJOY YOUR MEAL FOR IT WAS MY LAST, I ONLY WANTED A TABLE FOR TWO PLEASE!

THE JOURNEY OF A HUMANITARIAN

Author : Somdatta Mitra

Country : India

Dated : 05.05.2025.

Title : THE JOURNEY OF A HUMANITARIAN

The journey of exploring humanity through poetry,

Where the mind is without fear.

Wonderful vibes that reciprocate beauty that lies in the soul,

Transgressed the parameters of unique creativities.

While thinking that life bestows divine source of joy,

Happiness multiplies through compassion and empathy.

In sharing, caring and sacrificing ,

To bring cheerfulness in other's lives through giving.

The smiles that bloom after decades,

Where storms have zipped their voices.

Where atrocities and hunger have demarcated a black hole,

For their sorrows and plight to meet challenges .

Hands that cradle their sullen , tormented souls,

To be cheerleaders and eager to embrace them.

Unstoppable pursuits that motivate to plough humanity,

Sprinkling the kindness and humility.

Thereby expunging the crossroads,

Where laughters revive and heal through regular strokes.

Understanding the innocence who are bereft of priviledges,

Discriminations have embossed " underpriviledged " in many visages.

Even those who cannot dare to cross all odds,

Those who cannot overcome their destined handicap.

Those who are inflicted with fatality,

Where the tears flow like rivers of horror and vulnerability.

The journey begins to soothe their scars,

Through my poetry I want to be their cheerleaders.

My hands will embrace them with solace and succour,

My verses would enliven their vigour and vitality like a helm to procure.

©️®️Somdatta Mitra

Collaboration With YourQuote Baba

Date: 5/5/25

Time: 17:27 PM IST

Collaboration With YourQuote Baba

Here's a #doublecpllab for all of you.

#readerswritersrole

#YourQuoteAndMine

A reader's role is

To enjoy the feelings and expressions of a writer and appreciate the efforts.

A writer's role is

To express themselves with full confidence and make people fall in love with their work and motivate others and create a big fan base for themselves.

®️ Father Of Poetry and Rhyme Guru

©️ Author Nishant S Vaidya

Country: 🇮🇳 India

Instagram ID: nish361328

*Time is Up*

The clock ticks on, the hours slip away

Our love's expired, and there's nothing to say

The flame's gone out, the fire's lost its spark

Time is up, our love's embarked

On separate paths, we'll walk alone

The memories linger, but the love's gone home

We said forever, but forever's come and gone

Leaving only echoes, where love once belonged

I remember laughter, tears, and endless nights

But now, only silence, and a fading light

We tried to hold on, but it slipped right through

Time is up, and I'm left here, thinking of you

The final goodbye, the last kiss, the last fight

It's over now, and I must take flight

Into a new dawn, where love will bloom again

But for now, I'll wander, through the heart's sharp pain

Time is up, the moment's passed

Our love's history, forever to last

In memories, in dreams, in the heart's deep core

But for now, I'll let go, and walk out the door.

Carnal'mity

In this

Era of endless dopamine bliss,

Where purpose starves,

For pleasure’s fleeting sake.

The fool’s

Conquest, a glittering vain.

Moments untouched by soulful plea.

A fleeting touch, a hollow gleam,

...echoes haunt where once was dream.

He struts

And preens, a peacock in the dust,

Believing power blooms from lust.

A few

Swipes and textspeak,

Thighs yield to a digital caress.

No long siege to wage, no whispered

Vows upon a moonlit page.

...flesh surrenders to a shallow light.

Stories often

Told of lavish gifts,

Of pixel’s impulse to buy

A moment that scrawls away.

Each stolen

Moment, a fleeting embrace,

Defying time, defiling grace.

Yet with each breathless thrill,

The soul faint and hurled as

...vital essence squandered, on barren fields.

As silence

Falls on the descending years,

On hollow echoes, and unshed tears.

Deep within, a whisper calls,

A silent

Scream, a weary gaze,

As echoes of truth sting at

Years dissolved in passion’s haze.

A tale

Of fractured fortunes,

Sealed within a short-stay room.

A man of substance, seeking fleeting grace,

...entangled in a shadow, cold and grim.

Like Ataga

Before, a price unseen,

A lifeblood drained, as

Pleasure claimed its due

...on Chidinma' bangled stride.

*-Amami H.*

Government College, Iyanapaja

April 26, 2025

Till then

In the realm of words, our hearts entwine,

Where wine and swine are woven into a basket of stupidity

A bond so strong, it transcends time and space, milking the brian into insanity 

Through emotions and thoughts, we connect and align, telling the truth about our loss and our iniquities

Our souls speaking a language that's hard to replace,like the wild fires of the 1980s sweeping the sins of our vicinities

In this toposphere of love and understanding the atmosphere of our connection to nature

We find solace and comfort, we sew the cloth of unity where religion and region was empty dustbin,we took the pill of culture

Our stories intertwine like the threads of a tapestry, history unfolds doctrines blindfolds, as love ruled the heart of two

A beautiful narrative of friendship, pure and grand, a bone marrow flow through to our heart creating magnificent magnetic field too.

Till then, my friend, may our words be the bridge,

That spans the distance between our hearts and minds, don't call on any emmgency lines

May our connection remain strong and unwavering not to sublime

A beacon of hope, a shining light that never dims or declines."

©️®️ Ambdr Felix Atta Amoakoh

24/07/24

©️©️ Of image to the rightful owner

DON'T LET OKAPI PLAY BASKETBALL VIDVOICE TRAILER @jefkanzy

Forged from Cupid's Flame

Forged from cupid's flames

is a love so strong,

one that outshines Aphrodite

his bow never lies

his arrows struck this heart

a heart that wants you.

Forged from cupid's arrow

came a heart so pure,

purer than before

you picked me up

from the shards that broke

and made me whole once more.

Forged from cupid's arrow

came a melody that never dies,

these words are true

you are what I desire

a heartbeat that never fades

my evergreen beauty 

ours is a love

forged in cupid's flame.

© Adiela Michael Osiah

(For Sasha Smith).

ACCOUNT

There is no.

 More or less.

 Hungry full.

 There is no.

 Door wall.

 Boulevard.

 Very little.

 winter summer.

 Warning.

 Open full.

 Stop run.

 Word crown.

 No.

 A lot.

 Full.

 HASAN AKBAL

How the tides have turned

Oh how the tides turn;

once before there was peace

yet now darkness comes

our very existence

is but a shadow.

Oh how the tides turn;

like Jonah inside the fish,

we pray for freedom

yet if we are

would we be grateful?.

Oh how the tides turn;

we were once brave,

but now our courage fades

like the smoke it is

it falls never to rise again.

Oh how the tides have turned;

our words meant for blessing,

have now turned toxic

just like acid

we melt through

but for how long?...

© Adiela Michael Osiah. 

Beneath the clouds

Beneath the clouds

darkness spreads like fire,

our once lightened path

has lost its light

the same light we could see.

Beneath the clouds

our thoughts linger,

like they never did

our thoughts mattered once

but they're now lost to us.

Beneath the clouds

my tears drown me,

my smile was once real

but tears overtook me

I now wish to be free.

Beneath the clouds

I once had a dream,

now it's blank

it disappears into nothing

an emptiness worse than death.

Beneath the clouds

I saw a glimpse of light,

yes it was bright

but it fades nonetheless.

© Adiela Michael Osiah 

Above the surface

 Above the surface

our masks are all we see,

the same ones

that hide what's true

we cannot outrun them.

Above the surface

the scars that sleep

awaken to a new dawn,

my thoughts resurface

like the early morning dew.

Above the surface

our true nature slumbers,

the only thing we see

are mirror images

images of our true selves.

Above the surface

our tears are superficial,

only the soul knows

what pain exists within

these words are all there is.

Above the surface

our words never matter,

they once did

but it never shows

above the surface.

© Adiela Michael Osiah

©2022

STEPPE

 The sun bids farewell by taking its golden color,

Touching your temples like a busse in autumn.

Not by passing innocent people like that,

It leaves a warm smile to every living thing,

But cold, people are “sometimes” deceived.

Because human scent

It is in front of the sun’s autumn hello.

H.A.