Sunday, April 14, 2013


Kerosene lamps burning
candle tears falling
their halos tilting 
to slow wind sways
pitch-black devil eye
sky falling and 
swallowing men in its womb
time stopping
everything moving but nothing really moving
as we look like a  bunch mourning so
expect many a frowned face with
feelings mixed like roasted corn and peanuts.
The TV: a single channel of gloom,
generator engines at full blast, in the distant
rude chats, cusses at the government and 

Naked butts exposed
mosquitoes posed as
bloody models of a bizarre night against the
ambiance of sweat and steam.
So we do the sleeping on the corridors instead
unfolding mattresses and jeans
folding eyelids, like dreams
of seeing electricity zap in
before the sun knocks at doors
with light limbs,
under a hard-hand night shade
with moon-baked glare, 

The light-off night we dread
Is here!


[Photo by @quasiadu /ff him on twitter & instagram]

Saturday, April 06, 2013


i meet her at half onto eight
she sits for a half pollen plate
felt goooooood!
but hey! what's in a kiss stays in a kiss
she spreads her wings across my span
she rests like sunshine through my crown

if I had stomata they'd grow faster 
like food fulfillment does stomach archs
she takes photos of my synthesis
her colours of kaleidoscope magic
keep eyes fixed, memories elastic
like her tongue

she tells me stories
about how she has no fears
about how she flirts with the atmosphere
leaving her hair strands in the cloud's care
her knees sink into the abdomen of earth
her time ticks like drizzle in splits
her wisdom tooth bites 
into thin air

she tells me her dreams
enveloped in blue screams
she retorts about days she went deaf
when no word of the world she wanted heard
of how she needs her space
and believes in her lonely pace


she stays patient
that kind of patient
her beauty blooms, inbred
like yeast in bread
that's how every heart she conquers
totally a natural thing

like a baby straddling the tired mother's back 
earth is where the hurt sits

 offer that timelessness
she perches
her stories too

the breeze eavesdrops
pretending to tease
flee, hop, the sun leaves 
memories in the tree tops
and returns ah yellowish cheese,
divided into half eh night's dark lips

i meet her at half onto eight
she sits for a half pollen plate
halved by moon

she flies away as quick as amnesic memory
every flower she visits pollinates
you can't tell if she'll return again, ever
though these flowers for a moment 
she stirred 
so bloom..

(c)KW 06042013