Obioma

A heavy heart laden with the unfulfilled promises of mother Africa, An even heavier heart, laden with the disenchantment of mother Earth. Ripped, raped, and laid bare, like an Odyessy without a compass in the Mediterranean, She losses her bearings, hovering blindly in circles along paths which the Israelites trod. Over a century ago it has been since the Egyptians let us be, be we haven’t perhaps a couple more centuries.
Souls being sold cold under the auspices of brotherhood, flesh for flesh, a heart for a pound, Obioma in search of an ever-elusive bank of still waters, the Libyan Peninsula, a destination of near fulfillment of prophecies of Pastor Okoye. “A breadwinner you shall be” “Ise” You shall bring

Understanding

Most important feature in any human is understanding.... Understanding that the cab driver who stops in the middle of the road to pick a passenger probably has a target, else his kids don't resume by September. Understanding that the maniac driving through Sani Abacha way full throttle just received a call that his wife is in the emergency ward. 
Understanding that if he he gets mad easily, or ends up a criminal, it could be because he was subject to situations that only he has experienced thus we can never really judge him, for we know not what our behaviours would be if we were subject to these situations. "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your might, and with all your strength. The second is this 'Love your neighbour as yourself.' There is no greater commandment than these." (Mark 12:30-31) "If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen" (1st John 4:20) "Return evil with kindness (Q13:22,23:96,41:34,28:54,42:40). 
"None of you truly believes until he wishes for his neighbor what he wishes for himself" (Forty Hadith-Nawawi)

I say to you my people Love them who despise you, for they are the ones who need the love the most...Okonkwo. Azubuike

The Sound of the Trumpet

The ringing crescendos of the horns, the fluidity of the valves, the feel of cold nickel plated brass on a cold northern morning. My Passion rules me.

Working melodies in my head, complete with stage lights and an orchestra of voices singing to me harmonies which I must put down lest I fail to impress my nickel plated trumpet with a certain kind of deftness in my newly learnt embouchure.

I cannot sit at this desk riddled in paper work while these symphonies are yet to be played. The world must hear these melodies. The world must hear my trumpet sound. 

A Sight worth the Sight

Out under that brazen afternoon shine of our nations' capital she came forth, with a rusted Aluminium tray balanced rather expertly on her head, containing 5 large baskets of Irish Potatoes.

From her back emanate shrills of discomfort from the young and restless.

Tribute to Pablo

When I died, the world didn't stop. The sun shone maybe even brighter, the traders bustled and hustled like my silent absence became a catalyst for business.