Twilight

Twisting and twirling in the belly of this strain You move gaily to graceful refrain Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair You sweeten now like sugary clair. Fanning and stirring, this tender flair flourishes Passion blazes, mellowing echoes without straying stitches. Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair This strain you love and sure will blare.

They fell from gangling slips and muffled dreams. They fell from worled ways that could not stay. They too fell and fell but no one was there to tell.

Right now, I don't feel like writing. My spirit is down. Months after serving the nation, I am still here without a job and it is killing me. For how long Will this smile go wrong. For how long will i wait for the pretty sun? I hope i won't wait forever.

My name is Beauty and in two days, I would be 200 years old. Actually I am a tree As an old tree, my years have witnessed series of events played by man and fate. I was here when cursed with hatred, ambition and fear, Hitler sought to put the world in chain. Oh yes, I was here when tribal war crushed the backbone of a nation. I saw it all, the pain, the blood and the betrayal. And at such times, I had to wonder why man refused to be like the trees, peaceful and contented? Beauty, what a name. It was given to me by someone I loved and who I wish could have lived forever. Unfortunately, he died a week ago and I would forever mourn his mortality. So many years ago, something happened that I will never forget. That morning, I woke not only to the sweet caress of the early morning dew but also to the piercing cry of an infant. It could not be more than a day old and there it was helplessly naked in the frosty cold. Moved to tears, I shielded the precious thing with the best of me. It was ca...

She was my neighbour but also my fantasy. A true beauty, her great sexy body was always a distraction to the big boy downstairs. Her ample bursts always found me wanting and times without number, I had imagined floating sweetly on them. Unfortunately for me, she was married. Her husband was a busy but successful businessman. Business was his romance. But then, he was someone you could easily mistake for a wrestler. He was exactly like the Macho Man. This woman loved it each time I worship her body with my glowing stares and she dressed in manners that made this inevitable. She would come to me with those great beauties nearly spilling out of their prisons and we would talk for hours about nothing. She would twist, she would turn, she would shake and I would burn. The temptation was rather overwhelming. It nearly twisted my brain. It continued until one day. I was in my flat relishing in solitude when my phone rang. It was my woman neighbour. She wanted me to come over. I went to her fl...

lingering kisses on honeyed lips love tastes better than sugary moon. rippling riddles on lustful tongue love seasons like the noon. sizzling duet on moist plain love engulfs with fire like hell's room.

I began to hate God at the tender age of five. I hated him for allowing my parents to be killed in a fatal accident. I hated him for pushing me out in the rain, cold and alone. I hated him for everything. With my parents dead and gone, I was forced to stay with an aunt, who blamed me for everything that ever went wrong. “Kolawole!” she would scream my name and I would run fearfully to her, fully aware that her wrath could bring down the earth. “Where is the money I put on the table?” she would roar at me. “I didn’t take any money. Aunty, I swear.” “Liar! You better tell me the truth now or I would put an end to your miserable life!” “But I didn’t take the money.” Though innocent, she would cut my flesh with razor blade and rub the wound with fresh pepper. I endured this hell until I could take it no more. Barely ten years old, I wandered into the street. The street brimmed with pain; its calloused hands offered nothing but venom and good grief. Days spent rummaging rubbish for food and...