Skip to main content

I Love Your Too Much | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu



POEM 197: I LOVE YOUR TOO MUCH (Pidgin English)

Dem tell me sey make I no try am
Sey you no be my type.
Sey your shakara e too much
Me I love your too much.

'Shoot your shot' na my mantra
As I fire na so I trap am
Nne your green light no be wash
Me I like your too much

Morning, noon and even' time
Na tinini tanana
You colobi my thoughts so much
Me I love your too much

If you leave me I go die o
I swear down, I no dey lie o
Sugar kills if you lick am too much
Me I love your too much.

E too dey sweet and e fit kill
But this kain death naim dey sweet me
Nwànyì ómà na-átò útò
Me I love your too much.

Earth to moon I fit to crawl o
Nothing wey I want again o
Your love dey make my head touch
Me I love your too much.



Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...