Jaachi Writes

POEM 303: SELF APPRAISAL Some times, I like to think I'm a hair of the Father. Co-hair with Christ and Afrocentric in all sense of it Other times, I like to think I'm a beautiful face, drawn in shades of grey by an artless dame. In between these times, I like to be the best version of myself, living up to no standards of men, loving until all is spent, learning, unlearning, relearning. Aye, this is not a poem. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 302: THERE'S TOMORROW Scars: There are scars in places I haven't seen, your heart, your voice, your blank stares. Nightmares: There are nights you wish you couldn't dream, last night, tonight, every other night. Unloved: There are things which were taken away, the love you gave, the love you received. Memories: There are losses that will always stay, Hangover of stolen kisses, Leftovers of broken promises. Depression: There are moments you want to die, Because lack Because loss Because limitations Numb: There are times you're too tired to cry, You're used to pain You're one with darkness You're at peace with your demons. Introverted: There are feelings no one will understand, The silence of your screams, The tears you mask behind smiles, The poems you write for love. Bent: There are burdens that don't let you stand, A heart laden with grief A back bent by burdens unshared. Expectations: There are people that broke your faith, The first, Sweetness, T

POEM 301: A PORTRAIT OF WHATEVER THIS MEANS TO YOU memories of those days, when all that matters was pleasing you, when all desires were hinged on you, then a jar of jam somewhat expired, smell no more than the deceit that masked your smiles. memories of those nights, that our voices go back and forth, hearts in sync with every spoken word, and lips in sync with every unuttered thoughts, sad how not one affection passed via airwaves, was in sync with promises made. memories of those promises made, how I took pride of place to hold in clenched fists a dead assurance, a cosmic clump of smells, twin months of faux tales, of tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends. I never understood what I was holding on to, was the grey end of a red hue. I'm balancing my remains on a wire hoping ends will meet to begin yet another circle of intimate fire. I'm down in the shelters of unlit nook scared to be killed by yet another dart, shot from a your kind, aimed at my kind. so I cuddle th

POEM 300: ENDING Hi A boy with dreams awakes from his sleep yawns and stretches back to life his fingers massage a smartphone's screen her greetings to reply but what a boy would never know the end is just began Bye A boy with dreams beckoned by sleep yawns and sprawls on his bed his fingers lay on his phone's screen paralyzed by her 'au revoir' a boy realized rather late he'd chewed a poisoned bait. It starts with a 'Hi' It ends with a 'Bye' Never one told a dreamer boy That for every start, ending will deploy. This is not a poem #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 297: BECAUSE I OWE YOU ONE FOR ALL If I had one last wish to make, it would have to be, that God would heal your heart and give your pain to me. If I could do anything, I'd undo the pain I caused and restore again the glow you've lost. If I could do everything, I'd never lose complete faith in you, like I did when away I flew. We didn't always get along behind closed doors but you taught me what affection really was. Conscience reminds me on every nightfall that, for the hell I put you through, I owe you one for all But a deed done cannot be undone and hurting words spoken cannot be recalled. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 296: LIFE & TIME Life is a privileged lady: she shines with celestial radiance in the years of her youth she lives carefree of cares like a baby of life harsh realities, unaware she wonders of many fantasies Utopian, manga, futura she desires to feed her dreams to satisfaction with the flames of her heart’s perpetual fire But time sits at a corner mixing mischief for her Life is a privileged lady Time is her enemy #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 295: MY SOUL'S CRY What I am is exactly what You see I come on my knees with ruffled feathers and broken wings knocked off the sky by boisterous winds, teach me to fly and never come back down. I come on my knees shaken from the inside out broken and knocked out, teach me to lift my feet above the ground. I come on my knees with Marah on my lips and gall in my bloodstreams, teach me to sing the song of victory. What I become is by Your grace. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 299: FULL MOON My love for full moon  must be a form of divine juju Just the sight of her silvery glow gives me multiple eyegasms untold I'll just sit on mum's clay stove and howl at the moon like lone wolves #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 298: DORIS' TORMENT - A VILLANELLE OF THE ROSE Doris couldn't stop thinking about the rose It was just so black and mellow But she could never forget the hose That morning, Doris was shocked by the pose She had to calm herself with a marshmallow Doris couldn't stop thinking about the rose Later, Doris was spooked by a prose She tried to focus on a fellow But she could never forget the hose Alex tried to distract her with a transpose Said it was time to start thinking about a martello Doris couldn't stop thinking about the rose Doris took action like an expose The rose was like a toxic jello But she could never forget the hose Doris nosedived like a tricky chose Her mind became dangerously yellow Doris couldn't stop thinking about the rose But she could never forget the hose ------- This is a type of poetry known as Villanelle. ------- #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

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POEM 294: ABA IS A STORY Aba is a story painted with thoughts a story tinted with feelings Aba is a story of multi-painted walls of sreets overrun with expressions of the rich, the poor, the wretched. Aba is a story filmed with memories growing in value with time refining to gold her scars Aba is a story of history on pages of merchants and sages lit with lovers and dreamers that hold hands across miles and kiss the moon with rhymes. Aba is a story I am a chapter unfolding Again, this is not a poem. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 293: THIS IS NOT A POEM Someday, when again I satire political events around the Niger area I'll write a poem on Baba Adamawa featuring Dede Anambra. In this poem of mine, which shall be written in due time, shall be words that mean a thing, two things and many other things. I shall scribble about an Atikulate Obituary where all divides shall lie in state, in a faux cemetery: Her rite foul place. I promise, there'll be no play on wards in this future poem of mine. And if you hold me by my words, friend, the blame wouldn't be mine. This is not a poem #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 292: BECAUSE I WAS ASKED WHAT LOVE IS Love is Chinaware, shiny, beautiful often broken and rarely lasts. Love is a special breed of coward steps out for war, but melts in the sun. Love is a bouquet of flowers of roses red and daisies violet Love blooms and blushes in the dew but wilts and decays, just like you. Love is a song of sweet obscenities of lust, of greed, of addiction that thrills. Love is sweetness, so sweet, it makes ill yet at every taste of love, I crave more, still. Love is a roar, but it is silent, too, were you in love with me? I have no clue. Love is phase of fleeting ships dancing to the music of ocean tides Love will row uncharted seas with wanton wishes whispering 'why?' Love sails like floating feather in the wind love fades, love sucks, love heals. Love comes, but then it leaves you can say it's the autumn of fallen leaves. Love creeps in, but rushes out in the cold unrequited love, it dispirits the soul. Love is sweet sadness easily forgotten ho

POEM 291: SILENCE I read her eyes like paragraphs of unspoken words bereft of punctuation, her tears flow from the top of the page to the bottom of the same for she have not much to say with words her tears is a stream of roaring silence. Beautiful as it seems, this silence of hers, voice in a deep sleep, lost in groanings unheard for she have not much to say with words her tears is a stream of roaring silence. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 290: OF FEAR AND INDECISION My feet is unsteady though the music is not yet ready My heart trembles at the silent calls of fear. Who knows what lurks out there? When the drum rolls, will my feebleness survive the fall? What if the prayer I pray feeds the fear I fear? My feet is unsteady stand, run, I don't know what! #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 289: ISMS ism here's my tag and that's yours here's the mark, you may not cross racism: how can one carve a coal coloured portrait of me and label him the devil? tribalism: what said the iroko to the eagle? 'my branches are also for vultures' Shouldn't you swallow your ego? sexism: a boy has to acquire feminine traits? That's right: you never rode this thought lane. feminism: because a specie couldn't find her place, she tramples on 'head' to save her face. fanaticism: we all are hungry beasts but man, mine consumes the bone and meat. doctrinism: No! Don't adjust the landmark Ours is absolute, the snake would bite! We clap, they dance! So hell is their Canaan land? chauvinism: because bias rules our sensibilities, we remain devoted to antique cultures like the rampant run of one gender above the other. stereotypism: because exaggerated conceptions earns us multiple orgasms, so we throw jabs, one against the other, with generalizations ev

  POEM 288: FOR THE BOY CHILD Cry out while everyone doubts because society would mock and say; 'Impossible. You enjoyed it, man' So a boy fake it until he breaks down because 'you're a man; you don't cry'. So a boy cannot dream of award shows while still on the couch? So a boy cannot freeze on a spot and let the tears drop? So a boy cannot hurt by the overtures of a-whoring aunts? ...and a boy hides behind a mask of masculinity Coming out clean feels like nobody cares feels like a boy's doomed to sift the sore tears So he bottles up the sad tales and carry the world on his biceps Flaunting six-packs of emotional traumas flirting like 'tis life goals Stumble into the next bar to sedate the pain drink and get drunk all the way to life's end Boys are human, not stones don't throw them into black holes and tell 'em not to sink But, we could stop telling our boys such lies so they do not build shooting stars on landmines and explode into a thousa

POEM 287: ON FRIENDSHIP When the sun got hotter, you found another shade. When the mountain fractured a part, you found another height. When the ground gave away, you crawled unto another. When the ocean raged fiercely, you found another lighthouse. When the wind got harder, you clung to another. Let the sun come down and the mountain roll over... Let the ground sink deep and the oceans o'er flow... Let the wind sweep all away I'll hold on to the thin rope of empathy. #365DayaOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 286:  LIKE EVERYTHING GOOD & BEAUTIFUL,                            DEAD MEN NEVER LIE The lad who wrote a lass, eulogies, with duets of souls and moans, what think he? That love is a child’s play? The lass who sang a lad, stimulating symphonies, as to engulf him in melodious ah's and oh's, what think she? That forever is a hearsay? The intrigue of Cupid's arrow whose shot slit the hunter’s heart so gloriously, he returns home singing of butterflies and fireflies, left a scar underneath his throbbing art one that would surface seconds awhile. But, if the end of affections as such were martyrdom, would dead men ever lie? The nostalgic scent of sunflower, housing spider webs, that attracts hungry butterflies to death’s nectar, to come sip from a spider's chalice, get trapped in venom, and gnash hearts in vain. But, if the end of desires as such were murdered with malice, would dead men ever lie? When passions are spent and there's nothing left would the field

POEM 284: PEACE The best hurt [whatever that means] will eat at you for days, maybe even years, until something, some incident, some impulse, someone, maybe, triggers something in you that finally, will help expel it, and you'll find peace again, maybe. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 285: MOMENTS That moment when one finds oneself filled with the sentiments of hope and reality becomes a faux That moment when one falls into the dungeon of loneliness and all appeals for company rely on treacly mawkishness. That moment when one grope in the darkness of hurt That moment when one stagger like a drunken man and throw up all faux affections in the gutter of disgust That moment when nothing else matters but you, your peace your dreams ...in moments like this,  reflect on the past and don't repeat history EVER again! #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!