Jaachi Writes

retracing heritage walls shall crack open through the cracks, illumination shall thrust through roofs shall cave in and form a warm hole that'll suck in archaic beliefs grounds shall sink and take with it the feet of those who led us astray on that day, when the son of man shall raise his middle finger to rewrite opinions that amoebae-d the shape of us soon i shall retrace my steps, backward, to where we were before the illusionist abolished  our reality soon   Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!

How A Boy Finds Closure when a boy loses grip on life, he turns to poetry: that gives rhythm  to silence,  light to darkness, colours to monochrome, sinew to dry bones in poetry, a boy finds the magic of metaphor in falling s                  c                    a                      t                       t                        e                          r                           e                            d                              lines that forms the rungs that ferry him up out of the pits of depression in poetry, a boy finds compactness of expression in poetry, a boy opens doors to feelings suppressed in poetry, a boy can shine light on all those dark crevices of his heart and every hidden corner of his mind in poetry, a boy who was once thought permanently closed off to the world opens up himself like flower petals to the sun in poetry, a boy taps into his five senses, to demystify the simplicity of life and the complexity afterlife in a few lines that rhyme when a

Ever felt out of place?  Have you ever wondered why you are thinking or feeling a certain way?  Ever been frustrated because your friends or partners couldn’t ever possibly understand you because you don’t even understand what is going through your head?  I have found that the best way to grasp internal turmoil is to write poetry.  Here's more, poetry: It slows the world down around you.  It streamlines your thoughts to short, direct sentences, while soothing the anxiety out of your body with the lyrical style.  It makes you think: It puts a spotlight on what the issues might be and forces you to logically and methodically answer to it.  Writing poetry helps one to pour out one's soul in forms of lines and verses. Reading poetry allows one to see into the soul of another person (the writer/poet), see what is weighing on their minds and on their hearts, and can open doors to feelings that are sometimes suppressed until that door is opened.  Writing poetry helps the poet focus li

i don’t want a religion defined the texture of faith thickens as rituals spools it they often say faith comes by hearing the word of god, yet they bore holes in my purse with constant taxes, with different phrases and faces and phases oftentimes i 'ew' at religion throwing up dogmas founded in the search of pious repose peeling off the sleeves of righteousness and putting on rags of same self-made, teaching longing souls how to bare their soles on the thorns of clergy greed, maybe salvation from the highs and lows, with each exhales and inhale of prophetic proclamations shall evoke divine blessings but i don’t want a religion defined i desire a religion that absorbs my willfully surrendered parts i desire a religion that discards the shallow to reach my deepest parts make me strong enough to be fragile, human, not a pretentious version of Lucifer, who having been threatened with hell many times ov, now dreads grace and buys salvation with deeds of love faux i desire a religion

my love is like the full moon  it empties himself  on the canvas of rainbow colours spilling silvery streaks of my soul into the damp tunnel   of my lover letting go all of me,  drip by drip pouring   every ounce  of liquid magic into her pores creeping  stealthily  into places the sun of lust couldn't  kiss   and making the night a black moment of colourful dreams my love is like the full moon   Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!

Full Moon Fetish tonight, i sprawl by my window throw open the window blinds and let moonlight caress my eyes flood my room with her silvery glow like streams of silver lines she'll pierce through the dry clouds of my heart with wet wishes that'll induce torrents of tears tears of joy, maybe so  i stand still in awe staring hard and long as her imperfection fill my dark spots with perfect illumination look how the shape of her changes from crescent to a ball, yet she glows and i am just here, lovelorn and lonely but like the moon, full of self doubts, i'll shine through darkness until i become the silver lining i seek in pregnant clouds

If My Body Is A Jacket if my body is a jacket let it be a temple for the music human's fail to dance to, let it cling to the ears of my soul caress my spirit with symphonies and keep me warm from every biting cold of betrayals if my my body is a jacket let it sinew my bones from thorns-laden roses and be an underground cave that shields my soul from the tornado that descends from heights of hopes lest i be uprooted from my sole to float about like the hangman's rope if my body is a jacket let it be like stanzas of a poem tattooed  on my flesh like a mosaic of many random happy memories -  soothing.   Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!

A friend once threw a certain question I dread, at me. She asked 'who is Stefn?' I leaned over and whispered: 'Read my poems and you will get to know the real me' My poems are from my heart and I write them about myself and things that has happened in my life. So my poetry means everything to me.  It is my life and my soul, yet not entirely all about me. People and Society: Poetry is a damn beautiful way to express your beliefs, feelings, thoughts so that the reader can relate to and enjoy the experience perhaps he could not have at all in his life.  Basically I think it is an art of communicating what exactly your senses feel and how your mind interprets them in such a way that the only words will arouse the exact sensory perceptions and thoughts in the reader. What I meant to say is, all the five senses of smell, touch, hearing, taste, sight along with other perceptions such as balance, feelings, etc.. are to be expressed in a single medium(Words) but should arouse al

Imagine how different your life would be if you could focus on your writing and research instead of whether or not your book would sell!  Wouldn’t it be a dream come true to have readers come to your site and purchase your books and products while you sleep?  If this appeals to you, then Self-publishing Successfully might be the best  #1,200  you spend all year! It will show you how to put your eBook to work for you, to excite buyers' interest even better and bring in lots of new sales! Self-publishing is the fastest growing segment of the publishing industry; authors find it attractive for many reasons.  Unlike using traditional publishing companies, self-publishing allows the author to be in control of the entire creative and selling process. As a self-published author, you pay the full cost of producing your work and are responsible for marketing and distribution. This book helps the unpublished aspiring writer quit the long queue of traditional publishing and instantly kick sta

You'd Still Be Lost you'd stare at your diary like a hungry street boy lost in thought you'd invoke words in your subconscious but they will appear clad in insibidi humming incantations alien to the lord's prayer you'd reach out for your laptop and fondle her power button caress her desk top in search of a song double click on it and flood your eardrums with flavour's 'awele' as your soul traverse unholy lands, away from the burning bush you'd sigh, chew on your tongue, grit your teeth and sip some spittle say a prayer for your soul and question the gods a little you'd fly on the wings of the afrobeat expending your demons with every drumbeat undressing your thoughts with every piano key you'd think distant thoughts about him, her, them, it and find yourself alone in the womb of life  like it was before birth happened you'd evaporate s l o w ly into slumberland because a boy lost in wishes could only dream of tomorrow  to rehearse again u

i rose from torn rags give me your names and I will write someday what my heart knows exists but cannot feel with words hopeless, scattered letters on a canvas like poor substitutes for what they're in vain, words. just words. vain words. actions slain. let me hear the sound of your deeds grow louder than empty barrels that wasn't mine to believe so i laid still like a rag ready to be used the same old rag that wipes your feet for you to be able to walk again, happily perhaps, away from me, like a polished shoe from the shoeshine i wished you could see me through the dirge that accompany your lies i wished you could see through the dirt under which i lie so i let you pick me up, every sunday morn to wipe clean your dirty feet from many wanton wanderings i took them in, the pebbles and the dust, the ugly odour of sweat and dust never let them stick to your shoe, because it's you because it's your feet diseased with cow dung rooting in the dirt of puddles sole deep rottin

my heart is a mushed mess of roses              sometimes he plays hard to find like god, covering the face of moses with the back of his palm he'd shield the roadmap to his heart with a smokescreen, walk past her like a floating shadow leaving behind scatter images of who he is              and she believes them              she holds these images sacred              like a nun does the effigy of mary              she kneels before a faux memory of him              to offer lip service of wanton wishes              oil his limbs with juices of affection              and raise a 'hallelujah' to his sneezes              b(e)less me! sometimes, he wishes she could see beyond the mask that veil his 'i am' the one who's stabbed with the kisses is judas, and sold for morsel of moans the one who's bruised his ego for the stalling arrival of his lover's sole the one who's chastised for indulging a depressed soul the one who wrote lamentations on scrolls of

Take Charge  You have a head on your neck. You have brains in your head.  You have legs with a feet. You have feet in your shoes.  You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own, and you know what you know.  Take charge! You are the one who'll decide where to go. Not him Not her Not society Not even religion. Not fate. Take Charge! NOW! #Pengician #SSA

how a shy boy woos a loud girl because he lives in a world of flippant tongues and itchy ears, a shy boy tucks in his voice and learns to speak in the language of silence ...until love came tapping on his door she reeled out her tales like s seasoned orator; he replied in the language of the rain drops she sung a song in pitches soprano high; he whispered in the language of the flowers,  teaching her nostrils the music of fragrance she chanted her desires like a voodoo priestess swinging her hips in sync with her lips; he whistled 'I love you' in the melody birds floating in the language of the morning breeze she moans a thousand words from dawn to dusk she talks, she talks, she never stops; he gestures to the of the ocean's waves, expressing his in aqua language with many words she expressed love to this shy and silent boy; he spoke to her with eye contact,  and expressed his with hearty smiles. #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading?  Please leave a comment and share with frien

...but you never wrote me one ediye mmi, sometimes, going home isn’t always returning to a place where a roof shields your head from the lonesomeness that lurk in the dark; it is returning to yourself, the one who never leaves when they're all gone sometimes, silence makes lonesomeness unbearable it echoes back cremated memories, in eerie syllables, as you crave, again, for the warmth of yesterday, and wish you hadn't blown out the flame sometimes, like Precious would say, "your poetry is all I need to arouse the wax in my ears, and make 'em tingle as with reaction from a tickle" until the sweet symphony of your voice, from my old stereo, sounds once more but you never wrote me one, write me a poem, would you? #Pengician   #SSA Enjoyed reading?  Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!