Jaachi Writes

Racism Is Madness No sane earthling judges a car by the colour of it's body but by the durability of it's engine and whatever specs that lies in the inside and powers the car.  Humans are like cars, Lexus jeeps of different colour shades. Some black, some blue, some white, some ash, some a mix of this and that.  You're white, I'm black. He's Asian, I'm Ethiopian, they are Indians and they are Europeans... same cars with different colour shades. Why make the coloured feel less human because white adorns your skin?  No sane man does that!  In the inside, we are all the same! Racism is a madness. Until we see the evil that lurks behind the veil of racism, tear down the veil and let the beauty of variety illuminate our closed minds, there can be no cure. We will not be whole as a planet, as continents, as a nation, as people, until we recover from the madness that would render any child, woman, or man anything less than human. #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please...

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!

WRITE ME A POEM (VII): SHARDS contorted by wind, flawed as it is with my breed mere armatures for ice or snow, mere mortal munching incantations of gods unknown, like palm trees resolve to endure for now, the boisterous wind that caress their balls, i bend here, there, everywhere to the musical of the wind then, comes autumn, like leaves, I fall uprooted from the loamy of my heritage, and planted on the sandy surface of foreign cultures, ripped apart, burn to ashes, the indentity of me because, I must be as patient as a toad, lurking in a pool of it's own tears, for that fly, whose mama couldn't instruct how to fly, before he was snatched from her arms, leaving her nipples wet with milk i am broken, and I will break all over again, as the cold reality of yesterday's dreams pierce hard through my skin,  like mosquito bores holes through my soul,  its sharp blade against my throat, muting my cry for help with the puff of what's left of me write me a poem about shards #Pen...

QUESTIONING THE ILLUSION OF BURYING THE DEAD IN SOME PART OF NIGERIA Why do people spend much money during funerals? Why do we honour people more when they are dead than when they were alive? We build houses, we re-paint the old house, we repair the Zinc, we build more rooms and repair the damaged toilet and do some other things where as when this gentle man and woman was alive, you could not afford to give him/her one naira to buy drug to get himself or herself treated. On that day when he/she is dead, you kill the fattest cow, you gather the whole bags of rice in Nigeria, you make the whole village bubble in joy of things to eat and those to drink. What happen to this money when this man or woman was alive? Why don't you collect this loan to treat him/her? Why don't you create an opportunity to celebrate him/her? What kind of honour do you want to give him/her in the grave? We are all hypocrites! I grew up seeing things. Things that made me want to lose myself int...

IFE MI Ife mi, these lines are distorted distorted like my thoughts disjointed. On your face sits sadness Acute is your loneliness Fear of the unknown striped smiles off your face. Ife mi, can I clothe you back with smiles and happiness? I'm the reason for her fears and doubts, I know... no, I do not know. How do I cloth nude fears whose gender I do not know? Ife mi, wish I can sneak into your heart and sweep away into Hades Those gloomy rags, cloaking the shine of your smiles. Ife mi, who stole your smile? Trust me, a million miles got nothing on me- I can run, walk and crawl to the moon and back to fetch you a smile. #Pengician   #SSA Enjoyed reading?  Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you! 

I GREW UP in me words were trapped; they couldn’t find their way out they were prisoners locked up in my head so i grew up with tongue atrophied in my mouth once i’ve been told, ‘there’s a place in you where it is all alive’ so i searched and i searched till i lurched and i lurched then on a night the sky was filled with dancing stars on that same night my heart robbed of my appetite and sleep i found this place where it is all alive this place with people whose presence i felt we laughed, we played, we talked there i was taught how to mask my emotions clean as a whistle like a gift, I wrapped up my emotions with tape and i placed it away from my sleeves some days when i step out of my comfort zone i inflame, i drench, i fall for i couldn’t stand the gaze of vulnerability of broken eyes, healed eyes, stout eyes. . . so i fall back to my head “sleep little one sleep dear one sleep little one” there’s a place in you where it all happens” often, my mum would sit by my side and cradle me t...

AFRICANS; TRIUMPH IN SIGHT FOR VIRTUES CONCEALED The mother land that instills in us spirited culture With varying smash of tones Rises in us concealed beauty from a toiling legacy Deprived and battered doesn’t begin to describe us From the rising of the sun to its setting  Ceaseless attempts at survival has become our only mindset  Striving to break from the holds of what we only know In ruins and slums innocent lives spawned are bred to survive Life gets devoid of definition and purpose  It only rings in us the call for a war we have to fight A burden we have to bear until the inevitable claws of death grips us To our birthrights we are bastards  Ones spawned for no inheritance of the treasures carried and spewed from the womb of our soil Yet our rage is neither justified nor considered worthy of us We are rejected by our blood  Cast out by our counterparts  In massive struggle to be accepted we adopted a culture That speaks of a different heritage to wha...

The Path We Walk This is the path, A path of silent rattle of a labouring mother, She died in thousand eyes. The path of rot fleshes and piteous infants of 'milkless' breast. Children! This is the path we walk.... The path of our ancestral spirits, Of demons part without sacrifice of justice, The path gods and goddesses drew battle lines. Their blood, water and bones are still breathing. A path of curse. The path stinks of corruption and inhumanity. See them as they spray soothing aerosol to arrest their weaknesses. Both blended and stinks beyond adaptation. Nigeria here we are... This is the path they lay our legs The path of infant head facing other way in silence. Where are the elders? Alas, this is the path we walk on. About Writer: Popoola Oladeji Abdullahi is a 200 level student of the department of Aquaculture and Fisheries Management, faculty of Renewable and Natural Resources, University of Ibadan. He bagged an NCE certificate in Agric Education from the Federal Colleg...

POEM 242: FOR THE STREET BOYS there's a boy floating down the street his lanky arms dangling to the beats of his empty stomach he needs something he has his eyes fixed on nothing because mist of tears occupy his mind with a spiral of never ending sad tales he sees nothing nerves dead to hope, so much that everything bright and beautiful appears clad in a tattered cloak, mooing like a starving bull he feels nothing there's a boy floating down the street I don't remember asking the wind to disperse my dreams I am nothing #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy.  I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

BELIEVE Will thy ever believe, Ought I tell thou what my heart says. To meet your family, that I'm wholly ready. Ought I tell thou that our courtship, Never shall it be tarried. But would it not matter if I hath not. Ought I tell thou that my heart is bigger than the ocean, Would thy ever believe? Will thy truly believe, Ought I tell thou that the love, Never would it subside. Before the priest; Surely, you and I will make vows. Ought thou dare bare my surname; Forever my heart shall smile. For you my heart leaps; When you are beside me, I wish times would forever ceased. About Writer: Ayouba Toure is a Pan-Africanist from Liberia. A practical Muslim with Mandingo being his ethnicity.Born on February 20, 2003. Currently studying civil engineering at the university of Liberia.A n emerging poet, who writes base on the ills of the society. Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy.  I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with fri...

I AM XENOPHOBIA I am Xenophobia I hate my brother I’ll untie mother’s wrapper I’ll break father’s Walking stick And stick(out) My head from the South Laughing to my delight While he stumbles in daylight. I am Xenophobia I envy my brother Who walked from the West To come rescue me From the Whiteman’s grip. My brother He fought for me. A war I couldn’t win. My lean Uncle Mandela He housed Under the umbrella of Brotherhood. But that’s history His folklore His old story. Today I rule the Whiteman He helped me dethrone. My brother from the West Have I vowed to waste. I am xenophobia My brother I hate. He’s better than I am But my Yellow Land Is better than his Oil-blackened Benue and Niger rivers. I am Xenophobia I am Xhosa I am Zulu I am a black fool Lazy I am Envy my lazy am- Strengthens against my brother. I am Xenophobia I hate my brother. Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy.  I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with f...

MILECENT LIFE INSPIRATION FOUNDATION popularly and formerly known as Mileage is a Multi-visionary, non-profit and non-political organisation, established to be a bridge of social and medical solution.  Vision: To be a bridge of solution on sex education, social uprightness and a promoter of holistic living within the continent. The foundation has a proposed clinic to serve the community and source of medical attention and intervention to victims and depressed individuals in the society towards ensuring holistic living. The clinic will sit sides with the Milecent Foundation Library which will be open to all, to access information and make findings of interest which will be useful personally and to the benefit of the community at large.  Founded by Okolo Ikechukwu Innocent, a renounced medical practitioner cum writer, emotional coach and social entrepreneur with a great team to help build this selfless dynasty, named Milecent Life Inspiration Foundation.  Mission:  T...

This is a poem written in admiration of  woman, a masterpiece of God creative work and a real symbol of black beauty. The writer was inspired by her beauty and the diligence of every black beauty of Africa. He is dedicating this poem to all women pursuing Godly lifestyles. BLACK BEAUTY OF AFRICA In your pictorial image I grow The gentleness of your face i gazed upon Black beauty of Africa you have given colour to the world! Among other women you are a symbol of royalty and fairness Behold i have seen the black beauty of Africa I hope you see her someday Her eyes are virtue’s steady and holy mark Her speech counts slow and steady She's a symbol of solid foundation of life Intelligence glows round her face Wisdom glows all round her cheek Smartness glows round her smile She is the mother of calculation She is a strong partner to man's decisions She plays a vital part of the completion of Christianity Within her, Grace is confined And her faith in God is real Pureness in her hear...

Do you know with just ONE poem (6-10 lines), you can be #10,000 richer? See this: Anarchi – preserving the individual freedom! Anarchi is a celebration of breakdown of social inhibition and restrictive values imposed on the individual will and freedom to live as one chooses. It is an attack on mores established to keep society from self-destruction.  The poet is expected to demonstrate why social mores are destructive to the individual will, and why free will should mean the freedom to do as willed without any moral, religious, artistic, legal or communal repercussion.  Competition expectations: 1. The poem strictly must be between 6 and 10 lines. 2. Each line must make a complete sense 3. The poem must show how anarchy is preferred to social order and values 4. The form of the poem must symbolize a break from traditional styles 5. The language must be as chaotic as the content of the poem – profanity is expected. 6. Themes to disrupt include: Identity, Sexuality, Gender, R...

The Less Privileged - Abubakr Shittu 'less privileged' ...'better positions' You complain awfully of your daily bread,  Never you consider those with little or nothing of what you are being fed,  You cry disdainfully when you are given rice, Persons are, eating food already trampled by mice.  You talk of pitiful pains when you have shirts but no jeans,  Yet, there are people who grins over rotten beans,  Suffering entails smiling over sour milk,  And not when you complain of your clothes being cotton and not silk.  You think hardship is rice with no meat?  Real hardship is when you beg to sleep in buses with no seats.  Poverty is grinning over raw food,  And not to quench over any appetite mood. You complain of eating fish when you have egg,  Do you know persons out there have no food when they can't beg, Able-bodied men eat junks scattered on the soil, And you still dare complains of jollof made with palm oil.  You have spoon...

Morountodun Morountodun , this is the place you'll find me like the prey of a shrike choked through by your thorny words When the chase after Omo Ogun with your heart Failed to be anything worthy to steal the cheapest glance from his hammer and anvil When the waist beads fails to be the skeleton key to get all you desire You will find me. This is where you'll find me when the stars you so dreamed of- drifting off my bosom that has never held anything as precious as dying mother breathing her last are now but fireflies stuck in the cobwebs of the black widow. It is not I Morountodun if the songs that tried to serenade you is served cold, sour. The live coals within my chest will drip down my cheeks. Looking into my eyes do you see a flower dancing in the furnace unscathed? It is you my black woman for pain will not devour the faintest wisp of love in the wildest of fires. Tell me tales of your miseries of the lots cast on your iro and buba to be this tattered I'll fetch ...

THE EPISTLE To lost friends And gained fiends To severed bonds And closed doors To zonal restrictions And canal rejections I ink this piece. To distrust And stale love To myths And impotent gods To shattered dreams And untimely deaths I ink this poem. To drawn borders And conspiracy of silence To historical blunders And false witness To warped opinions And farting anus I ink this piece. To the soul a lonely To the lovely To the beautiful heart ever pipping To the slain spirit ever living To fighters unrelenting To harassed writers ever writing I ink this piece of poetry Don't bend Don't break Don't bow #Pengician #SSA

Due to the Up surge in black maltreatment in Europe  and America it has become imperative for me to lend  my voice and speak out. we are blacks and should be  proud of our heritage. Akpofure Shedrack Speaks On  the issue. #BlackLivesMatter We’re Black and Proud After all is done and settled Remember we are blacks not dirt The skin color is just melanin It doesn’t signify our status nor history After the slavery and occupation Remember the contribution All the men we’ve given The lives we’ve sacrificed on high seas and on  butchered plantations They crave our resources and our population And that we’ve given without hesitation For how long does the menace continue Without respite and retribution A police man is meant to secure the lives of the  citizens Not murder the blacks for some incorrigible reasons It's been 200 years and more Convincing us its all said and done The equality of the blacks is a principle adorn But in the end its all lies and allure I'm ...

 White Washed Tombs Men of dual tongues Coat of many colours Adapt to colours Faster than chameleons. Slippery like fishes Their tongues sweet Like stolen kisses. What are lies to the player? What are rules to the madman? Sheepy wolverines Slippery life lines. like two edged swords they kill two with a word tearing one against the other Smiling to gain votes From gullible minds Sheep clothed wolves Blenders of gin and palmwine Annoying like a nagging wife Yes, I know them yes I've seen them They ain't what they claim to be Promises they make, so hasty The next minute they take a bow. Ever seen a man whose palm is hairy? Ever seen a woman whose nipples are scary? Even devils posseses the man whose Body is good and healthy But these men they possess the bad and ugly. They surpass Lucifer In deciet and lies Agbada and white brocade Adorns them but beneath those white washed graves are worms And brainless skulls yet they rule us: The same and gullible  I know them You know them...

CRY NO MORE CHILD   "You were born after rain" you were told by the grown ups that buried your umbilical cord Pointing you to a group of plantain trees in the backyard.   This is your birth story   Cradled safely in her arms She baptised you In the Jordan of her tears Whilst the priest watched on vainly with holy water At the throes of mother.   Moonless night and dateless it was Life was sorry for such tragic role In the scripts you were called to play by the thunders that rumbled And the night birds that mourned.   You grew gracefully like palm fronds. Measured your height with the tall bamboo standing on your toes. Your fingers turned green from keeping cassava plantations.   Life kissed hard your cracked lips That bled juju lyric For the spirited drummers in your chest. Songs themed with courage and hope as you paddled on the limpopo With savoury tales for whoever cared to listen.   Your tattered clothe on colt back Saddled by...