Nigerian Hypocrite

You complain about the system
when you need the system to complain
and you keep on saying we’ll make a difference
if we could all just think the same.

You tweet that money isn’t everything
from that smart phone your parents paid for.
You post a picture of children dying,
You get to “like” it, whilst they stay poor.

A Nigerian song gets British airplay,
you adopt the movement like it’s your struggle
but if asked if you’re Nigerian,
you claim you’re half-blood not full muggle.

What makes you think you’re any different,
is it your wealth or education?
Or that accent you’ve developed,
does it create some complications?

I’m not proud to be Nigerian
’cause I know it’s bound to self destruct.
There’s nothing more I can protect.
What I used to love, I have forgot.

But you who say you’re oh so proud,
please don’t become a hypocrite.
Go back home and make a difference
or be like me and call it quits



Morning Dew

Dark blue infusions
before the bright lights of reality.
Driving past familiar buildings,
with a new sense of clarity.
Planes landing, whilst early birds
sing their perfect pitch greetings.
I can hear myself think,
no traffic now, no horns are bleeping.
A young child’s excitement
at a 5 am flight.
To just see the blue,
he stayed up all night.
No one’s been killed yet,
last night’s rain’s become dry
People remain in their dreams,
keeping a beautiful lie.
I wake up late now,
because I don’t think I can cope
with seeing the morning dew fade,
away with my hope.



It’s that thing that you say
that you have always thought.
That thing that you feel
that can never be fought.

It’s turning plain water
into the greatest of wines
It’s turning lost hope
right into a sign.

It’s being yourself
and everyone staring
It’s looking at them
and not even caring.

It’s living a lie
but never being caught
it’s making the most
of a life that’s too short.

It’s falling head over heels
but not out of love
It’s you waking up forgetting
all of the above.


The Writer

Last night I contemplated,
why my thoughts were complicated.
Or were they simply overrated?
Could this mind be replicated?
I wrote them down before they faded.
Constant edits, each line I hated.
it felt different…my mind was raided!
My anguish…grossly understated.
Words missed out like they were shaded.
Meaningless and fabricated.
You’re yet to know how I am tainted.
Maybe one day, you’ll see me naked.


A drink for confrontations.

This feels like social segregation.
I’m just shy, my mind’s not vacant.
I need a drink for confrontations.
Ah f**k this waiting, I’m not patient.
I’ve got this epic conversation,
that can’t be over-contemplated
or complicated. Right, let me say it!
Turn off the lights, pretend I’m praying.
See I’m not staying beyond a moment. 
Might end up lying or being too open.
You don’t want that. It’s too much drama
It’s all my pain. I’m a self-harmer
I might calm down. Don’t want to scare you,
or wake up sober and even fear you.
I think my room’s really quite near you.
Think we’ve been neighbours for a year too.
Sometimes I hear you though I pretend
that my ipod’s my only friend. 
It’s just my first line of defence
’cause I’m not all that confident.
But for the sake of one lost night.
For the sake of one last try. 
For the sake of never knowing
if you will ever become mine…

I might just kiss you. If that’s okay?



You should know when you cry
that those tears become lenses
that blur out what’s real
and leave you defenceless.
They turn your eyes red
like blood in the nile:
a curse from old times
that floods out denial.
There is salt in those tears
that your mouth slightly tastes
like words from your eyes
your voice tries to embrace
but it’s too much for you
you wipe away all those tears
’cause your pain’s too complex
and tears make them seem clear.