8230;random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse. Readjerome shares a laconic piece with us today. Twin fruits of the clime, both to savour.

A pot of stew nonetheless. A pot of stew he brought. For a pot of stew nonetheless. In you is deposited a talent. Searching, hoping it to possess. For a pot of stew nonetheless. Listen, Jacob at the door. The knocking on the door persistent. 8216;All I want is your treasure,. I will pay in full measure,.

Mind On A Very Long Leash. Over the past 3 years, I have been on a journey to get the ideal body. I lost 25kg dropping to 62kg but I felt I was too skinny. I started putting on weight again and got introduced to weights. I decided to do only weights without cardio and that again was not satisfactory. I built muscle but I was still largely bigger than I wanted to be.

My diary, journal, muse, therapy. why do they elude me when I need them. They seem to grow wings and fly away. or wait do they disappear? However it is, they fail me when I need them. One would think words will be there in time of trouble, when in a fix or just when confused, but alas! They leave you to your demise making you appear, silly, stupid or inept.

Through the eyes of me! November 30, 2012. I wrote this a year ago. The smell of garlic assaults my senses as I wipe my face with my hands. I adjust myself on the stool and it creaks. I adjust again, and it creaks again. I stand up and put off the light. The sunlight is seeping int.

She replies demurely when I ask who she is as she fumbles in front of the door. My neighbour who was once my lover, and whose heart I shattered in the moans of another. What happened to your sister? I ask, dread creeping upon me. Why have I only now asked the question? The sibling replies, staring at me with eyes with wise eyes.

A time for every purpose under Heaven,. A time to be born, and a time to die,. A time to plant, and a time to pluck that which was planted. A time to tear, and a time to sew,. A time to keep silence, and a time to speak. The date was October 3rd 2003. That was all I remembered. Everything written from this point is as I was told.

Conversations between a not so typical Nigerian husband and his wife. Please excuse my Tyler Perry-esque title. I just wanted to get straight to the point about why I wrote this. My first clue should have been the text messages. Earlier in our marriage, Naijawife could send me up to 30 messages a day. Even Lovers Need a Holiday.

These words shall be my legacy. I used to be a rapper. I used to be a dancer. I used to read a lot. I used to have friends visit me at home. I used to be more social. I used to write poetry. I used to be a sculptor. I used to draw regularly. I used to make music. These are words I hope to never say. I used to make photographs.