Inked Tongue

  To fully understand is to fully appreciate and even at that, mysteries can also be extremely appreciated.  ONDO is one of those mysteries that wraps her suitors in the web of love, wonder and fascination. You can barely understand the intricacies of her delectable design; the art, the music, the food and the tourism. These elements perfectly shapes the beauty that you all know to be ONDO state; The Sunshine State.  ONDO is one of the hallmarks of undiluted Yoruba culture, with a range of different dialects. The Ondo city, the state’s heritage is uniquely designed and blessed with divine structures and with people of great confidence in their art and creative prowess. There is a mysterious source of energy that fuels ondo and it’s people. Some say it is the Sun that is always flamboyantly shining at its peak and others say it is in the fact that gods roam among the people. Ondo takes pride in her centers of tourism and who are you to talk about tourism without mentio...

  Here in the constellation of stars, we move to the rhythm of the earth’s vibration.  Our souls have been intertwined by the act of spiritual tango We move through the milky way with one consciousness, with one mind, with one spirit. To think that we found each other in a hopeless place. To think that our atomic nuclei could fuse like polar ends of magnets.  To think that the rising sun was pathetically impatient to witness our bodies hold themselves in his light. To think that the crescent moon was reluctant to go to bed so she wouldn’t miss the entanglement of our tongues in her light.  Here in this multiverse of reality, our times collapsed into each other.  The universe conspired to bind our hearts on mother earth’s crust.  Saturn in all her beauty and glory was no match for the veil of love that adorned us.  Venus in all her temperature was no match for the heat that you exude when your earthy body draws close to mine.  Mars in all his valor...

  Call out to me in this dense abyss of darkness where light has become a taboo and where life has become a myth. I will give a loud cry but you will fail to hear it because the sound of my voice has been scattered rashly across the fabrics of time. Give me a sign to assure me that you will bring me back to the days where we danced in the sun and flew kites over the vast blue sky. For I dwell in the very core of something that holds my soul hostage And the gates of my eyes can no longer hold back these tears from the intensity of suffocation that gravity commands on my mortal body.  I have lost touch of space and time and every memory I have, seemed to have collapsed like the sands at the beach. My only remedy is to find the most sacred particle of sand in this avalanche of probability.  In my attempt to get back to you my darling, I buried myself deep in the blackness and vastness of zillions of events that could possibly connect me to your reality.  But reality is ...

THE QUESTIONS- a poem to my father.   How do you sleep when your dreams keep you awake? How do you feel when you try your daddy’s shoes and wonder if your foot will ever fit? How do you dance in the rain when your tears are enough to baptize you? How do stay calm when all of nature has rebelled against your cognition? How do you make a horse drink from fresh waters of your own picking? How do you build an architectural edifice from a thought? How do you stay tranquil in the midst of a raging storm?  How do you not wake up from your sleep and yell “BLOODY HEAVENS”?  How do you close your eyes to the biting teeth of a child you fed from your laboring hands? How do you give water to neighbors when your tank is not promised of a refill by the morning? How do you build a name so big that it humbled the lips of your children? How do you weep into a basin until the basin feels like a basket, as your hot tears bore holes into its base? How do you not shiver when the cold harmatta...