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The poem ‘The War of Purpose’ reflects on the search of purpose by man and how it seems to be a futile journey.

Little Albert

Our lives remain shrouded in mystery;
an existence we try to define
Born with this arsenal; arms and legs
to find a way that we should conquer
but the war of purpose lingers in our heart
it hangs on our throat
like an unspoken testimony.


‘Sleep Well’ is a poem about being afraid of the night and the events that surrounds it.

Little Albert

Every night, I go to bed
with purged out eye sockets
and a dead mind.
This is my forlorn attempt
at ignoring what lurks in
the shadows of the night
but my ears
and can’t.

Worst gifts creator gave me
’cause even after my eyes
stop making out
with formless silhouettes
or my mouth stops conversations
with unseen demons or
my mind stops thinking
and reseiges to the edge of abyss:
not struggling to remain aware,
my ears can still hear
the horrid sound
of horror
that it makes my heart beat like bass
and my senses

The night is a locution of utter darkness.
In swaggering steps, it
plunges me into the depths of horror.

under the sheets

I hear the gruesome banging of drums,
percussioned harmonies purling a requiem,
picture frames falling like mountains
like life ,like midnight obsequies
and garotting whispers amidst
the wailings of ogbanjes
rustling twigs, murmurings
and squeaking deadlocks
so I won’t
and can’t
sleep well.

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