22_12_2017 00:33. By O.b.i

So what was I thinking

What made me believe

That I was not sinking

Playing outta my league

Love for the mainstream

Or was it the status

That made a brother gave-in

Dude where was your value

Drowning in dreams

caught up in the slumber

Want to be clean

But still want to do the numbers

That's who sold out

When the team was broke

With hopes to cash out

But the currency was fake

When The Light Goes Off. By ChimmyLuthor

What is the legacy of a lit candle after it's light has been snuffed out? 

What is the evidence that it was ever there? 

In a well ventilated room where nature quickly eliminates the smoke,

The only physical print that bears testament to its luminous performance, is a vestige of wax amidst a ceramic dish.

But this is hardly novel.

The only reason we remember a candle when it is gone is that it was the final hint of life long past midnight and our memories of the light it gave while it still consumed oxygen.

What We Become. By O.b.i

I'm am what we become, when the tears dries up and the heart pickup its pieces. When there is no longer fear,

or expectations or doubt, just dreams and desire, and a dare.

I'm what we become on those mornings that ends the night,  those mornings that the flowers sway to the bird's tune.

l'm what is left when the sun takes its light, l'm the night that brings bright stars and a glowing moon.

I'm what we become through the heat of the furnace and the thorns by the footpath, when it becomes pristine and pure,

when the scar finds its cure.

I'm what we become when we accept what we have become, when we make peace from what we cannot make pieces from.

I am what is left after the storm.

Game Of Throes. A Spoken Word By Snizle

“Nude as this may sound, I can assure you that there is absolutely no porn intended. It’s just that whence of thee me thinks, I often feel the bulge of my head throbbing hard with such pulsating intent begging to be buried in the moist climes of your glistening whole.” (Words
from the poet)

#game of throes is a spoken word track that explores the twin circles of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ using ‘love’ and ‘lust’ as tools for understanding the workings of productive relationships-the balance of which is the iron throne of bliss.

Snizel is a rising poet and spoken word artiste and a graduate of building from the prestigious University of Jos.

This is his debut work and he aspires to be an established song writer and rapper, he enjoys writing and cipher- listening to music.

Keep up with the word lord

Instagram @smartnoel24

Facebook :Noel Obinna

Snapchat :Snizel

Twitter. @snizel24

Download Game Of Throes Here

Have You Heard. By O.b.i

Have you heard, have you heard the echoes of Ese's silent sobs, did you hear her beg and curse and cry, did you hear her plead for her innocence not to be defiled. Did you hear Jide tell Ikem; "she will say no, but she actually means yes". So she said "No" but Ikem heard yes, she said "stop" but Ikem heard go on, and on he went. If you did not hear her then she won't speak anymore, because she have heard people say it is a shame, so now she believes it is a shame and she keeps her shame to her self. When next you hear Ese's story, look for Ikem and don't ask what Ese was doing in his house.

Have you heard, Have you heard Rufai's silent sobs, no, not the sobs from the hunger in his tummy or the tear in his feet,  but the sobs from the biscuit Hamid gave to him. He followed Hamid to the dark alley because dinner after a whole day on an empty belly is not a bad idea, he wanted the biscuit Hamid had in his hands, but what was the relationship between the biscuit and unzipping his  tattered pants? He never knew that, all he knows now is the pain and disgust nobody else knows. So now you know that sometimes when Rufai cries, its not always hunger.

Have you heard, have you heard  Urray's shaky voice say; "I will stay because of my children" do you see her husband's raging fist when she stares at you through the socket of a black eye covered with large sunglasses and say "I slipped and fell". Do you see her flinching and dodging from the speed of yet another skin belt, yet another night and yet another "I'm sorry Darling, I don't know what got over me" Do you hear Urray's friend, Nekki, tell her "Nobody has it easy, just try not to make him angry" and do you know 'try not to make him angry' sometimes means; don't breath. When next you see that black eye, I hope you hear her silent cry.

Have you heard, have you heard little Aisha's voice, she was only 11, and her day always started with her hawking dankuwa on the high way to speeding cars that slowed down at check points and pot holes. Every joy in her life ended the day her chest started protruding. Her father gave her out to Alhaji Adamu to be his third wife and function in the kitchen and the other room, she wished he gave her a pen and book to go to the classroom, but that was a dream too big. So now where she finds solace is in the corner of the kitchen where she drowns her pain in her tears and wish for things she can't have. You can't see her in that dark corner, but when next you see another Aisha being given out to another Adamu, please do something.

A Review Of Daddy Left By Poetic Oracle

WHEN WILL WE PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT THE SAGES AND PROPHETS CRY OUT!

REVIEW: ‘DADDY LEFT’ By Decipher

Daddy: Noun/ Pl –ies) used especially by and to young children, and often as a name to mean ‘father’.

Left: on the side of your body which is towards the west when you are facing north  

‘When Daddy left, they question my apartment,
They caught me red handed...’

What can a child do without a father’s guidance? How well will a baby fare without the nurturing of a mother?
Published on the 24th of September 2017, ‘Daddy Left’ is many things to many people but for those who’ve had the rare privilege of sharing a ‘cup of kindirimo’ with Decipher,’ that uncommon Spirit’ in the words of Edgar Alan Poe, ‘Daddy Left’ is one more key to unlocking the purpose of Man.
Ardent fans and followers of the Bard are already familiar with themes such as ‘Mama’, and ‘Arminna’. Themes exploring the complexities surrounding life without guidance, man in pursuit of meaning, and content. Through the eyes of a growing child, this search is metaphorically represented.

The lives of people today are far from orderly, the question of God? The confusion of the sexes, the tyranny of natural disasters, poverty, disease, death and ultimately rebirth! These and more forces humanity (the child) to search for answers through science, through wars, through the blinding darkness of death, of life, but who better to provide answers if not God (the father) but where is he? Simple...

‘I barely know my Dad...’ saying that Daddy is alive but I just don’t know him, compare with ‘Carrier of the knowledge, bearer of the gift; I have been a windmill.’ The search for self, Daddy (God) continues. The answers (whom) we seek saith Decipher are right before us, in us, if we have enough love to see it.

The confusions of humanity abandoned by a divine father are aptly captured in the unmistakable metaphors similes and ironies subtly interwoven in ‘Daddy left’. But beyond this seeming ‘hopeless abandonment’ is the clear cut message of love ‘betrayed love’ some have argued but love all the same requited or not, consider...

‘When Daddy left..., bloodline, I flow with my friends,
Aboki is gini (friend is blood) thicker than water...’

Now compare the above to...

‘Killing brothers with Bayani’ (words)
‘Harka’n (the way of) Cain’

See now, the allusion to the ancient story of Cain and Abel, two brothers. But one brother out of a dark emotion killed the other. The message herein is simple.
Love cannot only be found amongst family. Evil can sometimes emanate from family. Thus, what our world needs today, is love, not just love for friends, and those with whom we are familiar but love for those who are gone, those who are alive, those yet to be born,  and our environment for according to Decipher it (environment) too is alive and enduring. You don’t believe me, all right, consider the metaphysical lines...

‘I soil my hands, for my plants to grow
For dreams do, true...’

Beyond the wordless dark alleyway communions, the obvious pun, the painful euphemisms, the life changing loneliness trickling from Emeli Sande’s cord struck with producer X’s dreamlike but evergreen stony wrap, the unending war between shades of light, and this review written at twilight by Deus ex Machina, you, poetic journey man will to the exclusion of the infinitesimal distraction plunge your soul into the sub textual Righting of ‘Daddy Left’ and cultivate love, and joy from the obvious scarlet bloodiness. So, enjoy like fine wine the muse’s blend of a HipHop rhythm, the entertaining tempo, and urgent pace of wartime envoys.

‘This poetry is too sick, 
It will save or kill you...!’                                                                            -Poetic Oracle

You can follow this like to download 'Daddy Left' By Decipher here http://tindeck.com/listen/ckjmf

We Never Knew. By O.b.i

We never knew Jews or Hindus, we just knew our clans and the boundaries of our farmlands. We knew the number of our goats and the colour of our cocks, we knew which direction our streams went and which forest from which not to hunt, we knew how a hand shake was trust and agreement and what every rambling in the clouds meant

We never knew change or transformation, we just knew that the red cap was to be respected and Ifa was to be obeyed. We knew what the Oba's staff represented and we knew justice was never delayed, we knew that majority was not right, because if its wrong ,its wrong and we knew never to judge anyone by the sound of their tongue

We never knew differences or tribes, we  knew the marks on our faces told us who we were and not who was suppose to die. We were taught to respect the gong, and always move around with our horn, we drank where ever there was drink because if one of us found joy, we were all happy

We never knew ipob or arewa, we just knew Ali's place was where to buy meat and if the spare part was not from Okonkwo, then it probably won't last. We knew that the tomato had to be from Jos and that the plantain from Ore was irresistible, we knew Obudu was where to get fresh air and Yankari presented us natures finest

Now they teach us differently...I hope we never learn!

Obscurity. A Poem By O.b.i

Long nights and slow mornings

Snail swings of the pendulum

Cold hugs from tired hands

The days wears all shades of gloom

But I know of seasons

I know of rain and sunshine

I know life has a reason

And I know that darkness comes before limelight

Let The Petals Be. A Poem By O.b.i

So how did we get here

She came whole

But to be accepted,

A part has to go.

What's a queen without her kingdom?

So how did we stay here

We kept mute

While she is mutilated,

Left in pain and sorrow.

How will a sealed flower blossom?

So now we need to leave here

Stand and speak up

This needs to be corrected,

For there's no error in the whole.

What's speech if we don't speak for freedom?


-O.b.i-

A little about Female Genital Mutilation

WHAT IS FEMALE GENITAL MUTILATION

Female genital mutilation (FGM) comprises all procedures that involve partial or total removal of the external female genitalia, or other injury to the female genital organs for non-medical reasons.

The practice is mostly carried out by traditional circumcisers, who often play other central roles in communities, such as attending childbirths. In many settings, health care providers perform FGM due to the erroneous belief that the procedure is safer when medicalised. WHO strongly urges health professionals not to perform such procedures.

FGM is recognized internationally as a violation of the human rights of girls and women. It reflects deep-rooted inequality between the sexes, and constitutes an extreme form of discrimination against women. It is nearly always carried out on minors and is a violation of the rights of children. The practice also violates a person's rights to health, security and physical integrity, the right to be free from torture and cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment, and the right to life when the procedure results in death.

NO HEALTH BENEFITS, ONLY HARM

FGM has no health benefits, and it harms girls and women in many ways. It involves removing and damaging healthy and normal female genital tissue, and interferes with the natural functions of girls' and women's bodies. Generally speaking, risks increase with increasing severity of the procedure.

Immediate complications can include:

*Severe pain

*Excessive bleeding (haemorrhage)

*Genital tissue swelling

*Fever

*Infections e.g., tetanus

*Urinary problems

*Wound healing problems

*Injury to surrounding genital tissue

*Shock

*Death.

Long-term consequences can include:

*Urinary problems (painful urination, urinary tract infections);

*Vaginal problems (discharge, itching, bacterial vaginosis and other infections);

*Menstrual problems (painful menstruations, difficulty in passing menstrual blood, etc.);

*Scar tissue and keloid;

*Sexual problems (pain during intercourse, decreased satisfaction, etc.);

*Increased risk of childbirth complications (difficult delivery, excessive bleeding, caesarean section, need to resuscitate the baby, etc.) and newborn deaths;

*Need for later surgeries: for example, the FGM procedure that seals or narrows a vaginal opening (type 3) needs to be cut open later to allow for sexual intercourse and childbirth (deinfibulation). Sometimes genital tissue is stitched again several times, including after childbirth, hence the woman goes through repeated opening and closing procedures, further increasing both immediate and long-term risks;

*Psychological problems (depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, low self-esteem, etc.

Source: http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs241/en/

Lucid Musings 2.0. By O.b.i

The morning that brings the sunshine always takes away the moon,

but that is no erring, that is not weakness and it is not strength,

that is no loss and its is not a plus. There is no animosity between the darkness that was,

and the light that fills this hollow,

there is no harmony, no sorrow, there are no emotions. Its just the flow.

And When the night comes, the moon will glow here and it will sun somewhere

And in all the highs and lows

All the darkness and the glows

We'll find a cause worthy to keep us through the chaos and the joy

through penury and plenty

Until we finally come to master all of this roller coaster

That is if we ever can...

There Is More To Everyone. By O.b.i

The cab driver has a beautiful daughter, she sits just in front of the balcony with her younger brother waiting for daddy, yes, he is a husband and a loving father, he is a son and also a caring brother. Maybe if you look beyond the dashboard you will see that his life is not just about the clutch, he too, just like you, has a world.

The pump attendant too, she is a student, she is working to save a penny or two. She wants to be independent, she wants to go to school, she also has plans for the weekend when she will put on her sexy and make men drool, some other weekend she is a waitress, and every other day she is a first daughter with two dead parents. She has two younger siblings and she'll give everything to give them a better living. So when you see her by the street corner, doing what she has to do to make the grass greener, just let the urge to judge go, cos she is so many things you will never know.

And that lady with a bright smile, her legs have ran miles and still no medal, she is not just a hawker, she is a single mother. She has hungry bellies to feed, so when the yellow bus comes by she takes the lead. if she happens to be your choice for gala and lacasera, then tonight someone is going to bed with laughter and a full stomach.

The Aftermath. A Poem By O.b.i

When this heart beats

and this blood flows

When the clock ticks

and the cock crows

Then will the scars heal

and the smile glow

Then will revenge kick

and surely served cold

For chaos bares order-

and the beauty of healing

Sometimes I too wonder

If the world has a meaning

Lucid Musings 1.0 By O.b.i

Owls growl at night and humans don't live forever

maybe we have been missing it for this long

Every one have different words to the bird's bicker

but the bird have found no need for a song

What business does the headless have with a hat

or the sun with a bat

So when the dots are not connecting

maybe  there is no need for that

but this specie craves complexity

and the urge to fill a gap

One Morning In The Third World. A Story By O.b.i

Ibuba, that's what they call it, or sand fly, that's what google calls it, Nnwanneka unconsciously threw her right palm with the swiftness of one half asleep to the bare skin on her left forearm in a futile effort to kill the Ibuba that was by now, long gone. She stirred almost immediately to the right, now facing the big aluminium pot that stood opposite the bamboo bed she shared with her younger ones; Obiajulu, Nkoli and Adaku, just then the sleep vanished from her eyes and she jolted into full consciousness. One would think it was the sharp bite from the Ibuba that woke her up, only that this was Olo, where you have to go to the farm and do the usually tedious farm work, go to the stream and fetch the first water for drinking and then for bathing, sweep the ilo, bath the children, make breakfast; which is often garri and soup from the previous night or seldom roasted yam and salted palm oil, and walk 7 miles, dodging flowing streams and red mud to Community Secondary School Olo, before 7:45 AM. This was Nwanneka's routine on most mornings, so it was not the bite from the blood sucking  Ibuba that woke her up by 4:15AM that morning and every other morning. And like every other morning too, she arrived school late, 8:17 AM. But she was not alone in this lateness, almost all the students in C. S. S Olo are perpetual late comers, they all lived in Olo or farther and they all had different variation of Nwanneka's morning. Mr. Ikem, the school's disciplinarian will have none of that, if you came to school later than 7:45 AM then a cutlass was waiting for you at the entrance, you will cut, if he (Mr. Ikem) is in a good mood, about 15 meter square of long overgrown elephant grass or if he was in a bad moodwell, lets just hope he is always in a good mood.

So by 9 AM when the buzz must have died down and I walk into Nwanneka's class and start telling her and her class mates about atoms and electrons and Pauli's exclusion principle, and 15 minutes into my class they tell me they are tired, I literally beg them for a few more minutes to teach, because I understand, I understand that it is not Chemistry that have tired them, in fact it is because they are tired that is why they are seated in this class room in the first place. They are tired of the realities of the 3rd world and the class room was their exit strategy. They came into the class room to get out of the 3rd world...and I hope it works, I hope I can help them, I hope we have not all been lied to...

Opaque Tomorrow. A Poem By O.b.i

The bliss that comes with this ignorance

And the uneasiness it brings

To know that we share this limitation with kings

Gives us a feeling of temperance

The event of the swinging pendulum in a distance

Is known only when it swings

It could bring smiles or terminate this existence

Our faith lies with time just like the bird’s with its wings

As we walk this path of unknown distance

Uncertain of what the bell of the last breath brings

We just prepare like a troubadour gathering his things

And hope we are favoured by chance

Because when tomorrow has not come, no one can take a glance

The Way. A Poem By Noel Obinna.

Harken to what eye say
When thine ear seek the sun
That sparks too bright as ray
Lest thy fragile soul burn


These scribbled words of mine
Embrace with all thine heart
Thou whom my joy doth shine
Forget not who thou art


For all deeds one must pay
Wasted; life ends in spurn.
Live her from day to day
Finding God in all turn


All-not in bits and parts
Quite narrow is the path
That bridges a place so fine
To live right is divine


Be true to you and all
Willing to rise from fall
With burdens rightly left
As scripture boldly spelt.



Noel Obinna is a graduating student from the University of Jos, Department of Building Engineering. He is an upcoming spoken word artiste and songwriter who takes up reading and writing as a hobby. Noel started writing in 2015 and currently resides in the beautiful city of Jos

Instagram: smartnoel24

Twitter: @brodamanSnizel

FRANKNESS An Acrostic Poem By O.b.i

For thy honor and for the love of the curves of a smile

Rekindling lost trust shattered with words like blade

Always and now, we will keep the path pristine

Never to be swept by the tide of this age

Knowing that we carry the burden carried by kings

Nice and slow, the pendulum swings and the clock ticks

Enduring, we carry the bee hive ignoring the stings

So when the time comes and the urge for a reward kicks

Self-satisfaction and the curves of a smile is what frankness brings

An acrostic poem is a type of poetry where the first, last or other letters in a line spell out a particular word or phrase. The most common and simple form of an acrostic poem is where the first letters of each line spell out the word or phrase.

Freedom By O.b.i

Freedom is not the feel of the breeze on your face or the heat of the sun on your back, maybe it is for the confined, but it is not for you who have been made to believe that because of a few biological differences, there is a limit to what you can be, you can’t be too much, at least the head does not turn without the neck, so you should be contended being the neck, you should know that what freedom is for you is the realization that you are not a body part, you are whatever you can imagine and dream of yourself.

Freedom is not the ability to spend a week in the Bahamas unflustered, it is not the ability to shop without looking out for the price tags, maybe it is for the broke, but it is not for you who have been made to believe that unless you look a bit more light skinned or a little curvier, then there is a limit to your happiness, freedom for you is the realization that if you have a blood that is red and you have a heart that can love, then happiness will come if you want it.

Freedom is not the ability to choose between good and ‘evil’, it is not the ability to choose between a blessing and a ‘course’, maybe it is for those without a heritage or a history but it is not for you who have been thought to call your own ‘evil’ and your heritage a ‘course’. Freedom for you is the realization that they only called you evil, but that is not what you are. You are the descendants of brave men and women who died resisting indoctrination and oppression and that is what they will not tell you about your ancestors.

Third World Dreams by O.b.i

The day had started with laughter like every other day, mama again was the angel she always was, mama tickled Koremi out of bed, except that it was not what you will like call a bed, it was rather a big mat he shared with Boma, Imani, Ebi, Lulu and their cousin Amaju. But it doesn’t matter if it was a mat or water bed, when he slept, it was another world, and in this world mama did not have to sleep on the floor because the mat could only contain 6 closely packed children, in this world Mama never had to pretend to be full during dinner, Koremi knew she was lying, there was no way she could hawk all day and not be starving, that was one of the many sacrifices mama made for her children in this cold world, she always set herself on fire to keep her children warm. In Koremi’s dreams, father was not lying under the pile of earth at the back of the house, he came back every evening wearing the yellow jumpsuit he wore one morning many years ago before they brought him back home and put him under the ground, it was a long time ago and Koremi was still little boy but he could still remember, he remembered the smile and the warmness the man in the jumpsuit brought back every evening. He wished father was still here, he wished his school was not 20 miles away, he wished his classroom had desks and the teachers came to school more often, he wished Boma was not always sick and mama did not spend all the money from her hawking on Boma’s drugs, he wished mama did not even have to hawk. Koremi wished for a lot of things he could not get, but when he slept his dreams was a slightly better place and that was where he wanted to be, so every morning when he wakes up to mama’s crooked smile, he always promised himself to take her out of this place, he never felt like he belonged here, so he promised to build a new world filled with possibilities and pristine laughter and all they need and maybe a little of what they want... Another3rdWorldDream.

The Wait By O.b.i

“Report to the Garrison immediately, you are going for an assignment now” and it was 11: 45 Pm, that was the text he showed me before he planted a kiss on my forehead like he always did, and then he left. He has left so many times in our two years of forever, I very well hated the going but the coming back was nothing words could describe…

He took his riffle and made for the door, watching him leave always left me sad, but this time it was a different kind of sad, it felt more like a loss. Like so many other times I did not know when to expect his footsteps at the door; was it after three weeks like the Ogoja assignment he went for earlier in the year, or the 4 days Ekulobia mission he went for just last week or could it be, and I sincerely hope it was not like the Monrovia assignment he went for last year that kept us 7 months and thousands of miles apart. That was the most painful so far, the seconds hands of the clock dragged its feet round the clock for seven months while me and the little 8 months old Black Rose I carried inside me waited at the door for our hero to return.

After four days waiting all I could get was a text that read “Hi black Rose, can’t really talk now, we are in a hostile environment, see u soon…xoxoxoxo” I tried to imagine his smooth baritone voice saying that to me over the phone so that I can tell him that little Black Rose misses him, I want to tell him how I can’t wait to feel his warm breath on my neck. But I know he has sworn to always attend to the needs of the country whose flag he salutes, and it will take me a long time to get use to that. My only consolation through all my period of waiting and now is that one day, in our journey into forever, his hands will grow frail and he will no longer be able to hold on to his rifle, those days I will put his hands in mine and hold them tight and I will lay my head on his chest, we will sit outside the balcony on a rocking chair under the glowing moon and count the stars…but till then, all I have to keep me warm at night is a 17-word text message…

Smiles and Hellos By O.b.i

She was walking down the dusty path that led to the stream side, every step she took unsettled the hitherto calm dust into a futile frenzy so did her sway unsettle every gazing eye. It was the same day, every day felt the same, just that it came with a different name. After 6 years in a secondary school she was waiting, waiting for something she was not expecting, something she could not tell if she deserved. After a while she got tired of waiting so she decided to try something new, she started to smile, she greeted every sun rise with a big smile and kept it all day, then the days started occurring in a routine of seven. As for him, he was coming from the stream, if you knew him well enough you will see that he was not just coming from the stream, he was the stream; free spirited, what the water can’t break to the ground, it finds its way around. He always found his way around, except this one time when his eyes fell upon this smiling girl that was lost, she indeed was lost, she was now in a classroom that was bigger than every classroom she had ever sat in. This classroom had many teachers who would test you even before you could get a chance to learn anything.

He could not find his way around her smile so he gave in and said “hello” and that was the beginning of a new layer in his life and hers. Days passed and seasons came bye, they both peeled into a new layer they knew nothing about, it came with an alien feeling, maybe poets will call it love. Well, I can’t tell that story, the story of love can’t be told, it can only be felt, so we will tell stories of smiles and hellos, and how it can start a reaction that even chemistry does not know about, we will tell stories of smiles, sometimes that’s all you need. It can birth a new person in an individual. So when you feel lost just smile, and when you can’t find your way around a smile, just say hello and maybe, just maybe you might peel into a new layer were you will live through and not wait.