OLUWAJIMI . J . THORPE

Oh! Where is thy first BBY that is a king in the East & ruleth over 66 legions? Oh! Where is thy second B2BY that is a Duke, who ruleth over 31 legions? Oh! Where is thy third B3BY that is of good nature & ruleth over 26 legions? Oh! Where is thy fourth B4BY that speaketh with a hoarse voice, who ruleth over 30 legions? Oh! Where is thy fifth B5BY that answereth truly to all things hidden & ruleth over 36 legions? Oh! Where is thy sixth B6BY that is also called a Duke, who ruleth over 10 legions? Oh! Where is thy seventh B7BY that reconciles controversies & ruleth over 40 legions? Oh! Where is thy eight B8BY that breaketh the hidden treasures open, who ruleth over 30 legions? Oh! Where is thy ninth B9BY that is the most obedient to his Master & ruleth over 200 legions? Oh! Where is thy tenth B10BY that teacheth Philosophy, who ruleth over 50 legions? Oh! Where is thy eleventh B11BY that showeth the meaning & resolution of all questions ...

Way back in 1996 I married a wonderful man named Michael. It was a first marriage for both of us, and we felt as if we’d been waiting for each other our whole lives. We’d been trying to conceive, with no luck, ever since our engagement. In the fall of 1997 I underwent an exploratory laparoscopic surgery where it was discovered I had endometriosis. During the surgery they were able to do a procedure that temporarily opened a short window of fertility. My doctor told us this window would last approximately 3 months, afterwhich I’d most likely become infertile again, so we were thrilled when we conceived just three weeks later. It was the day before Thanksgiving that we discovered I was pregnant, and I felt very thankful. Michael caressed and kissed my belly, and we called this our “miracle baby”. Everything seemed fine. I wasn’t suffering with morning sickness or other early pregnancy symptoms, but at 13 weeks I had some bad bleeding. Michael rushed home from work while I frantic...

 Life’s time A time to plan, a time to live A time to put behind and just leave Time of importance that you need to perceive Life is minutes if you forget why do you live? Time to take, time to give Time to judge another to forgive So stop regretting the past And your present 'unlive' But don't be fooled by the time Thinking you, still, got time to live Because once it’s over Yourself is the only one you won’t forgive. Artwork by: Agostinoroccoart

Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.  My shoulder is against yours.  you will not find me in the stupas, not in Indian shrine  rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:  not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding  around your own neck, nor in eating nothing but  vegetables.  When you really look for me, you will see me  instantly --  you will find me in the tiniest house of time.  Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?  He is the breath inside the breath. Artwork by: Adeshomi Africanos-Williams

My dreams shattered in the tense stillness as endless threats and blows clothe my form My stomach flutters in familiar fear and I am ashamed of my weakness My hope lies shattered in madness cloaking my tender heart in bruises as I choke on the bitterness of your deceit Now I lie still, sedated by my sorrow My spirit shattered with loneliness when our love was forgotten my companionship no longer wanted and my wants and thoughts now worthless Seeing this reality as I suffer silently unable to accept our demise My dreams shattered in the distance of my most gentle memories Hatred distorts your face and I cower from the ugliness of your intent and the horror of this truth Our love shattered, built upon lies As my heart plummets over the cliff as my mind hides, seeking oblivion death warms my icy blood My spirit, too, is shattered by you For you know not truth, know not kindness Lies abound, and rage heats your blood Leaving me in its wake Shattered Artwo...

You left,  And grief cast its pall over me.  My pain condensed into a dropp  And rose into my eye.  For a great distance  My sight kissed your footprints,  Until the trail  Was swallowed by the dust of the road.  Before you left,  There was the bloom of your youth,  I turned around after you left  And every flower had wilted.  Since that day  I stopped speaking, I could not see.  My tongue was silenced  My sight turned to stone.  The pain that you gifted  To love,  Was the pain finally  That consumed ‘Shiv'. Artwork by: Serg Carpo

the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh. there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate. nobody ever finds the one. the city dumps fill the junkyards fill the madhouses fill the hospitals fill the graveyards fill nothing else fills. Artwork by: Adeshomi Africanos-Williams

Because I could not stop for Death-- He kindly stopped for me-- The Carriage held but just Ourselves-- And Immortality. We slowly drove--He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility. We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess--in the Ring-- We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-- We passed the Setting Sun. Or rather--He passed us-- The Dews drew quivering and chill-- For only Gossamer, my Gown-- My Tippet--only Tulle. We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground-- The Roof was scarcely visible-- The Cornice--in the Ground. Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity. Artwork by: Adeshomi Africanos-Williams

How much grit do you think you've got? Can you quit a thing that you like a lot? You may talk of pluck; it's an easy word, And where'er you go it is often heard; But can you tell to a jot or guess Just how much courage you now possess? You may stand to trouble and keep your grin, But have you tackled self-discipline? Have you ever issued commands to you To quit the things that you like to do, And then, when tempted and sorely swayed, Those rigid orders have you obeyed? Don't boast of your grit till you've tried it out, Nor prate to men of your courage stout, For it's easy enough to retain a grin In the face of a fight there's a chance to win, But the sort of grit that is good to own Is the stuff you need when you're all alone. How much grit do you think you've got? Can you turn from joys that you like a lot? Have you ever tested yourself to know How far with yourself your will can go? If you want to know if you have grit, ...

I Found you and I lost you, All on a gleaming day. The day was filled with sunshine, And the land was full of May. A golden bird was singing Its melody divine, I found you and I loved you, And all the world was mine. I found you and I lost you, All on a golden day, But when I dream of you, dear, It is always brimming May. Artwork by: Robert Crawford 

Well, my daddy left home when I was three, and he didn't leave much to Ma and me, just this old guitar and a bottle of booze. Now I don't blame him because he run and hid, but the meanest thing that he ever did was before he left he went and named me Sue. Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke, and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks, it seems I had to fight my whole life through. Some gal would giggle and I'd get red and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head, I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue. Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean. My fist got hard and my wits got keen. Roamed from town to town to hide my shame, but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars, I'd search the honky tonks and bars and kill that man that gave me that awful name. But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had just hit town and my throat was dry. I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew. At an old saloon in a str...

I wish I had not got a cold, The wind is big and wild, I wish that I was very old, Not just a little child.  Somehow the day is very long Just keeping here, alone; I do not like the big wind's song, He's growling for a bone  He's like an awful dog we had Who used to creep around And snatch at things--he was so bad, With just that horrid sound.  I'm sitting up and nurse has made Me wear a woolly shawl; I wish I was not so afraid; It's horrid to be small.  It really feels quite like a day Since I have had my tea; P'raps everybody's gone away And just forgotten me.  And oh! I cannot go to sleep Although I am in bed. The wind keeps going creepy-creep And waiting to be fed. Artwork by: Taramtomirage

We humans wait on it,like the air we breath Even at our detriment, We strive for it, Its painful and sad how we wait on it, Not stopping to think. But wait a minute its not supposed to hurt us! Make us guilty! make us jealous! Its meant to bring joy. Yes joy but where is the joy we all speak of,  looking around it looks like a disaster waiting to happen, Trust a word so relied on yet broken without thought, Happiness;they'll say their happy but for how long, How long would we hurt each other, We don't even stop to figure out why its hard, Most run away to something they feel is comfortable just to end with the same result all over again. Slowly we create a void,a wound; a sore  which never heals. Oh how sad, young people walking around helplessy claiming happiness but shallow at heart makes you wonder if its real, Some would claim it is,but after a while they act like they are choking, they move out only to walk into another that ends with same...

The Fulani people also known as Fulani in Hausa language, are all mass population widely dispersed and culturally diverse  in all of Africa, but most predominant in West Africa. The Fulani’s generally speak the Fula language. A significant number of them are nomadic in nature, herding cattle, goats and sheep across the vast dry grass lands of their environment, keeping isolate from the local farming communities, making them the world’s largest pastoral nomadic group. They are massively spread over many countries, and are found mainly in West Africa and northern parts of Central Africa. Nigeria as a nation state is under a severe internal socio-economic and security threat. At a more general level, the threat has special economic, political and environmental dimensions. Each of these dimensions has greatly affected the nation’s stability and can be traced to the Fulani-herdsmen and farmers clash, ethnic militant armies, ethnic and religious conflicts, poverty, insurgency, arme...

I am backing home where you died. One year later, to find Changes that mask our surrender To the inevitability of life. I remember my Ambulance Ride With my friend whom you called Daddy. It took me a whole year To understand my loss. A lifetime is not enough To realize what it means to be human: We waste what we are given To crave for what we cannot have. This much I know by now As a maker of images: A face erased in front Of the mirror that is our Lord. Vithoba was seen by Tukaram Reflected in the deep end, Where the river was its own source And the ocean that waits for it. Perhaps when you struggled for breath As you finally choked to death, You tried to forgive your parent And the world he created with you. And so, finally, you grew Up to surpass your father-- Becoming a reflected sky In the water we call life. The first picture I took of you In the Princess Tsehai Hospital-- In Addis Ababa, Ethiopia In the last week of June, 1961: Sister Aiyyali...

A few days back, I tried to explain fraction to a bunch of kids. I told them about the proper, the improper and the mixed fractions. As I explained the concept in very simple layman terms, it dawned on me that improper fraction actually explains the present political and religious situations in the world. For an improper fraction, the weight of the number on top is more than that of the number at the bottom. That is why it's not proper. It would be the other way round if it were to be proper... I followed the discourses of religious and political critics on social and news media and the major bone of contention is that the leaders, both ecclesiastical and political, enjoy the juice while the followers scramble for the husks. In Nigeria, a senator pockets 36 million Naira a month; in a nation where workers in some states are owed 5 - 6 months (of the 18,000-Naira-minimum-waged) salary. While the bishop is cruising in the fog-conditioned airspace, in a goldplated airbus, the ...

If you think I have focused on Asiwaju Tinubu recently because I don't like him, then you have another thinking coming. My updates have focused on him of recent because if he does the right things it will help Nigeria in many ways. In Yorubaland if a kid is getting too troublesome or you needed to keep him busy or get rid of him around the house, you will call him and say "Kunle, lo si odo Mama Funke, so wipe mo ni ko lo gba arodan wa, sare lo" (Kunle go to Mama Funke, tell her I say you should collect arodan for me, go quickly)  Asking you to go and collect Arodan is a coded message for mission impossible. All grown ups know what it means. When a kid shows up at your door asking to collect Arodan on behalf of his parents,  you already know he is there to serve a punishment.  So, you will ask him to wait, that you are coming. You will keep checking on him and keep telling him that you are still looking for it. After keeping him there for about one hour, you wil...

Let us love this world and put it in a better shape than hate, Let us share true love with one another to make the world go round; For our negative actions will surely lead us to fights and wars, But true love from us all will make the world a better place. Artwork by: Sybil Andrews Titled: Racing

I'm going out and get something. I don't know what. I don't care. Whatever's out there, I'm going to get it. Look in those shop windows at boxes and boxes of Reeboks and Nikes to make me fly through the air like Michael Jordan like Magic. While I'm up there, I see Spike Lee. Looks like he's flying too straight through the glass that separates me from the virtual reality I watch everyday on TV. I know the difference between what it is and what it isn't. Just because I can't touch it doesn't mean it isn't real. All I have to do is smash the screen, reach in and take what I want. Break out of prison. South Central homey's newly risen from the night of living dead, but this time he lives, he gets to give the zombies a taste of their own medicine. Open wide and let me in, or else I'll set your world on fire, but you pretend that you don't hear. You haven't heard the word is coming down like the ...

In love, nothing exists between heart and heart. Speech is born out of longing, True description from the real taste. The one who tastes, knows; the one who explains, lies. How can you describe the true form of Something In whose presence you are blotted out? And in whose being you still exist? And who lives as a sign for your journey? Artwork by: Thedreamersart

It was a cold Sunday night or should I say Sinday, Big Rose was busy the bar leaning on the Wooden chair hair Neatly done and arranged like a bunch of Rich hay, she looked sweet, a thin lady with a blessed feminine structure wearing a gown to match , her position in the bar was too strategic, closely awaiting the catch, suddenly kunle walks in, he's a Tall male with The figure of an active athlete, probably basketball because he could cup his hands well, their eyes quickly meet and for the obvious reason he heads towards her direction and then hits her up with a request to buy her a drink, and after some brutal shots of whiskey, they leave to head to his place, it was a really nice place, clean for a bachelor but who was she to act innocent she had been in various apartments, not like she's enlisted in any outreach program, you get what I mean, and after they reach his place, kunle romantically starts kissing her and that went well and then... And then oh well... Let's...

   What is restructuring: To simply put it, restructuring is the process of increasing or decreasing the number of component parts that makes up a system and re-defining the inter-relationship between them in such a way that the entire system performs more efficiently. However, restructuring, if not well planned and handled can lead to greater inefficiency or even system collapse.      For quite some time now, probably since about 20 years ago, there has been agitation by individuals, geo-cultural groups, geo-political associations for the restructuring of Nigeria. The various heads of state and government that had been in power over this period had not seen reasons to give the calls serious consideration. The nearest they have done is either to call a national conference, as Jonathan did in 2014 or to establish a reconciliatory commission as done by Obasanjo or issue a press statement as the Presidency did about a week ago as reported.     The...

I can give you a first hand answer here. In 2009 I was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a grade 4 brain cancer, after surgery the oncologist came back with the sad news that the statistics look quite ugly, he gave me treatments for 9 months, and 6 months to one year to live. I was engaged preparing to marry in few months. We broke up, I didn't see why I would leave a widow behind and break her heart. I had no desire to pursue anything further in life… It was a time of complete shutdown. I wanted to quit my job, however my managers managed to convince me to stay with a relaxed schedule… They started to teach me statistics again. An average of 1 year, means some people die in 3 years, while others die in 6 months, and that I should have the positivity to assume I'm on the long term survival side. By continuing to go to work, I kept myself busy, not thinking too much about my cancer.. I travelled , did some of the stuff I always wanted to do, visited places I alway...

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, indigo: Who is dancing with these rainbow colours in the sky? Air after rain, slanting sun: mountains and passes turning blue in each changing moment. Fierce battles that year: bullet holes in village walls. These mountains so decorated, look even more beautiful today. Artwork via: Forbes

Do not expect that if your book falls open to a certain page, that any phrase you read will make a difference today, or that the voices you might overhear when the wind moves through the yellow-green and golden tent of autumn, speak to you. Things ripen or go dry. Light plays on the dark surface of the lake. Each afternoon your shadow walks beside you on the wall, and the days stay long and heavy underneath the distant rumor of the harvest. One more summer gone, and one way or another you survive, dull or regretful, never learning that nothing is hidden in the obvious changes of the world, that even the dim  reflection of the sun on tall, dry grass is more than you will ever understand. And only briefly then you touch, you see, you press against the surface of impenetrable things. Artwork by: Anselm Kiefer

From the swamp Haunts me the tears of my blood Stripped of all hope-the soil to shelter And banished to swim in oil-poisoned sea Do they know Ghost of revenge haunts the weeping soul?  From the swamp All sorrow-veiled mourners gather To unfold reaper's choice of the day As muscles are crushed by soldiers’ bullet fury Poised by Hobson's choice Young men breed strength for crime For ghost of revenge is haunting the weeping soul From the swamp Haunts me the stammering musket of angry souls Where owners beg stealers the share of oil And the dead man’s amnesty is of twilight solution For ghost of revenge will forever haunt the weeping soul On the oil rich people of Niger Delta who are given peanuts by Nigeria government, despite oil companies’ excessive spillage in the region. The people hauled their anger against the government but were apprehended by Nigerian Army.  © Joseph Osita Artwork by: Adeshomi Africanos-Williams

It's a journey . . . that I propose . . . I am not the guide . . . nor technical assistant . . . I will be your fellow passenger . . . Though the rail has been ridden . . . winter clouds cover . . . autumn's exuberant quilt . . . we must provide our own guide-posts . . . I have heard . . . from previous visitors . . . the road washes out sometimes . . . and passengers are compelled . . . to continue groping . . . or turn back . . . I am not afraid . . . I am not afraid . . . of rough spots . . . or lonely times . . . I don't fear . . . the success of this endeavor . . . I am Ra . . . in a space . . . not to be discovered . . . but invented . . . I promise you nothing . . . I accept your promise . . . of the same we are simply riding . . . a wave . . . that may carry . . . or crash . . . It's a journey . . . and I want . . . to go . . . Artwork by: Ben Enwonwu

Henry from the island of Jamaica Jamaican digging crews have to sleep eighty men to a room, in huge warehouses like the ones where big wooden crates of dynamite are stored. My hands feel like scorpion claws, clamped on to a hard hard shovel all day, then curled into fists at night. At dawn, the steaming labor trains deliver us by the thousands, down into that snake pit where we dig until my muscles feel as weak as water and my backbone is like shattered glass. But only half the day is over. At lunchtime, we see sunburned American engineers and foremen eating at tables, in shady tents with the flaps left open, so that we have to watch how they sit on nice chairs, looking restful. We also watch the medium-dark Spanish men, relaxing as they sit on their train tracks, grinning as if they know secrets. We have no place to sit. Not even a stool. So we stand, plates in hand, uncomfortable and undignified. Back home, I used to dream of saving enoug...

In silence The overloaded canoe leaves our shores But who are these soldiers in camouflage, These clouds going to rain in foreign lands? The night is losing its treasures The future seems a myth Warped on a loom worked by lazy hands. But perhaps all is not without some good for us As from the door of a shack a thousand miles away The scaly hand of a child takes in greeting The long and skinny fingers of the rain. Artwork by: Aeryk Williams

If no love is, O God, what fele I so? And if love is, what thing and which is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me, When every torment and adversite That cometh of hym, may to me savory thinke, For ay thurst I, the more that ich it drynke. And if that at myn owen lust I brenne, From whennes cometh my waillynge and my pleynte? If harm agree me, whereto pleyne I thenne? I noot, ne whi unwery that I feynte. O quike deth, O swete harm so queynte, How may of the in me swich quantite, But if that I consente that it be? And if that I consente, I wrongfully Compleyne, iwis. Thus possed to and fro, Al sterelees withinne a boot am I Amydde the see, betwixen wyndes two, That in contrarie stonden evere mo. Allas! what is this wondre maladie? For hete of cold, for cold of hete, I dye. Artwork by: Laura Lancaster

MY childhood's home I see again, And sadden with the view; And still, as memory crowds my brain, There's pleasure in it, too. O memory! thou midway world 'Twixt earth and paradise, Where things decayed and loved ones lost In dreamy shadows rise, And, freed from all that's earthly, vile, Seem hallowed, pure and bright, Like scenes in some enchanted isle All bathed in liquid light. As dusky mountains please the eye When twilight chases day; As bugle notes that, passing by, In distance die away; As, leaving some grand waterfall, We, lingering, list its roar- So memory will hallow all We've known but know no more. Near twenty years have passed away Since here I bid farewll To woods and fields, and scenes of play, And playmates loved so well. Where many were, but few remain Of old familiar things, But seeing them to mind again The lost and absent brings. The friends I left that parting day, How changed, as time has sped! Young chi...

I don't celebrate Valentines. I know you want to know that, so let me tell you why. Because it is the most stupid day ever celebrated, I mean a day to celebrate love Shouldn't that be everyday. I mean seriously, I mean the Bible says show love every day, and never was Valentine mentioned. I mean imagine if God says he only shows love on Valentine's Day God will be like "hey let me go bless that boy" and angel Micheal will reply "too late it's after 12, Valentine's Day is over" and God just goes "oh well, until next year" How silly will that be? And worst of us,  this generation, I mean our generation have even make it worse (hey guys clap for yourself's ) I saw a picture which said, 'Valentine's day, the reason why a lot of November children are born' (all the November children in the house say hi) I mean how did sex turn to love, How did that happen, They don't sound alike,  not even the say spellin...

Unwillingly Miranda wakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step she takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Miranda in Miranda's sight Is old and gray and dirty; Twenty-nine she was last night; This morning she is thirty. Shining like the morning star, Like the twilight shining, Haunted by a calendar, Miranda is a-pining. Silly girl, silver girl, Draw the mirror toward you; Time who makes the years to whirl Adorned as he adored you. Time is timelessness for you; Calendars for the human; What's a year, or thirty, to Loveliness made woman? Oh, Night will not see thirty again, Yet soft her wing, Miranda; Pick up your glass and tell me, then-- How old is Spring, Miranda? Artwork By: Andrey Remnev

I. My God, break not the breakers of the sea, Nor command to the deep, 'Become dry'. Until I thank Your mercies, and I thank The waves of the sea and the wind of the west; Let them propel me to the place of the yoke of Your love, And bear far from me the Arab yoke. And how shall my desires not find fulfillment, Seeing as I trust in You, and You are pledged to me? II. Has the flood come again and made the world a waste So that one cannot see the face of the dry land, And no man is there and no beast and no bird? Have they all come to an end and lain down in sorrow? To see even a mountain or a marsh would be a rest for me, And the desert itself would be sweet. But I look on every side and there is nothing But water and sky and ark, And Leviathan causing the abyss to boil, So that one considers the deep to be hoary, And the heart of the sea conceals the ship As though she were a stolen thing in the sea's hand. As the sea rages, my soul is jubilant - ...