I am Sorry By: Isa Abass Usman

Every time I see the pain in your eyes
A little part of my heart dies
No matter how hard and how often you try
All I seem to do is make you cry.

You risk so much and take such chance
To share your heart and your romance,
You share your hopes and dreams and fears
And let me in to all that's dear.

All I seem to do is be mean and cold
To fail to cherish, fail to hold
I seem to fail to put you first
You act your best, I am my worst.

My mouth contradicts my heart
My actions and thoughts so far apart,
I love you with every part of me
Yet act so cruel and thoughtlessly.

I dream of you all night and day
And hang on every word you say,
Yet all you see is selfishness and arrogance
Casual disdain and ignorance.

Assumption and judgment and every thing's a test
No matter what you do you're always second best,
No matter how hard you try it's never enough
I never hear your protestations of love.

I say I love you and cherish all of our dreams
Yet act as if I can't hear your screams
Of need and want and stability and trust
My plans never materialize, my promises rust.

I scream at myself at how stupid I am
For risking your love, for risking your hand
And I pray every day that you never see
that I need you more than you need me.

I bare my heart and my soul to you

To say sorry for what I did and for what I do,

I have no excuses and hide no more
All I can offer is my love for evermore.

Artwork by: Bennett Slater

Comments

DREAMS OF A perfect FAMILY VANDALISED BY A FAKE IFA PRIEST

Who is man to God? Who is God to man How much distance do our prayers cover by land? In relation to our circumstances and time What does man think of what he sees? And what does God see of what man thinks Emmanuel; God with us But Immanuel on Alakija Street is having spiritual blurred visions On a trip to the priest to inquire of what the future holds, Inheriting gold and paying exceedingly half its worth to verify if it’s gold The tales of Alamu the one with the gift of palmistry Brothers killed brothers, Because the other has been identified to be, The one who will inherit the gift of the fathers, Which of my kids shall be successful? Answers of which the priest shall deliver A gift of wine, a gift of hen, The fake priest gets fatter, Worshipers of the deity that sip champagne and eat gizzards Whilst living off the believers hazard Your mother is a witch Your sister is the glitch Until your siblings die your lineage shall not succeed, These priests we...

MAY YOUR ROAD BE ROUGH By Tai Solarin, Jan. 1, 1964

I am not cursing you; I am wishing you what I wish myself every year. I therefore repeat, may you have a hard time this year, may there be plenty of troubles for you this year! If you are not so sure what you should say back, why not just say, ‘Same to you’? I ask for no more. Our successes are conditioned by the amount of risk we are ready to take. Earlier on today I visited a local farmer about three miles from where I live. He could not have been more than fifty-five, but he said he was already too old to farm vigorously. He still suffered, he said, from the physical energy he displayed as a farmer in his younger days. Around his hut were two pepper bushes. There were kokoyams growing round him. There were snail shells which had given him meat. There must have been more around the banana trees I saw. He hardly ever went to town to buy things. He was self-sufficient. The car or the bus, the television or the telephone, the newspaper, Vietnam or Red China were nothing to ...

TAPOTI By: Mao Zedong

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

OLUWAJIMI . J . THORPE

Search This Blog