a little info

My blog would primarily deal with my poems, articles, sometimes short stories (all peppered with a bit of the Krio creole patois language from Sierra Leone)  and photography done by talented individuals.

It would also serve as platform to showcase art and other stuff through me via postings.

Featured post

Lust, Hope and Lost. (English and Sierra Leone creole)

We sat down and
spoke about many things in a sparse time,

from shelved dreams and move-ons’ to tilted relationships and speed runs.

Then a tinted SUV drove by,
dropping out that Betelgeuse ‘out of reach’ type of girl that crutches on crushed hearts leaving everyone jelly legs crippled.

Switching gears from the sweet ride with the hot lady ,
and our
hours long conversation lapses into the realm of fast fine mush money and getting in galore beautiful cat euphemisms.

Harems, Haram.
Money is Halal.

…refill , refill..drinks should repeat.


Wallet on E.
Tank nonexistent
Kekeh ain’t free.
Okada padi on flee.

Underdog compensations conversations as we head out.

” ‘So and So’ started broke and hit rock bottom too.

Who knows or cares now about the name of the rich neighbour Hemingway or Obama had? ”

Hope and Dreams.
Denials and Distortions.

Tin foil wrapped as the nights get late;

‘ sam we go see next weekend and bind back’

We’ll catch up next month; again.

We are leaving.

We are living.



I once journeyed to a land where memories and emotions could be bought.

It’s denizens woke up as familiar strangers to their neighbours every morning.
Ah! Such joy for new beginnings.

I purchased a few smiles here and a tranquil package there;

coated with vintage pills of fleeting nostalgia.

When it was time to depart,

I knew not who I was or where I was heading.

An etched smile and a hollow heart where the only memoirs I had left.

A sad excuse for happiness.



you see, 

she wanted that sunset feeling 

of love poems mixed with the nostalgia of old hollywood movie endings,

but me 

all I craved was the timelessness

 of this moment with her

and then some more. 


Beautiful Death

A dead wolf’s eulogy,

is best said by the clawing scars it leaves on the face of the hunter,

and not by city dogs who mimic it’s canine affinity 

to scavenge from lonely bins. 


The Score

Two drowned kings once met on Death’s island,

a boat to share for them to steer for the shores of life or the bliss of heaven,

yet they fought each other on the sands of time to be the sole buccaneer towards life’s vanity,

knowing that neither would triumph, they tore the vessel apart.

Alas left with,

 purgatory for home and hell for company.

starved off their selfish love to a hating cycle,

they begged for a swift end from the bed of eternal torment they created,

but Death..

Death has never been known to be merciful 

He sailed to Life, grim with his task to deport more souls,

with Death, it’s never personal. 



She was jealous of my music, constantly worrying that I valued its taste,

more than I did her lips.

So she prayed for the words of affections she whispered in my ear

to hold sway than the rhythms of songs in the seesaw of my heart when they take wings.

A true thespian, but I hate her drama.

If only her man could see her now,

brewing a mug of hot tea and emotions for me,

he’ll probably leap on things and spill my Lipton.

She said I was a better liar than I was poet, more than she was a nympho in a demure lady’s skin.

The prelude to our duet intertwine as we drink a draught of oblivion in the peaceful lies,

we sleep in

and awake in dreams of lost blues.

Let that beat drop,
this may end but our symphony is as fluid as the soul,

even when we cease to exist,
cupid’s arrow in it’s countless cliches may never glaze our heel.

If it does,

 may our song expire with the glory of Achilles with a move-on partner,

insomnia for company and a late playlist at 3am.


The Sigh.


without searching,

we stumble upon the lyrics of an obscure song,

or a well worded sentence from the odd novel,

that describes us so perfectly that in them,

we feel a sense of ease and home belonging with or without life’s complexities.


Photography by Nadia Assad

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