Waxing poetic

There are some experiences that are so exhilarating, yet few have the charisma to  talk about, much less write. However, I don’t have that much charisma yet I narrate… The day was just like any other day at the public library, nothing out of the ordinary. I was just getting into the reading when I felt a tummy rumble. It was a warning. It sounded like faraway thunder. I looked up and around, alarmed and hoping no one had noticed the cataclysmic sound emanating from my gut. Luckily, no one noticed. I proceeded to read another page when suddenly, the rumble tumbled across my innards and settled somewhere lower, at  a somewhat threatening position that would, if not properly contained constitute a smelly disgrace. Needing no further prompting  I pick up my books and dashed out – yet not fast enough get out before a silent gassy fart escaped to stupefy the unsuspecting readers with its horrendous smell. Thank goodness for the good  ventilation they wouldn’t suffer for long. I got to whe

Cant tell the smoke from the smog, can hear my foot falls either, leapt over the open drains to avoid its greenish bog, entangled again in the flimsy crafts of spiders. Why! dirt and filth line the streets, noise and smoke from jalopies and lorries, Quite unperturbed,  I  paused to get some  sweets Alas, my dissapeared wallet is the crown of my worries.

Because of a little rain, nowhere to buy credit, uncleared filth in d drain, now water's above heel limit. My cubicle is in the dark, cast in light when lovers flash, Flourecent bulbs yield not a spark: maintenance staff afraid of rainsplash. Notes: When it rains in Lagos, and there is no electricity ath the same time, work grinds to a halt and roadside vendors of mobile airtime are nowhere to be found. The light of the phone lights up the dark room when called just long enough to leave the caller ID (Flash), but no reply call because there is no airtime (credit). The rain keeps the maintenance staff from fixing the faulty generator.

babies say it before they can say daddy; how were we to know if Arsenal Beat Man-U? Now plan B is a statement of class when all we get billed for is a camera's flash. Armed with my jerry-can to the station I run, my choice sometimes diesel or often black gold, my own share of the ozone layer is gone, 'global warming', 'climate change' ... Ah! what pun. Notes: Many toddlers born in Nigeria learn the popular cry "NEPA" that follows the very frequent power failures. -And the most painful part of the power failure is having to miss an important soccer match. Plan B refers to the generators which are an essential domestic commodity for power or light as its popularly called. The Black gold originally refers to crude oil, but the unleaded Nigerian petrol(gasoline) sometimes has a golden color and is what is referred to here. Tha last line, ah, what pun refers how the commoner feels, since he gets comfort from burning fossil fuels he doesn't ca

The breath sours for want of release, The tongue with thirty-two bars imprisoned, Intellections remain unvoiced yet reasoned, the expecting ear pines for want of peace. what will bring the smiles again? where's the switch to this unhappy gloom? to end it all in a word there's room to say I'm sorry is worth the pain. Notes When a person keeps quiet and doesn't talk for a long time, his/her breath starts to smell, and the tongue is caged in by your complete set of teeth. He/she thinks yet doesnt talk. And there's someone else feeling the silence. sometimes it's because of anger, pain, offences or harsh words, so saying sorry solves it all. Even if it means letting go of pride for someone else.