Sunday, 20 May 2018
Friday, 18 May 2018
I feel ill, a sickness of thumbing my phone.
I'm inside the internet, a home that's different from my own.
My hands are itchy, my data is out but somehow my phone is in my hands... I guess my Phone is sticky.
It's hard to admit but am addicted to living in this digital space where the earth is compressed into a global village.
I'm more connected than I once was, yet I've become more disconnected.
It's a paradox and yes it sucks, but I can't help but thumb away all day like my hands and phone were together in cuffs and locks.
Initially I had failed to realize it.
I've got every information literally at my fingertips, a swipe or a click.
My favourite stars don't only shine at night, even at daylight, they are always within sight.
So I follow their trail wishing their life was mine, coming to conclusion that my life was probably swine.
I'm now a stalker, in one hand I've got johnnie walker whilst drooling over melanin beauties and light skin damsels.
On it alot sells.
With a click those fresh pairs of sneaks could be on my feet.
On it there's coins in the pockets of business owners, but there's manipulation too... Pulling strings for Maximum profits, consumer's money has gone down the loo.
I'm synced to my phone like a google app, it's eating my time like a tasty snack... It's like cheese to mice, I'm in a very big trap.
I can't pullout and can't stand the withdrawal symptoms.
It would be like time traveling to the stone age, no one even reads hard covers anymore, it's so much work to flip a page.
I'm red with rage Knowing I've caught this bug, Feeling manipulated by Mr Zuckerberg.
The advance in tech has seemed to cause a wreck.
The negatives are clouding the positives, maybe going back to the garden would be safer? With my pelvic region covered by broad leaves.
So then How do I go on?
Knowing I'm in digital chains, my very consciousness orchestrated by what I assimilate.
Is it too late?
Do I just follow its tides oblivious of the location of shore.
It's all some sort of blur, I never knew how I got here.
The bigger question with a fat elephant in the room is... How do I get out?
Wednesday, 16 May 2018
As she did every night she sat at her window
Hoping to heavens the ghost of her daddy would be bestowed
Losing him so early in her life was an unbearable pain
Her heart left feeling like it had been slain
Slain with the blade of death which took her forever love
Looking up to the Heaven's asking why to God above
Every night as she sat at that window she cried tears of loneliness
Longing for one last touch or one last gentle hug
As time passed on her daddy's ghost never did show
So she made a deal with the devil that resided in Hell below
She promised him she'd live in eternal damnation by his side
If she could just see her daddy oh just one more time
The next night as she sat next to the window in waiting
The devil knew that her happiness would be worth his parading
Parading of his deception that he presented and won her soul
But the devil presented himself as her father as a fake mould
She cried with happiness rejoicing in his presence
But soon she started to realize that this wasn't her daddy's essence
Then the devil revealed his horrible face to her
Telling her that she sold her soul and would now forever burn
She hung her head in shame and begged as she wept
But the wicked devil of Hell took her soul and left
Monday, 14 May 2018
Sunday, 13 May 2018
i feel my lifeforce drain,
im in so much pain,
i never did anything to gain,
im never alive, im insane,
i walk with unimaginable fail,
my heart is stone, its sail,
its withered, seriously frail,
cant keep up, hard as nail,
i walk up to the box, i got a mail,
a mail full of a pail of pain,
making me writhe, im hit with a cane,
struck me deep, utter disdain,
im trying to seek, im alone on my lane,
i dont need you, or even my insane,
i look up, i see my tattered mane,
blowing in the breeze, tattered remain,
ugly and empty, worse than a plain jane,
i lost my colour, its all but wane,
yet i rise from the ashes, only to crumble again.
HOME CALLINGI enrolled for masters without wasting time, my mother served it hot, I mastered in finance, did well as expected at the Oxford University, the United Kingdom, I chose from long list of companies that invited, I had my eyes on companies in New York, you need not guess why I wanted to experience the finance adventure in NY, I joined a company still on the rise, I wanted every sense of relevance and respect I can get.
The Mobola Gospel
To all the women in this world, listen to me.
God choose you girls in this life you see.
The day that you came into this fine place.
God blessed you with such unspeakable grace.
Beginning young at first, watching her standing by.
The woman in your life who you never saw cry.
You learned it then as those times pushed you through.
Made in the image of God, so perfect and true.
Saturday, 12 May 2018
The Mobola's Gospel
The civilized breeze of the United State of America hit my skin, it was almost strange, a long thirteen hours straight flight and yet another to Detroit. In the company of mother, it was an upbeat chatty one, she talked so loudly and laughed as sarcastic as she can, co-passengers could deduce we were Nigerians and the not so educated type, the brunt of being a mother's child. Her fearless approach to communication catches the attention of the seemingly "too civil" Americans, it was like most of the things I saw on Tv were lies, the Americans were much into themselves that they don't talk to just anyone, my mother's engaging communication came in handy in the quest, it saved time and helped us with getting our way quick enough. Although with an unbaked English command and pseudo-American accent; she was able to attract needful attention.
I carried the charged hardworking acumen into everything, I understood at an early age that I do not posses physical strength for anything, I was not skilled with my hands, therfore, I believed in my brain, I was exposed to environments and activities that required strictly the use of my brain, I don't remember lifting a bucket of water ever in my life, I was not a brat, I can do the traditional girl chores, my mother was hitler on that, I did cleaning, sweeping and other relative chores but with every form of amenities available. My brain is my strength, I worked on it every day to give me the competitive edge, I have always loved winning, I deal strictly with whatever comes in the way of that.
THE MOBOLA GOSPEL
I have been a loyal disciple of your wonderful platform for years, I have followed since its nascent formation and I am more than happy with what it had become, I have a lengthy autobiography of myself and the one time I experienced true love, I hope it makes it to the headline of your next blog post, I am positive it will as it is a love story distinctly different from what you have seen, read or feel, I beg for a minute of your time to follow this litany of events, critically consider it and decide if it is worth sharing. This I am about to share might even entertain you.