Transparency is like a graduated cylinder
that exposes its contents to view;
When the liquid of clarity shows no obscurity,
the measure marks of sincerity stay true.
Transparency is like a window
that lets the truth beyond the glass be clearly seen;
When the curtain dances across the pane,
it turns into doubt's hanging screen.
Transparency is like a flashlight
that unmasks what darkness tries to hide;
When the hand of power turns the switch off,
though the battery of bureaus stays charged, facts feel denied.
Transparency is like an official receipt
that documents a record for authentication;
When the culprit leaves no certificate of traceability,
no item, amount, or date will show the transaction.
Transparency is like an open book
whose text declares what all have rights to see;
When the crook closes the pages of public awareness,
it covers the volume of its dark secrecy.
The strongest rise with
Echoes behind them; no
Legend ever truly won alone.
Every victory carries
Fingerprints of those who
Refused to let them fall; no
Won alone.
When uncertainty tried to rewrite
Their name, someone
Whispered strength back into
Their bones; they never won
Alone.
Even giants leaned on quiet
Warriors, the ones who held
Them steady when storms won
Alone.
Greatness is a rapport, not a
Solo; every step forward was
Carried by hands that won
Alone.
Michaela speaks truth to legacy:
No hero, no survivor, no Legend
Even won Alone.
It was the cool of the night of January 15, 1966
This was the night that changed the trajectory of
a young nation Nigeria
While the 5 majors were striking, Brigadier Maimalari
was celebrating his marriage.
The majors struck terror into the jars
Who struck a tale of terror and of wages
It was the cool of the night
That Nigeria got its first blight
Ever since Nigeria has not been the same.
This is the 60th anniversary of the 1st military
Coup in Nigeria.
(Written on the 15th of January, 2026)
What have you done to me
Where was the girl
That tried to climb the cliff
Despite unfavourable conditions in there.
Why did the peak broke off
When were you seen
That made me believe in flame again
Even the one my kin couldn’t .
Who are you for real
Which gave hope for ice
That it could have an identity in sea
Although it gulped me down.
Tried it all
Parents scared of my thoughts
Have a lot of lives
A past say; not exactly
At the end all come to a point
Wouldn't say talent or hidden either
A curse to me, didn't like the things.
Was not exactly a beginner
Never thought I had it in me
The freer the verse the deeper the cuts
Good for nothing; Yeah I was
Why care about people did they cry with you
Too much stress too little time
I want some, at least one to hear.
Suddenly, the crashing sounds of broken glass
as all the doors closed with nowhere to pass
Time stood still as so many innocent souls breath their last
the tragedy which happened unexpectedly so fast
with blood and fire mixing together on the ground
the city transformed into a great battleground
the hand of terror forced its way with a heavy sound
to hit a target for which it was mount to bound
So many left with unfinished dreams after the blow
to leave the world in darkness moving away the glow
no one had a clue even to use a whistle for anyone to know
that within a few seconds the towers will come below
Perhaps this would never had happened should one foresight
while everyone was so busy about their duty under the light
to commit themselves with intelligence to do everything right
unknowingly they got caught by evil in life to lose the fight
The memory of that one day no one can erase from the mind
which continue to stain the hearts of those who escape death behind
The statue of liberty will forever mourn those patriots who are gone
as well as the earth with open arms sit and wait for hose unborn
Green envious words set on fire
Ambitious absurd crazy with desire
Salty teal tears that cut like shears
Licorice fears blackened by years
Improvised strength in indigo words
Grossly exaggerated like flight of bird
How high it soars without your jealousy
Till you shoot it down committing felony
Instead of being wind of encouragement
Needing a win you embrace then lament
Gorging selfish spirit lacking red repents
Mexican worker traveling home
Mexican worker was not traveling alone
Lived here for a decade, twice
driving, he skidded on some Ice
Mexican worker and his son are now gone
Like a programmed robot
I move through each day
Smiling and nodding
In just the right way.
Pretending I'm happy
And life is just great
When the truth of the matter is
There's just too much on my plate.
I feel like I got cheated
Out of living a good life
I'm poor and alone
And I'll never be anyone's wife.
I'm like that lone shoe
You see lying on the road
Alone and discarded
Like an unwanted load.
People pass by me
Staring with pity
Torn and tattered
Not an ounce of pretty.
The shadows in my eyes
Portray a battle lost
Nightmares and insomnia
Show surrender’s cost.
The physical scars
Have healed without a trace
But the mental emotions
Are still written in my face.
I'm a programmed robot
Struggling each day
Trying to hold my head up
And wishing I could fade away.
The vessel of my breath even the wind cannot shake
I carry it through the silence perfectly made without a mistake
It gives me the inspiration no one will ever understand
to fulfill every dream in my mind and to listen to my command
The mirror of the moon allows me to lift myself whenever I fall
I believe in the light of truth to always answer my call
I weep from my heart before any teardrop could touch the ground
the invisible lamp continues to search for the mystery unfound
No weapon can access what nature have placed in my hand
the seeds of thought I sow in my dream is buried into the sand
To balance the scale of time with the weight of destiny continues to flow
to keep the candle of inspiration alive for the lamp of truth to glow
The architecture of knowledge I build to shape into a frame
have made me what I am and where to imprint my name
I've been feeling the critics lately,
They've been quiet but murmuring.
Miss Heart, from the trauma...
And the medicine I abandoned her for, through force.
Lady Liver and Dame Kidney,
Who I legally and knowingly abused for years.
Monarch Mind and her anxieties,
Who I didn't, nor couldn't keep from harm.
The critics... They're gathering .
Mrs Microbiome, married to my choices and unable to divorce.
Countess of Amygdala,
Begging her now, not to go to war again.
Her Highness, Queen Fascia...
Hardens again monthly to be broken free.
Sitting frustrated at dinner,
Their host is hard to be kind too these days.
The menu must evolve again,
It's critical to improve retention and reviews.
They paint desire on a billboard sky,
plant hunger where no hunger grew,
whisper you are less until you buy
the wholeness they invented too.
The worker rises, makes the thing,
his hands the origin of the gain,
then buys it back, a offering
to feed the loop that built his chain.
Screens flicker like a slow-cast spell,
each jingle laced with borrowed need,
the common man, both source and well,
tilled twice to make another feed.
Profit floats to a distant shelf,
counted where the maker's not,
while he, who built it with himself,
owns nothing but the wanting bought.
Satisfaction, packaged, sold,
returns to hands that never labored,
the dream is his, the coin is cold,
and someone else's ledger's favored.
Wake, they say but not too far,
just far enough to reach the door,
where want is manufactured, a star
pointing always back to more.
I find myself reflecting on many things I have long forgotten,
including the invaluable wisdom imparted by my elders.
Yet the memories of the pain inflicted by others remain vivid
as I navigate the complexities of friendships and past betrayals.
I have also released numerous reassurances that were extended to me.
"You can trust me," they often proclaimed.
I try to overlook the fact that a large breadfruit serves as a meal
for my siblings and me, while our dog receives only a small portion.
My weary mind strives to preserve my memories.
the faces of familiar individuals gradually fade from my recollection.
The promises and falsehoods from our leaders linger lightly in my thoughts,
drifting like a feather in the breeze. I sneeze—particles of brain cells.
Today I chose to take it easy; I wish Metal AI could decipher this as well.
rape is part of her job~
a bonus of his
***
**Every House Holds a Story**
Every house conveys a story,
Each narrative unfolds layers of history.
Years of unspoken truths can influence our future,
Regardless of how carefully they are hidden.
Unlike the enigmatic identity of the Mona Lisa,
Some tales may be wiser, left unvoiced.
Within each home, there can linger unhealed heartache.
Every room serves as a subtle reminder of the past.
Once a heart is broken, the healing journey can be arduous.
Misinformation and concealed truths can foster a persistent sense of unease.
We all desire representation in our government,
A voice that advocates for our interests.
However, the onus for change rests with us,
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