FIRE OF MOODS

In... In... In... In... Out! Nostrils are at war, With airs that lingers still, While dry throats harbours, The shadow of death. In... In... In... In... Out! A viral air, Spreading out like a peacock's tail, Forcing flocks into isolation, That birds may gasp for breathe. In... In... In... In... Out! Whirlwind storms the nostrils, And heart suffers shock, From the satisfaction of hungry lungs, That slowly dies of thirst. In... In... In... In... Out! How does the lungs give it's breath away And light up itself for a takeout? Ask Covid19... It has some explaining to do. But if you ask me, In... In... In... In... Out! Is definitely not how to breathe. #El_Magnifico™ (Published in "Raven Cage Poetry and Prose Ezine #47")

Fashion is a powerful charm, Plain for all to see, And when carried out wrongly, It has humanity swept out to sea. Bewildered by recent trends of apparels, My heart sinks at a single glance, Exposing the deepest raws for all to see, Another tune to the modern dance. A tune which brings more grief than joy, Consequently birthing immoral activities, Infesting the minds of our youths, As unethical chains holds them in captivity. The males with shorts sagged, Oh dear me, how do I qualify all this, The females with cleavage revealing tops, Fashion of nudity, How do they justify all this? Rising of love for skimpy dresses, Going extra miles as to lend, Undersized apparels and transparent ones, When will this frenzy of nudity end? Oh! Where are the days, When fashion was a thing of pride, But now preferentially brushed aside, As fashion and ignobility collides. The world is in a state of agony, As humanity gradually loses dignity, With lack of ethics calmles

...of nightingales and skylarks... ...of screams... I am a whistle, Borne aloft, A neighbor to the dews, Beautiful and soft. I am a melody, Flowing with the waves, Glowing like crystals, Chirping notes I'm not to save. Hush... Listen to the change of the tide, Emerging from beneath, The tragic melody of mourning, Drifting skyward; tune soft. A boy, Glowing amidst a dell of stars, Becomes a man, Nursing tears in deprivation. Betrayal... A stink unperceived, Crowned with disgust, On a throne of deceit, Beguiling screams, Cries, Shouts, Noises, After the model of pains. Of nights-in-gale and sky-lacks... We are a wailful choir, Singers of mournful music, Roaming in storms, Chirping ugly songs, Of screams, Flying without wings, To land without legs. We are fallen crests... We are strange screams. #El_Magnifico™

Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! My bowels are running... I am like a passing cloud Amongst clouds, Eating myself up in little chunks of tiny droplets. A restless dungeon, Constantly banging of clanging chains. Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! My bowels are running... I am a brother to the wind, Consumed by the fire of burning feets. The accursed breath, Racing fast towards a shallow grave. Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! My bowels are running... I am a moving brink, Whose heart beats till it crushes time out. For I am the beginning and the end of time, The very breath that fuels its motion. Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! My bowels are running... I am a sick hour, A dying minute, And a gasping second. Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock! I am a steady runner, Racing to my very grave. #El_Magnifico™

..."Aaaarrrrggghhhh!", Francis screamed as he felt a sharp pain from his ribs. He hurriedly pulled himself away. "How did I not see that coming?", he spoke to himself as he looked up to analyze Jagaban's fighting stance. Jagaban was making a swerving movement around the same axis with his two hands few inches away from his chest. A balled fist on his right hand and a half balled fist with two fingers dangling on his left hand. Francis remembered that move vividly. It was the only move he was meant to learn in other to attain Monkdom before he chose to quit. "The disappearing fist! Where did you learn that?", he asked. "Oh! Alhaji Ahmed never told you!", Jagaban said with a witty smile on his face. "I am his first student and his only true son. You made a very big mistake crashing my party son." "We'd see about that", Francis said as his eyes caught a glimpse of a 1:35 red light blinking from his wife&

In the light of myths and legends, Stories of some heroes of old, Who possessed powerful endowments, Or so we have been told. He who was said to spit fire, Was once a vulnerable man, He who was said to be immortal, Was also once human. Why isn't this transformation, Prolonged to our time? Or is our generation, But a foam on a wine? The existence of most, Sounds strange to tell, For if they were gods, How come they fell? What do they look like? Where do they come from? Questions go begging, For answers at every turn. I was told of a god, With a lion as pet, Human-lion friendship, I am yet to see since birth. Looking around me each day, I see no such powers, Portrayed by our past heroes, As told to us by our Fathers. Are gods really gods? Or our own creation, Out of fear or of poetry, Or even painted imagination. If you'd ask my opinion, I'd say they were audacious men, Whose deeds were exaggerated, And narrated with godly terms.

...and all hell was let loose. Francis didn't come alone. His time at the Mushin Monastery has earned him friends even though he was regarded as a failure for breaking his vow and leaving in search of love. He had put a call through to some of the Mushin Monks who remained his friend and they had emerged from the shadows. The place became a war zone as bullets and arrows were flying dangerously across the valley. Francis had no time for little battles as his mind was set on the price- saving his wife. He spotted Jagaban retreating into a building and he followed him. As he entered into the building he could see his already unconscious wife tied to an iron pole in the middle of the basement. As he looked closely, he was able to make out a red light beeping right at the middle of her breasts and realised there was a bomb on her. His countenance changed and his eyes began to burn with anger. "Here's your jewel... Safe and sound", Jagaban jeered softly. &qu

Man is a Shadow's dream, And Angel is a Man's wish... When the sun kisses a man at the centre of his gravity, A dream becomes reality, For a shadow becomes a man. Wishes they say, aren't horses that man may ride, How then does a man become an angel? (This is how...) When the "erm" is done away with, And he begins to gel at all times, Till his actions invokes the pregnant thoughts of many a man, To become exemplary speeches, Reborn every time from the ashes of disbelieve. Haven't you seen him? Don't you know him? Becomes the constant song on the lips of men- all alike, For acceptance is the disease of an angel. Woe to any man who knows this not. For if all men were angels, And all shadows were men, Earth would become a Paradise. #El_Magnifico™ [[Culled from "Soft Echoes"]] Follow the link below to get the book. https://okadabooks.com/book/about/soft_echoes/31204

For all has sinned, All has fallen short... Shall I sing songs of luminance To this dark depths, That we may ride on the crest of the waves, For to view the Elysian fields. "Arise! And sing of perfections". These words sound odd on a devil's lips. We are looking glasses; full of faults. We have become grand tragedies- A delight to the god of shame, For we are quickened to pick faults of our fellows. We have forgotten that we all are imperfections, And have become devils seeking to expose the devil in others, While the devil in us lurks to bare us open to the winds of shame. Are we so lost in our smooth climb that we forget that a slip could crash us too? "Arise! And sing of perfections". These words sound odd on a devil's lips. Let us look in glasses, For all has sinned, All has fallen short... We are looking glasses; full of faults, Isn't our fellow's imperfection a blessing? A means that the faults they exude, We ta

As he walked into the valley wearing all black, he remembered the numerous warnings his Parents had given him while growing up. A warning which he had heeded, but tonight was going to be an exception. The valley of death as it was popularly called was a hideout for a group of notorious robbers and rapists whose vices the Local Police had ignored as every time they made an arrest, orders from above has always ensured their operations were futile. Francis walked on quietly with his ears wide open to avoid being attacked unaware. His eyes soon make out a cloud of smoke far ahead of him and he was certain he would find what he was looking for. Out of nowhere, three hefty looking men surrounded him and he swung into action. In quick movements, he broke the arms and legs of the man before him. The other two charged at him but were too slow as he dodged their assault and was already behind them preparing to launch his attack. Ratatatata!!! "That's enough!", Jagaban b

Glow-globes are a searchlight for her, God did break the mould for Esther. She walks in the room, All froze, Lungs close, Heads float to the moon, Holy fear, This is rare. Sublime is her style, Men choke, Eyes poke, Unmatched is her style, Violet blue, Paints me through. So delightful is this bright morn, Worthy of her celestial form. Choice on who's Queen, One wish, Same Miss, Her side's sure to win, Happy thumb, This has done. Merry! For hips don't lie, Strange tale, Words fail, Soar! And choose to fly, Keep the stare, Life is mere. She's a masterpiece on the whole, Her every gaze is worth a soul. For Esther God did break the mould, A masterpiece of worth untold. #El_Magnifico™

From whence cometh this dark cloud, Casting shadows and growing thick, Over my pains flowing aloud, The trickles of a desolate creek. Unto this deep pain do I yield, Fierce and intense but none could see, That hope be cold and comfort killed, I'm struck by the deed; yes let it be. Pain and anguish enclosed in my eyes, Out you all that I may be free, Wash along with the sore of the skies, Hold not and let the rain hide thee. #El_Magnifico™ (Published in "Raven Cage Poetry and Prose Ezine #17")

"Rodman, why aren't you here yet?" Sandra's worried voice blared through Rodman's receiver. "I'm stuck in heavy traffic Ma'am. I'd be there in twenty minutes", Rodman replied in a calm and assuring voice. "Twenty minutes it is. Nothing more. If we lose this deal, you're done", Sandra threatened in frustration as she went off the line. Still in traffic, John Rodman hurriedly grabbed the bag containing the paperworks, abandoned his car and raced off to the nearby Ferry Port. As soon as he boarded a boat, the clouds gathered, the sky grew dark, and amidst flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, the rain poured heavily. As the boat headed down a stream flanked by huge bamboo trees on both sides. Suddenly, there was a clang, the boat had glided off a strongly rooted bamboo into the air, and then a whooossh, the boat was upside down burying its passengers underneath. Meanwhile at AGIE Enterprise, Sandra was finding it d

A beast of no nation, Gallant in the senseless sense of endless intoxication. A staggerer in no man's land, Jabbering like a garrulous cobra, Putting into service free air-time from a drunk-card, Struggling incessantly from the clutches Of the monster commanding his feet. A wino... A win - No! His form within him is queer, Exhibiting traits not of earth, Not of heaven nor of hell, But of a level beyond level, A rank of blindy influence, A short time degree of highest level, The requirements for expensive madness display. With the eyes of his mind shut, And his brain wave reduced to nothingness, He gets possessed by thick unconsciousness, Until unified equilibrium sets in. On awareness of his misdemeanor, He grows sober over his egregious conducts, And in shame, He promises teetotalism. But the beast still lurks In the shadows beneath the surface, And in due time, He's back at the shore of alcoholism, To swim in the sea of drunkenness, In eterna

There she goes again In her glamorous and radiant attire, And from my window Her steppings I secretly admire. Oh! A maiden fair, Whose beauty causes envious streaks, Leaving men and maidens to stare, At her impressively dazzling blinks. A Godly perfection, With a sonorous voice; pitch tremendous, I sometimes ponder of her composition, Her glow; cool, calm, and stupendous. Her smile displays her essence, Like a tide-driven water lily, So you can feel her presence, Every second ticking in a milli. Like a Poet moulds himself upon his poems, So also has she been moulded upon her beauty, I marvel at this Creator's piece of art, This my neighbour is His moving gallery. With great craftsmanship He created all, This one His time He took; a little more, And anytime I reflect or mirror all, I yearn to see the beauty next door. #El_Magnifico™

Like a dream it usually begins, When one feels hollow from within, Deep down the heart there's an emptiness, A world in a murky state of blackness. And from within rings, A wave of spiral strings... Blackout!! Blackout!!! It was all about love, Given but not received, But slowly and bitterly, The truth surfaced, Bringing blindness to one's sight. And thoughts thudding... Fallacy!! Fallacy!!! But the canon stuck, Right at the middle of the heart, Grief growing more intense, As thoughts get disgusted at sleaziness. Inflaming from within a tantrum, And then a squeal... Appalling!! Appalling!!! One has been living a solitary life, Without an inkling of the exploit, Alas there's enough room, Enough room for gloom. And from one's lurch echoes, A mourning that reaches a crescendo, Alone!! Alone!!! #El_Magnifico™

(These icicles are crystal clear...) I shall dance the dances of rapture, To feast at the banquet of hope. (A dark dream...) The clouds are gone, But its trail is still warm. The Nightingale sings of thrills and tides, Of golden reins held by bronzy hands, Of love and sweet truths, And of warm fire served in wine glasses. I opened my eyes; a knight in gale, The trail had gone cold, Alas! I was the lord of the dream. All things are possible when a dreamer is let loose... Roses they say, comes each with its own thorn, I plucked a rose and I was torn. Tell the rose I plucked her because I am magic, I am magic and magic is me. This is so, For I caught a flame and was fired up. I must not tell a lie, Go ask these icicles. A man must be what he really is, But who really is a man? Every line of this poem is a riddle, The vivid voice of the Sphinx. I will set myself ablaze in this rapturous dance, To feast at the banquet before me, For I am who I really am,

For fans of English football, the year 1999 was deemed to be the season of the century as Manchester United scored an amazing 128 goals and lost only 4 games in all competitions in a treble winning season whose memories would never be forgotten by United Supporters. The season started for United on a low as they slumped to a 3-0 defeat against Arsenal in their first League game. It was a disappointing start to a new season as United who won four League titles in the last six years were hoping to reclaim the trophy from a star studded Arsenal team desperate to defend their title. But United began to get back on track as they won Liverpool 2-0 four days later. This was the beginning of a perfect season for the red devils. A season that was noted for United's wonderful displays, high margin wins, crucial saves, amazing comebacks, breathtaking moments and of course the unprecedented achievement. In one of the League games, United hit Nottingham Forest for eight in a game that

We are our brother's keeper! There are moments that cools the heat of hell, And there are moments that touches the heart of heaven. How then would it feel if a moment captures both? We are our brother's keeper! There are a million joy dancing in the bosom of gifts, But how would they be fulfilled when hidden away in tight fists? Speak not to me of having just enough, For enough is the first name of a brother's keeper. Forsake not the roar of suffering bones, That calls to your heart, Nor the cry of dying flesh, That screams horror to your looking eyes, For the goal of an open palm is to touch a soul. We are our brother's keeper, Shan't we make a save And keep the goal with open palms. #El_Magnifico™

I am disaster served on a platter of gold... I am a dark young Prince, A smoke in my Father's kingdom, For I am a brother to none and a companion to one. I can hear the songs of my deeds, And how it fills the atmosphere with an aura of darkness, For I have created beasts from the shadows of the night, And taught them to hunt. I have broken the jaws of royalty and sold its teeth to the masses, A gift they embraced that we may become a kingdom of dark Princes. I am a parable from the lips of the sphinx, For I am a brother to none and a companion to greed. We are a kingdom of fools, For the crown lay idle without a head to sit. We are disasters served on a platter of gold... We are Green and White flags Cheating ourselves of true royalty. #El_Magnifico™

"An absolute delight!" "He struck that beautifully well!" "Cristiano, doing what only he can do". These and many more has been statements made by Commentators left gobsmacked by Ronaldo's brilliance. Cristiano Ronaldo Dos Santos Aveiro, born on February 5, 1985 in the island of Madeira, Portugal, has grown to become arguably the greatest player the game of soccer has ever known. The 5-time ballon do'or winner and 2-time Fifa Men's Best player has been an object of spectacle to football fans across the globe. The manner in which he breaks and set records is amazing and the numbers he's racked do tell the tales. As much as his achievements are, certainly there are some that would go unnoticed. I have taken my time to compile 17 unpopular facts about the 35-year old that you probably have missed or know nothing about. 1. Cristiano Ronaldo signed for Sporting FC and became a regular first team player at the tender age of 16.

There are prisons in life, Ask a pandemic and it will show you. Quarantine has become my best friend. We sit and talk daily at the horizon of madness. But I can take it no more, I will kill this madness and break free. I will walk out on quarantine, Even if it means tearing myself apart. If you were me... Wouldn't you kiss the devil than face the wrath of God? #El_Magnifico™

Shall I attempt to break a Poet into pieces of expression? How beautiful is the light of thoughts And the splendour of the mind? More so, how astounding is the symphony That wells up from the throat of shadows. A Poet is a warrior! This path is a dark one, Where great words gather in the bosom of shadows, Shedding wordsmiths into unversed verses, Of pictures... Impressions... Depths... Arousing the stubborn voice that seeks to turn the tides. The burden of nobility lay upon his shoulders, And the blood of a billion lives runs through his veins. He gets lost, In the screams of voices, Till he finds the sense of freedom, That finally teaches him to survive. A Poet is a warrior! Swift is the beat of his heart. Spontaneous... Effortless... Galloping on the strides of words, Till he champions the cause for which he battles. In this battle with ages, He dies and is reborn over and over again. He is the strength of a million years, A bright light glowing

Let us look for light in happiness. When darkness mourns and morn opens up the doors of closed wombs, That the ray of the sun may shine upon the release of a new soul. The ambience is a voice that fills the house with a sound of gladness. But who can tell the strength of forever after? For its habitation is a playing field for death, Swallowing life on a daily basis, The mother of time and the slayer of death. Happily ever after... The weight it balances together, Are heavier than the sand of the sea. For grief and sadness, Disappointment and brokenness, Trembling and fear, Anger and chastening, Are rays within this light of joy. For to live happily ever after, Is to bear the evil touch that comes with it. #El_Magnifico™

This is, Of nightmares in daydreams... We flee from the sudden chase of heavy harms, Bursting out from frightening dreams. The hot pursuits that flashes past Like lightning over cloudy skies. We saw sore, shelter in the blood, Whistling out a call to find aids, Even as hunger was betrayed, And tongue wails as scary birds flew. Fleets of Ebola fevered our voices Rising from the shores like angry waters To drown our rats in the poison of their own fever. Our defences ran naked every single time, Till it becomes a passage that leads From frightening dreams to pleasant images. Beneath this angry shower, Comes yet another nightmare. A corona, That comes in to lit the lungs from dark shades. A chase by moonlight that stretches into daylight. We flee on From this sudden chase of heavy hounds, Holding on to the hope That our defences would run them out And save our neck once again. #El_Magnifico™ (Published in "Raven Cage Ezine #44")

Can I?... I can! I could hear myself ask and silence reply, As his voice calls from motionless tongues and pale lips. My fear stand talking by my side, But I shall draw music from fulfilled promises engraved on tombstones. There is gladness in music. So much as to divide a staff and shape it into dancing feet's. I hear music of remembrances, As happy thoughts washes weary brains, That smile may walk on clean faces. My whole life is a step, That leads me directly to my ancestors. How make me a dance from that move? I ask;           To live,           To conquer,           To fulfill           Can I?           And my heart raced a hundred beats, Silence replies;           Grow pale,           Find death,           And decay,           I can!           And his voice sounds more like a heavy lock. I am chained to this tombstone As of panic to pain. I shall look my fear in the face, And dance him a worthy memory. #El_Magnifico™ (Published in "Rav