FIRE OF MOODS

I knew a dame, Whose heart was dear, Her love was fame, Her light was clear. She gave her heart, To that young man, Who made a start, That fits her plan. But soon it seems, For then he changed, He packed his things, And left estranged. She cried and wept, And felt so weak, On me she cleft, And soon fell sick. Her light was gone, Her love was dead, The deed was done, Her soul was red. She told her tale, To me all day, And then bewailed, Till she grew pale. Then came the nap, That stopped her shame, Right on my lap, Her rapture came. #El_Magnifico™

Earn ye first the respect of men... You are a god, Seeking compulsive worship from free souls. A conqueror, Gallivanting on the high horses of power to seek reverence. But until you earn ye first the respect of men, You are a labour in vain. For your temple is filled with furious bullets awaiting the call of a mad trigger. And horses shall soon grow weak and weary from your terrible ride. The false reverence you had, shall crack open before your very eyes, And let out its spear. For with wings shall it fly and bring you shame, A thousand fold. #El_Magnifico™

...he closed the door back/ T'was a spring back/ A sharp turn/ and a run/ as he's been chased by uniform men/ He got to a room tagged silicon den/ Was off the window and into the next building/ Changed his clothes and gallantly walked out of the building/ Into a coaster bus/ And once again El had leapt the dust// {3 weeks later} News fly around that three of foursome assassins/ Has been killed/ with Bullet the only one alive in custody/ Tortured to give out information/ About El's location/ El was finally caught/ Where he was drunk at a wine bottling company at Port Harcourt/ Was flown down to Lagos in a plane/ Only to escape at the airport through the subway to the train/ His posters everywhere "Most Wanted" with a billion dollar reward/ And an added incentive of a National honorary award/ {2 days later} El walked straight into the police station/ Unveiled his mask and gave himself up for legal action/ The almighty assassin was senten

Who can with old himself from thinking? For we are fruits of the tree of knowledge. There are confusions in understanding. If it wasn't so, Knowledge would not touch our spirits and leave it with seeds of different colours. This trouble is whole. It consumes seven different faces and becomes their redeemer in seven different ways, That each is broken by the breaking of his very dawn. And he loathes his brethren, For his eyes is blind to their own dawn And as such, he sees them as nights. Did I say, That this confusion in understanding has a name? How long shall the reward of our beliefs cast shadows upon us, And lead us to perish at the grave of divergence? For we are fruits of the tree of knowledge, And none can withhold himself from thinking. We should therefore hold our piece and peace it together, For we are all doctrines, Each and everyone. #El_Magnifico™

8:02Am May 3, 2033. Location: Killer smile Avenue. °°°°°°°°°° ...El Magnifico looking fab/ drops off a cab/ Close to the location/ of the town head coronation/ With a speak overall worn over a jibba/ To cover himself from suspicion of cloak and daggers/ Heading for the elevator/ to the top floor/ And with instruments well set/ Is waiting for the right time to cause international upset/ That the Nation may be aware of a group so dope/ As to take out a highly secured personality as a pope/ Looking through his binoculars he could clearly see/ The turn of events and the busy proceedings/ "Where was he?", for many hours he stared blindly/ For the role he had accepted so lightly/ Is gradually beginning to get frightening.../ At about 3:30Pm/ The pope showed up in a silver lined BM/ With the stage set, El had his finger/ Directly over the trigger/ Waiting for the impeding figure to put his hands down/ There was a click, a shoom, and a sudden uproar of Man

7:30pm May 1, 2033 Location: unknown. °°°°°°°°°° Four were seated at a table discussing matters arising/ Namely: "Scar", "Bullet", "Crank", and the boss known as "Poison"/ "Have you decided how he is to die?" Bullet harshly asking/ "Not yet, I waited for now", replied Poison/ "Let's try a cyanide injection/ as a silent infestation"/ But Bullet thinks otherwise of Crank's suggestion/ "Let's take him out with a strike to the forehead/ When he's making his speech at the coronation of the Town head"/ Scar's objective/ "That would be pointlessly destructive..." But after all said and done/ The conclusion was of Bullet's opinion/ A carefully calculated strike by a sniper/ Who has got the nerves to decipher/ And outwit the camera lens/ An assassin with keen murder sense/ So here was the question of million dollar bill/ "Which one of you is gonna take

The steppe beguiled, Unfriended by innocence, Renders powerless the seraphims, Within the inner citadel. The primordial whims, Engulfs the spirit, Impulses with unshaken strength, Charges in, in coaxion. Plain hues of tinted shades, Delights the spirit, Yielding unto the colourful disharmony, As assailing its walls. Berefted dignity, Misses its way, To converge with shame, The new eden pigmentation. #El_Magnifico™

Stage 1 Stage 2 Maryjane Credit: Penplay Portraiture. #El_Magnifico™

Stage 1 Stage 2 Stage 3 Stage 4 Sunshine Credit: Penplay Portraiture. #El_Magnifico™

How did you and I become so close? Even the multitudes of alphabets that separates us are left bemused. We have drawn letters from inks to bind ourselves together, That the forces in our bodies teaches us to take flight, And spell a capital L... Oh... V... he... Till our confessions becomes the compass that defines our path. I drank you in many battles with letters, And you filled me up with sparks of fire, That burns my soul to want more. I had always hoped that the door of my heaven will open unto me, And the air of my breath will bring me bliss. I found these hopes in my companion, And made a covenant with her to burn like embers in the night to the very end. For we are a pair that cannot be sundered. I And You... Soul and Poetry! #El_Magnifico™

The tongue is a bullet. But there are days when it becomes poison and begins to sing us songs of death. Remember... Peter isn't Judas. How do we hear hell and humour in the heart of unfounded precepts? Smearing Judases on Peters and Peters on Judases, In a frantic throw of synecdoches. Peter isn't Judas. Shan't we teach our lips to save us When our tongue becomes poison. So when the cause is cursed We may cause the curse to die And breathe with ease. Remember... Peter isn't Judas. Ask Jesus... He is a witness. #El_Magnifico™

I look in your eyes, And I forgot how to cry. My tears hide from me and gaze from afar, As your lens pierces my soul with secrets that swallows my depths. And I am left with stagnant silence, That breaks my jaw and scatter my thoughts. I don't know how to cry. You wept time and again As the door of your temple was shattered into fragments of broken vows. How is it that pain always find joy to prey upon? There are grades to sorrow, A girl in travail will burn your ears with tales of pure fire from the depths of pain. I will speak once of this sweet evil, After which I will speak no more. For in rape is an ape that scorns the heavens and teaches the earth to lose honour or find pain. He is a beast! One that should be sacrificed to the gods of the earth, And sentenced at the gate of heaven to an eternity with pain. I now know the valley Where killing joy is a joy in itself, And I wonder if I can ever understand this depths I am in the shadow of. I look in

(A game of ice and fire...) Imagine a pair of dice, Rolled out What do you see? I see ice... Eyes of friends obliged to watch each other's back, Where energy and ambition are balanced. Companions whose thirsts are matched, And eyes that views from same angle. I see fire... An open attack, Of friends trying to keep pace with one another, The opposition theory, A war of ambitions where none feels at ease with others. (Clashes of will...) Wrap this dice in ice and set it ablaze, Strange is imminent. Isn't this the way of the game? Stranger it is, That statesmen consider this game a weapon, They act acts and create scenes of huge conflicts, That shows more clearly, A contest between patriotic villains and villainic patriots. This game has led men to senseless battles, Forgetting soon that on same side are we all. Imagine a pair of dice, Rolled out What do you see? I see ice, I see fire, You see politics, I see pall-itics. #El_Magnifico™

Holy ghost! Are ghosts really holy? When dust becomes heavy, And flesh is stripped away, Don't the sins of the flesh remain with the soul? Holy ghost! Are ghosts really holy? The pain that rips the heart, The thoughts that graces the brain, Don't they all remain with the soul? Holy ghosts! Are ghosts really holy? This riddle is a yoke, A curse- for all has sinned; all has suffered. Does shedding scales of flesh heal the pain? Holy ghosts! Are ghosts really holy? Or shall I wait to become one, To find out? #El_Magnifico™

(On this new ground...) We are swallowed, By a brand new curse, Dressed in the costumes of ego, Trying to break us away from the roots that holds us. Tag along, Sons and daughters of freedom. Walk with me through this corridors Of sackclothes and ashes. These paths of Nineveh, Has strained hearts And trained wraths To fight for superiority. Perhaps we may reach our goals, When intense music of trouble, Blares like clashes of shields and armour. Perhaps we may get lost. I fear for us all, Life is too short, And freedom is even shorter, Yet we split hair on this new ground. Clever! Clever folks we are, At twisting the good for personal gain, Aren't we tools unto ourselves, Like a Lion's pride ruled by its claws. We must save us From our self made free-doom. We have a long way come, And this creed is ours to make right. Ours alone! #El_Magnifico™

I do wonder, How do man begin to become sullen? How do their tongue quickly grow froward? How do they fall prey to gullibility? How on earth do they get so weak? I ask again, Why do they flee from responsibilities? How does their brain think? How did gods become dogs? How dwindled is their mindset? Why would they be bad tempered, And yet blame it on someone else, When the temper reside and evokes From deep within them. Tell me, why has this been abiding? How do they enjoy Speaking ill of someone else, And detest the same, When presented to them. Tell me, why has this been abiding? How do their difficult mindset Become so naive, When false statements are made Of the one they should trust. Tell me, why has this been abiding? Know they not, That the results of their anger, Always will be their pain to bear, And sullenness, A poison they ought to refuse? Know they not, That offensive remarks, Sticks not to the one it's intended for, But to the

Thine eyes hides thy fire That I see no more thy desire. Thine lips lack its crave That its silence is very grave. Found thee the man of thy dreams? For so is how it seems. My heart is ravaged by fear Still I burn for thee I swear. Only if thou could my feeling spare, Briskly shall I oust this despair. But when thine hands I seek to hold, It's clear that thy passion has gone really cold. #El_Magnifico™

She coasted over him, Shallow and deep, Hot and cold, Surface and beneath. She floated atop him, Wild and dangerous, Tamed and secure, Vulnerable and weak. She ebbed and flowed, Towards his curved edge, The verge of his reverse, Her very own toppling. He was the cliff... And she, the waterfall. #El_Magnifico™ [[Culled from Leodership Magazine issue 3]]

Within every being Lies a daredevil willing to break free, Working endlessly To devour its alternate reflection. Within every man Lies a thug, Patiently expecting Unfolding events to get a shot at recognition. Within every man Lies a liar, Naturally gifted At important times To twist the tide of believe to his advantage. When called a daredevil, We regard it as evil, Acting out to be saints, And disguising character with paints. When called a thug, We flare up in anger, Reacting and overreacting, But isn't that the thug way? When called a liar, We deny, Even when we know we did lie. Funny enough, we have it rebranded, With quotes expanded... "White lies aren't lies", "Business lies are business strategies". But remember, The father of lies, Is the cover-up for a lie. Within every being is a saint, As little as can be, From the assassins To the clerics. But when called a saint, Deep within us we know we're not

Dear Lass... Your lips are a trailblazer for mine, Bringing fire to my soul. Lighting my ribcage Like a menorah, Simplifying our intricacies. With desires raised Above the common level, Our lip locks, Impeccably mendelevium... Conventionally indescribable. #El_Magnifico™