Nigerian Puff Puff for the Nigerian Husband.

It is more than just a recipe for Puff Puff

Vou Vents

Dear Nigerian Husband,
I’m sure you’ve noticed, I hope and wish you’ve noticed that I’ve not written you for many months now.

Since The Contender and I parted ways, I thought you’d just surprise me and finally show your face.

Well, the joke was on me. You refused to show up, hence, I went researching on ways to make you show up faster.

In one letter I wrote to you previously, I told you I made Nigerian meat pies just for you! I went through the stress of learning how to make the delicious treats hoping you’ll appreciate my effort but you didn’t. I take you don’t like meat pies.

In a few other letters, I told you about how I made chin chin, how I made jollof rice and even some soup just for you.  Yet, you this diva of a man, you this fine and rare pedigree…

View original post 317 more words

FEVER

Ununted & Troubled
Ununited & Troubled

Through eventful years the sticks ever pile,
Hopes with the trunk that vomits emptiness.
The mighty broom swept so long a mile,
Still dirt abounds as its proud fruitfulness.
Mourning tears leave this feeling of numbness.

Eras of evolution has not changed the egg,
The needs of man same and ever will be so.
Maybe a broom will kill lizards on a clay keg
And not break it too like the stick did before.
In this concoction only soluble particles’ temperatures soar.
flag 9ja

Promise of the lands are all pointing,
Yet the future is hot food in the mouth.
Bodies buried and alive, had and are, waited and waiting,
For the joy in swallowing and satisfaction they sought.
Over hard filled years waiters without appetite rot.

The dogs in this story are the traitorous pigs,
Their patriotism is fake like sweeping grains with a rake.
Locusts that plunder the field leaving tiny dry twigs,
Their determined whispers stir reasoning ideally fake;
These dishonourable gentle heads that ache.

Sick & Sleeping
Sick & Sleeping

The locusts ate the grains, the rake wasted the rest.
The broom was left so little in its fold.
In this farm, pigs serve dogs for it’s their best.
The egg will likely shatter in hands that shouldn’t hold.
They chest indifferently the agony of the rest in the cold.


the poet in the poet

fever 5

fever 1