LIL’ SIM

BywxrOdIAAAtHqw
Have you had some difficulty in explaining a complex term to a child before? A simple thing like sex, birth, love or death could prove more complex than it normally is when you try to explain it to children.

Stories in any simple form get you there. 

It has worked for ages, ancient folks had tapped at the unlimited resources of story telling when it comes to educating the young. 

Singing the tales in cute rhymes makes them easy to remember and children always love to sing. Sneak in a lesson or two, you are done and dusted. It stays with them all their lives and gets passed on for all time, if it is good. 

For centuries kids have ‘Row, rowed their boats,’ beneath ‘Twinkle twinkle little stars’ and ‘life is but a dream’ for these ‘Diamonds in the sky.’

You hope and pray that you can keep them safe.

In their warm beds and for every story end,
You hope for the best for each of them. 

You hope they hear you and the messages, use them and just be normal.

Sim played ‘a lil’ house’
On the Muddy’s bank.
Then came a lil’ mouse
And Sim’s skin shrank.

Sim slipped and fell,
Splash into the Muddy.
Soon lil’ Sim could tell
To swim is so hardy.

Lil’ Sim so drank
The bad muddy water.
As her tiny head sank
No one saw Sim later.

Where lil’ Sim will be
Clothes are not clean,
Eyes dark as night be,
They eat no lil’ bean.

O lil’ Sim’s friends
Don’t you wish her here?
Warm beds and story ends,
Like all here who hear.

OUR HOMES

Graveyard
It was always dark in all it lack;
All living again, though to us all,
Today it still lingers far off back
In that long night we still do fall.

These cultures that speak the person
Say an Abiku again is every one of us.
For common reason proves a season,
That only event ended and started us.

When the cries over sharia had settled,
We ran and scattered the town’s streets.
Homeless, dead and alive all kettled;
Schemed and steamed out of fair streets.

After all, a rope always starts and ends,
Then it is just after all rope in between.
All of man is birth and the dead ends,
In between is life; man is in between.

After dusk, all return to their own home.
The swine’s streets of our homes will then
Not be as good again to even just roam,
For the transit pen is now a lion’s den.

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