Songs of a Drummer Boy

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A Drummer Boy is one in Yoruba language who recites the eulogy of his roots and history. The poem is just a rendition in praise of the Author's root and tradition. He is a Yoruba, one of the largest ethnic group from western Nigeria. Enjoy!!!!!!

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…remember the words of the Elders,

“However long the night,

The dawn will break”

Sitting at the banks

Of Osun

Recounting the tale

Of Osun’s beauty

And deity

Even Ogun

In his valor and might

Could not resist her appeals.

Oh Moremi and her natural charms

Is easily not forgotten

Which brought the enemy kingdom

To great harm

Drummer Boy

Drummer boy

O’ remember the stories

Of Olumo’s courage

As she protected her children

From external threats by hiding

Them in her caves

And Idanre’s greatness

When she harbored ancient…

By David Adejumo

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Unworthy

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…did this to you..

which of the times you were abandoned did it become a defect on your heart to the deepest parts of your unconscious mind

Why do you respond by thickening your skin to handle the repeated abuse, the unimaginable pain the people you loved have laid on you like a curse

instead of guarding your heart to no longer serve those that hold no value in your life

You’ve spent your life feeling inadequate to compete with women who aren’t near your level and throwing yourself at the feet of men who were unworthy

You were taught…

By Gabriella Nelson

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Whispers of the Soul

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…stood along the water's edge

A stranger to these shores

Feeling the occasional salty spray

That seeped into his pores

He thinks about her all the time

Of how things used to be

He just can't get past wanting her

This pain he couldn't foresee


They had spent only a year

Together, in wedded bliss

They never missed a morning shared

Without a tender kiss

They planned a family, but first a trip

To soothe their wanderlust

He promised her the Universe

In her eyes, he saw stardust

They picked this little island

Known to be phantasmagoric

The sandy beaches …


By Sharon Cunningham

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Where Have They Gone?

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…the poet, the novelist or those who love to read,

where are the stories bold at last, have they all been freed,

to miss the talent of truth in magic, by words at center stage,

left behind forgotten quick but the world they did engage.

Ideas from minds penned so suave, like nothing ever heard,

chapter’s end or stanzas touch leaving beats so stirred,

beneath our feet the writers sleep, a gift now dark and still,

romance and mystery, a longing for mystic tales to thrill.

The plot to thicken, death to soon or murder left to…


By The Humble Poet

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Large Results in a Little

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…numbers of rain drops,

Results in a little water body .

Large quantities of water,

Results in a little pure water.


Large number of books,

Results in a little competitive knowledge.

Large number of pages,

Results in a little book.


Large number of mistakes,

Results in a little problem.

Large number of problems,

Results in a little solution.


Large amount of cereals,

Results in a little grain.

Large number of trees,

Results in a little green area.


Large number of achievements,

Results in a little praise.

Large amount of hardwork,

Results in a little…


By Sahaj Sabharwal

From: India

Website: http://www.instagram.com/sahajsabharwal12345s

Instagram: sahajsabharwal12345s

Twitter: @Sahaj_Sabharwal

Facebook URL: http://www.facebook.com/sahajsabharwal


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Hands of Time

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…distance of time that has elapsed

The realm of a vibrant soul

Continued to travel back into space

Where souls were immortalized by

Nothing but the decadence

of simplified intentions and getaways

Living for today exhibited truths he couldn't muster but he lived feeling like a visitor, studying each and every fiber of carcasses like an eager student desperately needing to pass a test

There is awe in the passion he brings in every minute of everyday

And probably all throughout his timeline

He submitted his being as a master of science, paying it with his youth

There is nothing…


By BRM

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Mentiroso

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…has been broken

It has been stomped on

And torn apart by so many lies spoken

I can handle all that

I have been deceived

betrayed And abandoned

For that I’ve grieved

I can handle all that

I have dragged a knife through my skin

I was raped and assaulted more times than I can count

Abused in every form and locked in a looney bin

I can handle all that

My mind has been played with

Brainwashed, broken, And tortured

I’ve learned that love is a myth

I can handle all that

Today I stopped breathing

My heart stopped…

By Gabriella Nelson

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Something

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…swollen from stress, she stifles a smile strained and scared to share some semblance of self-satisfaction.

Starts and stops string a song of life standing as a solitary sign, annoyingly stoic and submissive. A vast sea of sound is situated with only strangers strapped in their own seat; saddled with their own stride.

Surrounded with sterling chauffeurs; suffocated in a facade of sugar and spice. A day dream of circumstance contrasts who you thought you should be; sunbathed in shiny bronze of slippery skin.

Something surreal sifted slowly into the psychosomatic reality of sweet truth. A shift of self-discovery and…

By Darren Thompson

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I Want to Write You

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…is because, I know

You and I know now.

I want to write you

Till I am alive.

My lady love!

It is because,

I have no time to live,

In the midst of others.

It is because,

Before I grow too old.

Before I turn into ashes,

I want to write in you,

The pages of my love,

The emotions of my blood,

Which is so inseparable,

So much irresistible.


Oh! My lady of life,

If only I could write,

I would write my life for…


By Abhimanyu Kumar S

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Pseudo Space Traveler

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…sits in silence,

breathing in the

lavender night sky.

When he closes his eyes,

he sees periwinkle galaxies

so alluring that he weeps;

he desires to soar through the stars,

wistfully dancing through their dust,

allowing the gentle soprano of the vacuumed silence to take lead.

He’d leap through asteroid belts,

leaving footprints in the heavens,

moving through the suspended rocks as if he’s caught in a riptide.

What a magnificent time he would have.

His eyes snap open;

back to reality, he has no choice

but to gaze up at the sky

and ponder what-ifs and wilted …


By Vincent Midolo

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