Saturday, August 10, 2013


Whenever those beady tears come
Don't let them flow into earth bin
For there are seeds therein
Just like in penis-cum

I am not a least not the town crier of some remote Anambra village, say Abagana (they still have gong beating town criers. LMAO, ask ma'am Olisakwe).

Well, I did not mean that jind of crier...I meant the teary eyed crier. I hardly cry-at least not since childhood when we try to make a point, or seek attention with some mouthy wailing.

In school those days, I was known for not crying. Whenever a hurt got to the point of making me cry, someone would get really injured. I was very vindictive. Make me cry or make me bleed, your a goner, no matter how big.

Well, my grandma died some 13 years ago- I did not cry. could swear that no one felt as pained as I was, but I did not shed a single tear. So many people think I am that hard, coconut head, stubborn goat of a boy...

I laugh. They're wrong. I am a crier (scratch out my first paragraph). The only thing is that I chose when, why and how to cry.

In fact, my last cry was in 2012. I suffered a huge setback. I told no one, not my mother, brother or colleagues at work. I just went home and wept (wailing like a baby) while typing some really bitter poems on my keyboard.

I wrote 3 poems in one hour, crying:

Dammit! Take away hope
Set me free of her rope
She flirts and courts your will
Only yo push you down the hill

She poked her fingers
Into my belly
And took away my heartbeat.
I am but a carcass.


So here I stand,
Of the feast of failure.
All I have left
Are salty pears


But that is not the cry I want to remember. The one I want to tell you about is the crying spree I had on a night in September 2003. It was the beginning of my tortuous journey through the university walls.

I was just beginning to sponsor myself through the university as an 18-year-old victim of an evil stepmother (exactly the way it happened with Snowhite, I swear).

Well, that night, after almost 2 days without a meal (I was broke and too proud to beg my roomamates), I decided to cry my heart out under some steps (my eyes are wet typing this out).

I must have been bawling because a security man appeared from nowhere. He couldn't understand English but he did a fine job of calming me down in Hausa.

He told me my future was bright and I should ignore whatever was the cause of my tears.

Then he walked away ( I am really crying now).

I walked away too...but I HARVESTED MY TEARS. I got busy and started watering my FUTURE with my TEARS.

Snatched my destiny from Failure's grip and here I am...

I collected the bile of rejection
And the frothing spittle of shame
And brewed for myself
The sweet wine of honor.
Now, all men sit at my table
Seeking a drop from my bottle.


My journey is on..

You can do it to, just HARVEST YOUR TEARS!

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