Skip to main content


Articles || Poems || Short stories || Motivational stories|| Quotes ...

Recent posts

FRIENDSHIP || Renukuntla Murali.

Friendship is the bestrelationship,Any relationship is notSuperior to Friendship,Friendship is platonic. 
Relationship betweenTwo persons,maybe male or female, Can be Undivided till the end.
Of their lives, positiveFriends work hard withPositive attitudes andAchieve their goals.
Negative friends thinkNegatively with Negative attitudeNever good results,
Best friends and trueFriends will be one andSame qualities with Honest and trusted,
Good friends Do good works Whereas badFriends do worst,
Bad friends spoilTheir lives as well asSociety and friendsWith misbehaviour.
A friend in need is,A friend indeed;A real friend always,Ready to help, sacrifice.
A bad friend always Wants to do harmAnd escape in needOf help and cunning.
Friendship starts in the Childhood and ends At the old age but theMemories remain Forever. 
Thanks for reading! 👍❤️MEET THE POET



BOOK DESCRIPTION: Blossom in 'The Journey' attempts to describe 'Life' as a ride with several destinations and vistas. He discusses a range of relatable themes and ideas including love, growth and the personality of those things around us that we can't see or touch. He applies a rich use of imagery, analogies, aphorisms and other fine-coated literary devices to drive his message home. This book will help you enjoy the very art of poetry.

Downloaded by 10k+

THE LOST SOUL || Bolanle De Bowalé

And there he is,The lost soul;He is there again,Wandering the streets,Like a spooker on patrol.
He has left his familyFell in love with the streetsHis lighter, his comforterHe hasn't much to worry aboutExcept for the cigars he's been puffing.
Ọmọ Àdánù as he's usually calledHis eyes are raging redAnd smoke escaping from his mouthAnd his nostrilsAnd one could describe him as Ṣàngó.
No worries about the futureHis business is his 'Igbeaux'He pays no bills; no rentAs everywhere is his haunt,Like an Ọmọ onílẹ̀.He leads a pathetic life.
He isn't at fault,Nothing worked for him,He's a first-class graduate,Studied elect-elect in UnilagBut the Government had failed him.
He lost his jobBilling did not ceaseFelt like he let his family downFell into depressionSought refuge in drugsHe got addicted,He got trappedIn the snare of life
He is the lost soulHe couldn't find himself any longerThe system has failed him.The Government has failed.


Strapped to my back is a burdensome backpack;heavier than a million tons of metal.Its pains formed a storm,blurred my visual sense ~with painted pictures of failures and regrets,Crept, crawled into my mental mind.Roars of intimidation like a wild lioness hunting its prey,those sounds and images birth confusion.How I wish, those memories evade me.
Treated my scars with ointments of belief, hope, and optimism.Shed a farewell tears to this backpack,with the hope of getting off them,but still stuck to my back.Faces started looking alike,bringing memories of another face,Words seem heard before,places seem dwelled.How I wish, those memories evade me.
"Heaven," they said,"Helps those who help themselves".Why will I?Lose  focus on this path I set my feet on,this journey which has no second chance.How will I?be stagnated by a thing; gone with time,deprived me, the happiness of love, friendship, tranquility pregnant with success,all in the name of the PAST.How I wish, those m…


Ungrateful woman by AbushetIt's a few days remaining. He sits on a stump carefully placed at the entrance to his compound. His toe drawing unimaginable on the ground. Chin pillowed on his right palm pondering on whose door he'll knock to borrow.
Umar is a well-established businessman. Unlike previous years, his shop now is half-stocked. No money to order stocks as his business partner refuses to send him on credit. His major customers have resorted to patronizing the next shop that almost provides what they need. 
He can hear his wife, Yafati, conversing with her sister, Amira. "it can't be in my house" says Yafati. Sister, you've been married to Umar for fifteen years now. He never misses a year without sacrificing a ram sometimes two during the Layyah. Why worrying yourself if he misses these years? 
Would you keep your mouth shut? Yafati yelled. Nearly slaps her sister. Our neighbour slaughters a ram and a bull. Why doesn't he complain? 
I'm not his wi…


Dressed in a shroud---a black-robed skeleton;of a dried dusty bones,releasing smokes of fear into world,with his fleshless hand wielding a scythe.
These are what myth taught us,of this visible invisible creature---a soul, a psychopomp with different names:Yamaraja, Azraelyes! he's Malakul Mawt ( Angel of death).
This is the peak of my knowledgeof his existence, till I had a rendezvous with him:I met him on narrow bridge, in his grasp ---  eyes closed and fading breath,pulling out what I thought is mine forever.
The struggle lasted for a while, then, he held my hand and led me to his dark land,through some scaring sloppy hills,he released an ungodly laugh ---its echoes sent shivers unto the souls of the hills and valleys
He said with a scary voice,"I am whatever you call meI take form in many ways,many ways, I said:I am Cain;whom envy pushed to send his brother into the depth of mother earth,I am the sicknesses;which eat up your souls,

I am the truck;that ran over Innocent mortals …

NOTE TO MY FUTURE WIFE || Olayemi Oladipupo

I'm like mountain ever,The one you desire. 
I'm bright like desire,Like a rainbow, it inspires. 
My love for you I wouldn't misfireBut with passion it camphire. 
Like beauty attireYour love, I aspire.
Drug may expireMy love for you will refire. 
When your heart is a bonfireMy love; your haywire. 
Like star wildfireYour love I will newswire.  
When your heart is overtire I'm the strength you will require.  
When wiles of life hellfire My love; your ceasefire. 
Your downfall lips conspire,Your goodness, I will gunfire.
Olayemi is student and an upcoming poet. Outside the world of poetry he enjoyed hiking with his families and friends and loved playing and watching football. Below are some of his works.**Bound**Our voice 

DOOR TO YOUR HEART || Vincentthepoet

Knock knock knock!Answered by the silence,I knocked again, the door opened.It was a dark room full of suffering and pain.It scared me for a momentAs I was asking myself questions,How can such beauty bear so much painAnd how long has she been suffering?I entered the room half bodied.But still, I wasn't welcomed,It took me time to realize.That the pain and suffering were caused by others, like me.I got even more interested.So I thought of how to brighten her room of despair,And make it to a bright room of memories,Where love resides.MEET THE POET Vincent Mhlotshana is a South African poet also known as Vincent_the_poet. Check this out 


I bestow, far from sayings of good life or tales of lion's mane. I recall all the dusty memories life has forced me to keep. And amid the shelves, I keep these memories, are dried tears I cried alone in the nights of the dead and the times of witches. So don't judge me when I prefer silent cemeteries to Sandy beaches because it's poetry from within. I laugh in the wind, hoping that the pearly gates would somehow be nicer and maybe God would consider otherwise. Am for the proud wanderer, off to the limits considered the other part of the veils of life. And in this dusty memory, is where I hope to never cry, at least console myself with the dust, and if they get too much, I hope to choke in them. And it will read, "for the memorable son, he who never bestowed upon and by happiness" in the eulogy by the living
NAME:- Gibson KemboiGibson Kemboi is a poet and law student in University of Nairobi. He has wrote several unpublished poems and articles. He w…