MY LAWFUL LOVE(a poem by Olaleye Samuel Abiodun E.A. )

Who shall I make my wife was the beat of sanity my heart was dancing to when she scantily catwalked by, with her skimpy, micro mini numbing bum short.

I could tell of her the sweetness of death in her eyes as she dazzlingly lure my emotions to pitfall.

She seduced my mind as I almost became her Samson, with my dreadlock to be shaved off.

She was the Delilah of time wastage.

But how many will I tell of this invisible lust?

The lust that lost me in the land of lost.

But on my journey to the lost-full catacomb of the lustfulcomb,

The Love-full which is lawful is what beckons on me.

How many will I tell of this love?

How many will love this love I love?

How best can I expressly express this feeling?

My lawful Love-full is not a fool

My heart is full of this love;

Give me a console to broadcast this iconic love that is not crazy but filled with beautiful craze.

This is an angelic love,

My Dulia, My SuPerWoMan

SuPerMan

Olaleye Samuel Abiodun E.A.

18/2/2016 2:53pm

LOVE; THE GREATEST GIFT by Sunsampaul Egwu

Only those who are courageous enough, only
those who are gamblers, who can risk their
very life and be possessed by some unknown
energy, are able to know what love is.
Love is the first step towards God — hence it
appears mad to those who are hung up in
their heads. And because people don’t
understand the whole mystery of love,
because they try to understand it through the
mind… It can be understood only through the
heart. Remember: all that is great is
available to the heart.
The heart is the door
to all great values of life, to all ultimate
values, and the head is only a useful
mechanism, a gadget — good in the
marketplace but utterly useless in a temple.
And love is a temple, it is not a marketplace.
If you drive love into the marketplace it is
reduced into ugly sexuality.
That’s what people have done: rather than
raising love to God, they have reduced love
into ugly, animalistic sexuality. And the
strange thing is, the same people — the
priests, the politicians, the puritans — the
same people who have reduced love into an
ugly phenomenon, are against sex, are
enemies of sex. And they are the people who
have destroyed a tremendously potential
power!
Love is a lotus hidden in the mud. The lotus
is born out of mud, but you don’t condemn
the lotus because it is born out of mud; you
don’t call the lotus muddy, you don’t call the
lotus dirty.
Love is born out of sex, and then
prayer is born out of love, and then God is
born out of prayer. Higher and higher and
higher one goes on soaring.
But the priests and the puritans have reduced
the whole phenomenon into sexuality. And
once love becomes sex it becomes ugly, one
starts feeling guilty about it. And it is
because of that guilt that this saying, this
proverb: First sight of love, last sight of
wisdom.
If you ask me, I will change it a
little bit. I will say: First sight of love, first
sight of wisdom.
But it depends how you look at it. If you look
at the potential of it, at the highest
possibility that it can reach, then love
becomes a ladder.
If you look only at the
mud and you are utterly blind to the future of
the mud, then certainly love becomes
something ugly and great antagonism arises
in you. But to be antagonistic to love is to be
antagonistic to God.
Once love is reduced to sexuality only, of
course then the first sight of love is the last
sight of wisdom. But it depends on you: why
reduce it to sexuality? Why not change the
baser metal into gold? Why not learn the
alchemy of love?
Love is the greatest gift of God. Learn the art
of it. Learn the song of it, the celebration of
it. It is an absolute need: just as the body
cannot survive without food, the soul cannot
survive without love. Love is the nourishment
of the soul, it is the beginning of all that is
great, it is the door of the divine.
One of the great problems of life is that one
believes that what he desires is good for the
mere reason that he desires it. Such thinking is a
fallacy and it is a broken rung on the ladder of
life that will not sustain or support anyone who
places his weight on it. Life is complex, and it is
often very hard to know the good from the evil,
because evil has a way of disguising itself as
good. We discover the deception and the truth of
the situation after we have undergone a bad
experience.
Hopefully, due to our lack of
discrimination we learned a valuable lesson. Yet,
it is amazing how so many can experience so
much and yet learn so little.
Everyone in life desires to be happy.
An exception
may be those who, deluded, believe they are
happy in their misery. True happiness is an
outgoing expression of love; a selfless giving
without expecting a given return. While love is
the true expression of one's self, it is not
something that is sloppy or mushy; it is a quality
of great strength and of great endurance.
The love of God for His human children is a love of
the highest quality and of inconceivable
endurance. Love is also all-encompassing: it is
gentleness, yet it is firmness; it is giving, yet
doing so wisely; it is helping, yet not meddling;
it is devotion, yet not fanaticism; it is adoration,
yet not being possessive.
Love is many things,
and in its highest expression it is all things.
As we evolve in consciousness we also grow in
love. Love becomes an outpouring of divine
qualities. Anyone wishing to use a barometer to
measure his degree of development has only to
gauge his own quality and quantity of love as his
barometer and he will know exactly where he is
on the scale of life. Many claiming to be highly
developed and highly spiritual still do many
unloving things to others and this shows exactly
where they really are in spirituality.
The infusion of the Being through our practice of
Transcendental Meditation is really the infusion
of love and the infusion into ourselves of our
divine qualities.
This is love. Love as an
expression of divinity does not have to be
declared by anyone, because it automatically
radiates from one. Now, each spoken word is an
expression of love and each act is an act of love.
So love is the true goal of life because love is
eternal. When all else has vanished, love alone
will remain in its resplendent glory. Before one
can ever hope to stand erect in the light or
become eternal or godlike, one must become a
living expression of his own highest quality, and
this is love and this is also God. Indeed love is the greatest gift.
©Copyright
‪#‎Sunsampaul‬ d Philosopher
09-02-16
01:09am

ASH WEDNESDAY(a poem by Sunsampaul Egwu)

Ash Wednesday,
A day when ash made its way on people's forehead,
Becoming an artist,
Creating sign of the cross with dignity,
Souls turning a leave of purity,
Pride galloped into humility,
Lies jumped into sincerity,
Cheat made way for integrity,
Hatred bow for love.

Ash Wednesday,
A day when the atmosphere becomes holy,
Pews filled up,
Churches now the abode of terrorists,
Sadists turn a new leave,
Bandits do away with their addict,
Everyone run to good habit,
So at the end they won't feel the heat,
Coming from hell on the last day.
Ash Wednesday,
A day when we flew from sin,
In the club we don't want to be seen,
Sinners turn saints,
Embracing holiness,
Studying the bible,
Observing quiet time,
Visiting the sick,
Giving arms to the poor,
Helping the needy,
Praying for the living and the dead.
Ash Wednesday,
A day that mark repentance,
When Lenten season is invited.
The of sound Instruments lost its way in mistiness,
No one feel the mood of loneliness,
Churches clustered with believers,
Hymns transformed into solemn mood,
While souls sing as they gather in hood.
Ash Wednesday,
A day when colour changed.
Green turns Violet,
Souls matching to stations of the cross,
As they are prepare to carry their cross.
The race is filled with silence,
Everyone afraid of being silenced,
No one want to plead less.
Ash Wednesday,
A day when meat is abstained,
Fasting obtained,
Salvation regained.
Prayers now priority,
Filling the atmosphere of our territories,
Incense speed up to heaven in serenity,
Candles weeping on our behalf without pity.
Ashe Wednesday,
A day when the voice of halleluya seized,
Glory and praise to you lord is chanted,
Souls emerged in solemn tune,
As if they are singing dirge to the moon.
A journey of forty days commenced,
A journey that will lead to the resurrection.
Resurrection of faith,
Resurrection of hope,
Resurrection of love.
Ash Wednesday,
A day when the readings changed.
Seven times he spoke,
Seven words came from him.
He passed through sorrows
That we may see tomorrow,
Even when the road is narrow.
Unto dust we come,
Unto dust we go.
The spirit of lent
Begins with this day
Ash Wednesday.
©Copyright
‪#‎Sunsampaul‬ d Philosopher
10-02-16
00:02am

LAWS OF POWER(a poem by Sunsampaul Egwu)

Laws of power
Strength of high heaven
Facing the sky and haven
Spitting out hot blessing like oven
Your powers are in a coven
So strong like a maven
I perspired due to their hot oven

Laws of power
Breakage of catastrophe
Without apostrophe
Defender of your dignity
Increment of your sincerity
So firm to withhold your sanity
Not to move into hyper insanity

Laws of power
Are blessings to their beneficiaries
They hurt no adversary
But make them meet nemesis
Even prophecies can't be more ecstasy than their blessings

Laws of power
Terminators of shackle
Deliverers of the enslaved
Fighters of the weak
Milk to the meek
Wink to the weak
that they may see no sink of freak

Laws of power
Steps to achievement
Ways of greatness
Procedures of mighty
Methods of the just
Language of Sunsampaul
Tongue of Egwu
Dialogue of Deltas
Flutes of Igbos
They know no discrimination

Laws of power
Guidance of success
Embroideries of the lost
Enchantments of the witches
Starvation of the wicked
Shattered diagnosis
Metamorphic biosphere
Political nomenclature
Poetic pen freak
Ghetto phrase of challenge
Are my laws of power

©Copyrights
#Sunsampaul d Philosopher
20/10/15
9:00pm

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?(a poem by Sunsampaul Egwu)

What would you do,
If you open your door
And find death standing attention in front.
Death just like a thief,
Comes to behead the chief.
Death came piercing with his sword,
Taking souls out of this world.
Like the wind, it gets to everywhere.
No one has the chance to run anywhere.

What would you do,
If you close your eyes
And find them unable to open.
Death came on a foggy night,
Strangled grandpa on cold blood.
The scene shocked us
And tears like flood
Rolled down our cheek.
He suffered from excruciating pains,
He pleaded, but death said 'it's not needed.'

What would you do,
If you were visited
By the salutation of death.
I taught you're meant for gaffers
Until you poisoned my beloved sister
In the pool of blood.
She breathed her last,
In shock I stammered,
Speechless and blameless I was,
She was an innocent girl of Four.
Then I realize you are not for gaffers alone.

What would you do,
If you open your dish to dine
And you saw the inscription 'death' on your piece of meat.
Death has no break light,
Not even a traffic jam,
He comes uninvited.
Death comes in blue, yellow and green light.
He comes with dread
Showing the sign of red light.
Then you'll wonder who is his next line.

What would you do,
If in a year, death galloped in your vicinity thrice
Will you fast or cry? Will you run or pray?
Will you use a spray?
Will you even joke and play?
Will you tell him to stay?
Will you plead and pay?
Will you have a word to say?
Death is a punctured killer,
He comes with punches to punch,
He punctured and tortured,
Daddy passed through his test and failed,
Death took him to a tour in haste.

What would you do,
If death decide to play a scrabble with you as game,
He came with an ugly smile again.
He smiled on dad's friend, my mentor with fame.
He took away my joy,
As if dad wasn't enough for him drain.
He drugged my mentor,
I'm in pains.
The shock pierced my heart,
I was downtrodden, pale and ill.

What would you do,
If death gives you a handshake.
Will you turn it down, and face his wrath?
Will you accept it, and trade his path?
Will you plead, and lie on his mat.
Will you run without looking back.
Death can suck your succulent breast.
Death dances to the rhythm of his own tune.
Death is a respecter of no man.
Death has bitten more than he can chew.

©Copyright
#Sunsampaul d Philosopher
08-02-16
00:03am

FULL OF STRENGHT by Sunsampaul Egwu

FULL OF STRENGTH- F.O.S
(Lifeexperience.com)
(Citadeloflife.blogspot.com)

To the ones whose creeks were stained,
Food were drained,
Dehydration swallowed their lungs,
Poverty telegraphing in their midst,
Care they didn't meet,
Cholera vomiting  grotesque dust of bad health on them.
Yet they dodge the punches of death,
To them I say F.O.S.

To those whose minds were raped,
By the boom boom sound of boko's alarm.
Their heart bleeds,
Splitting and tearing their bodies apart,
Paralyzed on hospital bed,
They were caressed by the cold hand of coma.
Yet death withdrew its from them.
To them I say F.O.S.

To my brothers, your brothers
My sisters, your sisters
Who catapulted themselves,
In the war front like Urial.
Aliens tormented them,
Cold raped their minds,
Fear kissed them,
But the sun smiled at them.
And death made way for them.
To them I say F.O.S.

To the ones who were visited by HIV,
AIDS came climbing with no aid.
This virus sang dirge to their health,
This virus they couldn't bribe with wealth,
Tested, the result blinks positive,
This virus has come like a thief,
But the lord breath on them,
And the result turns negative.
To them I say F.O.S.

To my mother, your mother,
My father, your father
Who eat the cramp in the damp,
Working tooth and nail, sleeping in the camp,
Prayed and sang.
Cold battered them,
Harmattan hammers them,
Yet they keep struggling to make sure we survive.
To them I say F.O.S.

To my brethren in the lord,
Who wine and dine in evangelism,
Megaphone now sound system,
Piercing the truth in our system.
They were tortured,
Brutality smashed their faces,
Cains created zebra crossings on their back.
Pathetic persecution travels in their marrow,
But they still see tomorrow.
To them I say F.O.S.

To the innocent ones,
Who were taken by force to prison,
No crime they committed and no reason.
Chains bounded them,
Sack clothes covered them.
Hot iron planted tattoos on their chest,
Starvation weep for them,
They were clustered with dirt,
Yet they didn't tasted death.
To them  I say F.O.S.

To those lasses in campus,
Threatened to be failed by lecturers,
Coz they refuse selling their bodies.
Books installed in their brains,
Brilliancy their gift,
Decency their habit,
Integrity their duty,
Torment from lecturers travelled in their vein,
Yet the still graduated with first class degree.
To them I say F.O.S.

To our brothers in campus
Threatened in full force by cultists,
Tormented to belong,
Yet they refuse to go along.
Their joy lost itself in mistiness,
They were deprived of happiness,
Campus become a dungeon for them,
Yet the stood on their ground, saying no to cultism.
To them I say F.O.S.

To  Africans and our stigma,
Our mark of enthusiasm lost,
Our ship turns cheap,
Leaders turns rulers.
We are now Judged by our complexion not character,
Our hospitals downtrodden,
Schools fallen,
Houses sank,
Famine seen,
Tears rolled down our cheek,
Yet we still live.
To us I say F.O.S.

NB: F.O.S in this poem means Full Of Strength

©Copyright
#Sunsampaul d Philosopher
06-02-16
5:30am

FULL OF STRENGTH- F.O.S(a poem by Sunsampaul Egwu)

Food were drained,
Dehydration swallowed their lungs,
Poverty telegraphing in their midst,
Care they didn't meet,
Cholera vomiting  grotesque dust of bad health on them.
Yet they dodge the punches of death,
To them I say F.O.S.

To those whose minds were raped,
By the boom boom sound of boko's alarm.
Their heart bleeds,
Splitting and tearing their bodies apart,
Paralyzed on hospital bed,
They were caressed by the cold hand of coma.
Yet death withdrew its from them.
To them I say F.O.S.

To my brothers, your brothers
My sisters, your sisters
Who catapulted themselves,
In the war front like Urial.
Aliens tormented them,
Cold raped their minds,
Fear kissed them,
But the sun smiled at them.
And death made way for them.
To them I say F.O.S.

To the ones who were visited by HIV,
AIDS came climbing with no aid.
This virus sang dirge to their health,
This virus they couldn't bribe with wealth,
Tested, the result blinks positive,
This virus has come like a thief,
But the lord breath on them,
And the result turns negative.
To them I say F.O.S.

To my mother, your mother,
My father, your father
Who eat the cramp in the damp,
Working tooth and nail, sleeping in the camp,
Prayed and sang.
Cold battered them,
Harmattan hammers them,
Yet they keep struggling to make sure we survive.
To them I say F.O.S.

To my brethren in the lord,
Who wine and dine in evangelism,
Megaphone now sound system,
Piercing the truth in our system.
They were tortured,
Brutality smashed their faces,
Cains created zebra crossings on their back.
Pathetic persecution travels in their marrow,
But they still see tomorrow.
To them I say F.O.S.

To the innocent ones,
Who were taken by force to prison,
No crime they committed and no reason.
Chains bounded them,
Sack clothes covered them.
Hot iron planted tattoos on their chest,
Starvation weep for them,
They were clustered with dirt,
Yet they didn't tasted death.
To them  I say F.O.S.

To those lasses in campus,
Threatened to be failed by lecturers,
Coz they refuse selling their bodies.
Books installed in their brains,
Brilliancy their gift,
Decency their habit,
Integrity their duty,
Torment from lecturers travelled in their vein,
Yet the still graduated with first class degree.
To them I say F.O.S.

To our brothers in campus
Threatened in full force by cultists,
Tormented to belong,
Yet they refuse to go along.
Their joy lost itself in mistiness,
They were deprived of happiness,
Campus become a dungeon for them,
Yet the stood on their ground, saying no to cultism.
To them I say F.O.S.

To  Africans and our stigma,
Our mark of enthusiasm lost,
Our ship turns cheap,
Leaders turns rulers.
We are now Judged by our complexion not character,
Our hospitals downtrodden,
Schools fallen,
Houses sank,
Famine seen,
Tears rolled down our cheek,
Yet we still live.
To us I say F.O.S.

NB: F.O.S in this poem means Full Of Strength

©Copyright
#Sunsampaul d Philosopher

To the ones whose creeks were stained,