Financial literacy

The world got lost in not understanding

And the makings of it;

The handling and mending of money.

Knowledge of this medium is important:

It is really the crux of our lives.

Yes we are not supposed to bow to money,

But we do use it;

It is indeed our integral part.

It is of education that he/she

Of a thin purse can build a tower

Taller than that of the one with

A thicker and proud purse.

The greatest literacy to deal with money

Is to never impress.

Strip off any form of pride.

Don’t compete with anyone else.

The greatest wisdom is to be blind.

Put into the trolley what you came for.

Lock your sound captors away from the bell

And all the so-called promotions.

Strangle your impulses.

If you get into credit-it be for assets:

Assets generate passive income:

And lastly, loans are not for partying.

Conversation

 When you roll through the streets:

When all the sounds heard by the

World distant does not reach

One and one; or one by one;

Soul talk:

Consumed by soul’s ears too.

Walks and talks of nakedness:

Stripping off all for knowledge.

A chat with life and about life:

A hand holding the other:

A hand pull done,

Not in rejection:

Taken to a well of gestures;

Fetching for more expression:

Her little pokes on one ‘shoulders.

Oh! Relieving indeed.

Their strides are in unison:

Calm and reverent to their existence.

Each and every touch is emotive.

Fuel to a hunk of love.

There is time for expression.

Tongues can roll at a distance.

That isn’t seen-passion.

Oh the heart’s passion.

The last kisses

The pores of the canvas chose to perch:

And the fauna and the flora were

Given no option but to parch.

The sweet melons evanesced.

Everything lost sense.

Time breathes like pretence.

The shoulders of the farmers

Are losing boldness.

A goodbye to a lover

Brings back the last kiss:

Kisses of happy souls-sweet.

Sweet in absence gives no ‘thank you’

Vile streams of all times.

Everything withers with the last kiss.

Oh! How it pierces so fiercely.

But it all goes.

Time is just around the corner.

Nowadays’ time-everything is misplaced.

Sombre songs: dirges are about to play.

Ground graves soon to leave wombs:

Stench paralysing the sense of smell.

All is just nigh:

Blight to all of creation.

Everything is vanishing.

The only poems

Dear god, thank you.

I bow for the poems that saw

The rising of the sun;

Poems that behaved like breaking petals:

Definitions of birth.

Poems that saw mirth of days:

Poems that were painted with the rainbow.

Thanks for the poems that

Struck the skulls and broke off:

The poems that crushed the throats

Because they could no longer

Take threats coupled with pretence.

Thanks for the breaking of dawn:

The sun- the womb that carries new ink;

Irksome are closed poems.

We bow for every pen tip that

Kissed between the lines with passion.

We bow for every motion and mark:

Tanks brimming with meaning.

Yanks of positive affirmations.

Oh! Soul constructions.

Oh! Solomons of pages.

Oh! Breakers of cages.

We bow to the poems that left wombs.