Writuer

  A cloth worn, With a last breath it’s torn. The carcass A vessel made of clay and bones, The only robe the soul has worn. The carcas Baths with care, But a few days the dust reclaimed it share. The carcas When the soul takes a trip, The carcass left to drip. The carcass  No longer bleeds, Its purpose served, its final deeds. The carcass Once kissed by life’s flame, No voice, no name. The carcass Adorned in silk or rags, the same, Returns to dust, without acclaim. The carcass Not the end, but the shell released, While the soul journeys In search of peace. Patrick Ekong ©️

The sound of my phone vibrating on the wooden bedside table jolted me awake. Eyes heavy with sleep, I squinted at the screen to read a message from my friend, Albert. “Hi Pat. Check your DM…” were the first words on the notification. “It’s about your girl…” followed almost immediately as I picked up the phone. I clenched my jaw and let out a frustrated breath. “Hey bro, what’s up with your usual chitchat?” I texted back. “I saw your girlfriend today at Tropicana with a guy…” his next message came in almost instantly. “I’m not interested. Jane and I aren’t together anymore,” I replied. “What happened?” Albert probed, poking his nose in as usual. “I’m not in the mood for a lengthy explanation. Just know that Jane and I are no longer together,” I shot back. I dropped the phone angrily, glanced at the wall clock above me, and realized I was almost late for my reading class. My exams were only days away, but the days leading up to them had been hell—perhaps the most traumatic days of my lif...

June 12th, I received a call from a client for a pre-wedding shoot, an opportunity to capture the joy and anticipation of a couple's special day. Like in every other case, I had promised to deliver excellence to sell my craft. At about 3:45 pm, I hailed a cab to the iconic Four Stars by Sheraton, Ikot Ekpene, a majestic edifice that befits such an important moment in the life of would-be couples.  One thing I love about photography is that it gives one the opportunity to create memories while being part of it, firsthand. As I arrived, rain started to drizzle, casting a romantic spell over the surroundings, and this was a few minutes past the hour of 4 pm. I dialed my client, and a voice filled with excitement answered, "Reuben, we've been waiting for you, where are you?" "I'm at the hotel reception, where are you guys?" I queried. "Tell the receptionist you are heading to room 114, second floor, and please be fast about it; my fiancée is getting anx...

  The womb, a sanctuary, pure and deep , Where life begins to creep. The womb, a carrier of kings, A sofa for queens. The womb, a route to mortality, A bringer of our progeny. The womb, a haven, warm and secure, Where dreams and hopes evolves. The womb, a vessel, fragile and strong A passage to this life we belong.   The womb, the Lord's own, A gift beyond our own. The womb, a cradle, gentle and kind, Where humanity entwines. The womb, a sacred space, An incomparable place. Patrick Ekong ©

  Serpents of lust Never in love. Eat their words And you hang in the sword Their sarcastic grin,  A shrouded act of the mind. Deeds are staged Acts are faked. The face that beams at your glance, Bears the tongue that defiles your ranks.  Get caught in their feat of deceitful symphony And you inscribe the epitaph of your melancholy.  Humans, yes humans! The harbinger of the devil The trustee of his evil.  Patrick Ekong ©️

The tax master With a big mantra A collector of sweat dipped in bl00d A clothe of misery stained and clots.  He collects with no remorse Mining without a refund, His debtors' wept As the tax master sleeps.  They toil to death While he grin at their sweat Cartoonist - Mike Asukwo Patrick Ekong ©️

In the farm band , Mr Fox holds his title so dear. He will rather sacrifice the peaceful coexistence of the Pink Head Farm for a title ceremony in his honour. The farm infrastructures were decaying and even his closes allies were worn out but Mr Fox pays no heed but to his titles.  In the sunset 🌇  behind the farmhouse, he had assembled pigeons and hares to demand that they made him the lord of the farm even when he was so hated by all animals on the farm. Mr Chameleon, his long-time friend once recounted how Mr Fox swore never to let any other animal on the farm stead milk the cows even when such an act was to the development of the farmhouse. Years as an administrator of the farm, older animals on the farm had tales of how Mr Fox's numerous titles hold no importance to the farm as no animal has been tutored by Mr Fox to become an independent animal on the Pink Head farm but yet Mr Fox will wax his tail at every opportunity to milk the cows or count the eggs. To be continued...

  I walked to dad after my graduation ceremony. I couldn't let my joy of finishing High School consume my dream of becoming the youngest Aeronautic Engineer. This has always been my dream.  What really ignite my dream was the mystery behind the movement  of heavy metals in the air when I was young. I really wanted to unravel this mystery. It has always been my dream ever since my old man coloured my ever yearning idea of becoming an aeronautic engineer. He had told me that I could travel to any part of the world, meet with people of diverse races as an aeronautic engineer. "Dad! My graduation party is over and you promised me that if I should make good grades in my high school, you were going to secure admission into the university of my choice to study aeronautic engineering."  Dad... What next? I asked inquisitively. My dad, a kind hearted man who always wanted me to have a go at what ever that will make me happy, smiled and said,  "Son. You know I will always...

  The recital of Hades scared the earth. Its uncertainty froze the soul. Dark, dusty the path to this chanciness we bemoaned. Doomed, the wake of death, A mysteriously strange it felt. The noise of the numberless, In their countless Eerie, strange but gloomy. What an untold journey of a living mortal that detached the being from the grips of her soul. Hades walk, a long walk, and may we never walk till old age.

With a protruding sac, For procreation's sake. I am a mother. the sacred temple of life, A window to mortals' trip on earth. I am a mother. With a swollen sack of semen, pains gained in the ninth month. I am a mother. The laps that carry Kings A sofa for my offspring. I am a mother. Whose love never waned, Even when they go insane. I am a mother. The belly that bore our Lord The teat that fed our Christ. I am a mother. Whose raiment's edge you lean, To take your first shaky cruise like a lame. I am a mother. A heart that pounced at your cry, A sleepless night to dab the teary eyes. I am a mother. Whose happy ending reclined in the success of my progeny.

Solitude! I live on a latitude of life mysteries, ravaged in the magnitude of her misery. Solitude! Moments of echoes A reflection of our ethos. Solitude! A lodging of damnation, A reaction to souls' retribution. Solitude! I sat on a fence of uncertainty. Gazing at endless thoughts of infirmity Solitude! My soul gasps for air to survive the day. And my body lost her heirs to last till later days. Solitude! Each day, the battle of self-alienation, A war of self-configuration Solitude Life wears a grimaced look at her soil. As humans count the destitution of their toils Solitude I beseech thee life, take it kindly. for the earth is behooved of cruelty. And her offspring short of humanity Solitude! When the lines fall on a pleasant place My gratitude will forever be in place.

The devil's bride His grime cup of pride A city of lust That deviled the God. To feed the devilry lust. Offsprings of hypocrisy Adorned with sorcery. The devil's intentions, Sodom's seduction As her sins wag So, her children brag Whims of artless intent, Weighed a witless act of faintness. In this city, conscience is trapped in the web of insatiable wake. And their misfortunes annihilate their comforts. He, the devil dwells in them His abode, their heart, evil by default. He soars on their evil deeds. Like the owl hoot elegiac in the woods. Sodom, a city of Sin An Inn that rain turpitude

The story... The rain was drizzling when I parked my Toyota Camry across the other side of Railway Road, Port Harcourt. it was about 10 am, Monday morning. The morning rain which is a myth to bad omen showed no signs of stopping. My car was damaged on the windscreen from the incidents of last week. A blue striped t-shirt I wore was completely drained with the drizzling rain when I tried to get the broken car windscreen covered with nylon. With all the rumbling clouds and the drizzling rain, my mind was far off what was happening to me as I contemplated what the day has in store for me. As I crossed to the High Court premises, people with different cases were busy with their lawyers. "Mr. Alex, help me to help you" my lawyer probed further. "Did you commit this crime intentionally?" he asked as if we didn't have this conversation before in his initial consultation. "No, no my counsel. Who would want to take his wife's life just a year into the marriage?...

Her spec Is without a spare She multitasks With little or no one to ask Her source of strength A Pandora to many at length It must have taken the Creator His ego To achieve this specie so superior, A total warrior She's a Goddess That sprout forth kindness. Her meekness Is never her weakness. A Queen in my kingdom, A solace in my days of desolation and boredom. From the shrubs path she sojourned She draws strength To inspire Her kind to make an empire. She's the hope for her offspring Like a turban on the head of the Arab Prince Her sapience is of the Lord An icing to the nerds of this world She's the key to a flourished home, An ikon of her generations. She's a vessel, A vessel that bears the passage to the life of the mortals. Her attributes Speaks more of her aptitudes The same way she contributes. She's a woman, The WOmb carries Kings, Rulers, and even the Lords of these Kingdoms. She's the earth, In doubt? Ask the pot that bears generations in her belly. I...

  Get the cash  Cast the Dice  Roll it right  For Mr Right  Don't you forget  How they neglect You groaned for years in agony  While they flirt with your money like a symphony  They share the fat sums But leave us with crumbs  They want the vote  To later revolt  The time is #DUE To get your due What belongs to Caesar, Seize Am The cash is yours! But bail the cat Out of the bag A man to a vote  #2023elections #VoteWisely  ~ Patrick Ekong

A girl child 🧒  She was born curtailed  Even when she has the potential to excel She was shortchanged When she has all it takes to make a change. Her society confines  Yet she refines Her voice has been dim By those she can redeem  She works till late at night And she draws vigour within her might  She is durable  And she's perfectly able. She shoulders the earth Despite that her back aches. She multiplies Whatever she applies. She's given a semen But she breeds men She's given a  family  But she brings forth a community She faces a lot  She has lost a lot But she still offered a lot She's a unique being  That has made human beings. She's a girl child 🧒  She's a woman   She's a sister  And she's a mother. Happy International Day of the Girl Child! ~ Patrick Ekong ©

free flow of thoughts... I crept down in the HOLE,  Like a MOLE   Without a SOUL  I make it out in a WHOLE  I pen down the LINES  Like WAR merged in MINES  The pen bears my MIND  I walked down the LANE  As my thoughts flow INSANE   The ink CREATES SCENES. I live in the MOMENT  Separated from ARGUMENT  seizing my MOVEMENT  Life throw PUNCHES  But we build BRANCHES  To live in BUNCHES  Swimming the TIDE In all SIDES  Never to HIDE. I SMILE  For I have walked a MILE For the gold-MINES. ~ Patrick Ekong ©️

I woke up in the morning, on my habit of pressing the phone before I could say a short prayer, I turned on the data and a notification from my Phonix browser displayed the headlines "56 killed, 20 abducted as unknown gunmen invade Eko community."  Another reads " 25 years old man sleeps with the corpse of mom for wealth".  My mind dwelled on the first headline for a while, how terrible it must have been for anyone to woke up to such misfortune. I yawned, and check my wall clock, it is past 10 am. it is time I should have been in the class listening to my lecturer narrate the story of his life, how difficult it will be for anyone who hasn't bought his three pages manual to pass his course before he could even draw a marker on the board. His frustration could be understood. Frequent strike actions have made them become like angry birds. 😠  Truth is I don't know when ASUU was calling off the four months strike. From the sitting room, a distant voice on the rad...

Tough not moved by the toils. Her strength, like that of a lioness. The earth flourish, When she nourished. Super human not defined by their looks, The Lords Strength embedded in them. The progression of mankind, Only possible with this kind. Smitten by the sun, Drained by the rain, Her durability unwavering.  Stone cast on her feets  She walked with them beneath her feets.  Her eyes look weak  But sharp like the falcon's beak Sound mind, blend with compassion  To survive is her mission. Her bossom, solace of hope Like a Eagle's wing spread without a scope. She's a champion  The brain of success behind the mansion. Point to a home  And you point to her The second pillar  Whose back  The home rest. She's a woman 👩  __________________ Happy international women's day to all the responsible women out there. I join the rest of the world to celebrate the women for their roles in shaping our today's society.  ❤🧡💛🤎🖤💙💜   ~ Patric...

The story Walking down the street of Allen Avenue that cold evening, the rain was dripping. One could see reflections of lights from moving vehicles on the stable water on the tarred road. Everywhere was frigid . The time was about some minutes pass six in the evening. As I walked down the street, soaked by the heavy downpour that evening, it seems all  eyes stared just at me.  By the end of the street, taking a U-turn, one could see a three story building facing Saint Patrick Catholic Cathedral, the church I visited for confession whenever I couldn't make peace with myself. The building with the inscription " EMMANUEL'S COURT", was where I lived with Ron for two years since we got married.  Allen Avenue was like a semi business hub in the suburb of the city. One could see small businesses here and there.  I have  always lead a private life even when growing up. When I got married to Ron, I asked that we moved to the suburb of the city, away from busy life of th...