Mojisola...

Do you know

that wealth flows in your veins,

that your feet bring life to dead plains?

For you are blessed by the divine breath of Èlédà.

Mojisola... do you know

that even blind men can see your “Ọlá”?

That the sun is eager to give light to your skin,

for your sweat brings life to dead seedlings,

and your tears...

so powerful, a drop can build a garden.

Mojisola... do you know

that your smile makes lightning blush,

and that the sea dances to your voice?

That the lions take pride in your royalty,

and even the birds sing of your beauty?

Mojisola... “Jẹ́ kí n rí Ọlá.”

Give life to my barren heart,

that I may dance like the sea,

that I may blush like lightning...

Mojisola...

Life flows where you stand.

Mojisola...

Breath of Èlédà.

Amorette

My beloved Amorette,

If “beauty” was a human,

perhaps she would be jealous...

For you exist to be ethereal

You exist to make “beauty” an understatement.

My beloved Amorette,

Even the mirror longs to reflect you,

that he might brag to another,

“I saw a beauty that makes mirrors long for a face.”

My beloved Amorette,

For you…

The sun and moon constantly wage a war.

The sun wants to be day forever,

that it might not long for you in night.

And the moon wants to be night forever,

that it might not long for you in day.

Mon Amour... my love

Let me love you,

that I might catch a glimpse of the sun’s obsession.

Let me hold you,

that I might catch a glimpse of the moon’s devotion.

Let me in,

that I may brag like the mirror

and sing of your ethereal nature to the beautiful.

Mon Amour,

My beloved Amorette.

Aishaa… if I was to make a comet wish,

I would want every detail of your existence

delicately crafted into my heart…

so much that when it beats,

it whispers “Aishaa” into my ears

and echoes “Aishaa” into my thoughts.

Aishaa… let me adore sunset in your gaze

and the warmth of heaven in your breath.

Your existence alone births Aurora.

Your radiance alone claims the sky,

leaving the rainbow jealous.

Aishaa… even the flowers rush to bloom,

that they may take a peek at you.

They want to brag to the garden,

“I saw the one who blooms before the flowers.”

Aishaa…

you make me think of night in day,

that I may dream of you in night.

Perhaps winter knows summer in her warmth

Or the ocean yearns for waves in her voice

The wind grew jealous and told fire

The one I desire left fire breathless

Oxygen grew jealous and told the plants

But the plants carried her fragrance…

her feet full of life, she gave them life

The one I desire sang

and nature sighed and whispered…

“Her voice exists beyond the Natural”

Her skin… delicately crafted

Earth flashed with memories of Eden

Her bones, delicately grafted

I could feel my missing rib

Sigh… Time came

and moved her far away

Sigh… Patience came

and moved me far away

Sigh… Love came

and told me to wait

“Perfection” an embodiment of beauty

she speaks….and even the Angels fall silent..

for they long to listen…to a voice…so ethereal

they call it a wonder in heaven…

Perfection…do you know ?

That the sun envies you

For when you shine…her light seems like a shadow

Perfection…do you know ?

that the moon envies you

For your radiance…descends from the heavens

Right from the depths of the most high

Perfection…do you know ?

that earth envies you

For when you sing…

Deserts bloom into Eden…

Perfection…do you know ?

ENOCH OYEKAN

I have always been different.

My mother used to tell me how I never cried even when I came out of her womb and how I mercilessly kicked her womb from the inside.

She said it felt like I was trying to take every breath of life away from her

I am hollow, I am empty, the only moments I feel genuine joy is when I take a human life.

I feel genuine joy when they try to struggle out of my cold hands.

The sudden tension and jolt of helplessness their little protest brings to me fills the depth of my soul with genuine joy, their eyes, yes their eyes, you can literally see the question,

The pain, the struggle and most times when I look at my beautiful victims, they ask me a simple question “why?”

should I be sorry?

But I feel no genuine reason to take a life.

I lack the ability to feel any other emotions. Apart from the joy the taking of a human life brings to me.

The only time I get to feel emotions is the moment the scent of their blood hits my nose and that’s only when I get to feel like I’m human

So am i really a monster? Am I that despicable?

I am only trying to live the way i understand? Then why do humans judge me when I’m only trying to be human why? I

Is it logically right to judge a man or perhaps a boy who only feels by the need to take a life? Hello diary this is my first day of sharing my acts of humanity with you, how about I tell you about my first kill? Was it a human ? Was it a child ? Or perhaps was it my mum?

Hi guys I’m the author of this story however this is a preview, I would like to know your opinion on this, would you like to read the following ones I release? Please I need a genuine comment, I need people who are genuinely interested in the series I will be releasing

Love yall

And when I choose to love,

I don’t want to fall in love.

Why should my emotions tell me who to love?

What a tranquil feeling it is… to choose.

Love… so beautiful… it feels like warm jade.

I don’t want the love that would make me want to die for her.

I want one that would make me unable to imagine a world for her without me in it.

My existence should carry so much meaning

that my absence would be unbearable.

A love that would make me want to live,

to strive to live,

for without me, she would be heartbroken.

The sound of her broken heart would call my name

from the deepest part of earth,

and even from there,

I would remember the road home.

“If a writer loves you,You can never die”

For you will continue to breath through his ink

While you live in his shelves

Love so beautiful….

therapists  call it obsession

Poets call it devotion

Through ink and pen…

Every detail in your existence…

Carefully written in white sheet…

…let me be your poet

Let a therapist be worried

and Let poets praise me

Let me engrave you in my heart

So much that I can paint you in the dark

Noen

Perhaps it seemed like a nightmare, but Cathy knew she could feel the cold breath chilling the depths of her soul and the sad gaze welling up the depths of agony within her. But what could she do?

She opened her eyes slowly, without panic, without fear. She knew her friend had come to visit her—an older version of herself who had died in the future and come back to warn her.

But who could she tell?

She was often called the girl who cried ghost. Not even her parents believed her.

But then, one night, Cathy could feel the cold grip trying to choke out the last breath of life from her lungs. And when she saw the ghost…

She saw another ghost who looked like her—an older version of herself.

It wailed,

“You shouldn't have grown up. You shouldn't have grown up.”

I would love to continue the story, but I would also love feedbacks from you guys 🥹❤️🙏🏼