Rant 003

(An open letter to an incoming writer)

Dear incoming writer....
Do you need a stay at the edge
of the world? Then glue your eyes
to these lines:

Have your self manufactured
When calmness sits on your neck
Compose your joints with ease
Pave way for immortality in you.
When you consume more of ink
Churn out wise letters
Spew more of wisdom's fume
Leave no remnant of procrastination.
When you command your nous
Set the table of two;
Quill to paddle an ocean of ink
And the sheet; to spray aqueous milk

Mend your scattered mind
Never succumb till the end
When your views seems obscured
Adjust your lens on the focus
Journey your mind to re-read
And find your self in the lead
When many are busy galloping
You'll be be there; with your ink dropping.
When you use your pen so wisely
You'll be much higher than Kingsley.

Bring your self to the fore
See less of your domicile's
Incapable bones, which they
Haven't seen gold in distress
But are seeing white stars in the sky
And their view is blur. Very blur
Of mirage that's afar.

The salinity of bitterness
Won't add sauce to one's
Limitless intimidation of 
Self procrastination over
The progress of harvesting
The grains of wisdom from
The house of loaded inscriptions
Of mythical hidden words
Under the buffet of ages
Rock, unless it fades within
The wink of striking thunderstorm.

Revolution of evolution
In the cycle of mixed beings
Chases you out of space
To check for future balance.
Some need your shoulder
To leap on, to acquire all
But when you're shaky and
Feeble of white pebbles
You'll be replaced, in their
Mind, with black rotten seeds.

Instead of chasing the flying bird
I just noticed your affairs
In a shrine, stealing owo eyo;
Rites for god of thunder,
planing the sudden wealth
When you're tired of chasing future.

Men with unhidden atrocities
Are like grain of sand;
But who'll stop their cannibalism,
When you already gave them free world?
It is when you become their plague;
their rots pipes out of chamber;
Remind them of their hanging moon
Before dawn, let them taste sweetness of sun
And when twilight comes, 
Have them covered in dark sack,
in earth's hell, show them devil's portrait

Haha! See the man of no life
Playing the flute of nothingness.
When you gave your soul a rope
Hanging under mahogany tree
Who'll rescue you from drowning in the mud,
When the rock is your stepping stone?
I swear, with your sour sweat
You'll lead the queue of fools.

I'll dance my self to your arm
When with your hand you reasoned; 
and with your eyes you walked.
But that is your true way to hell
Had it been you hijack this imposter.
See; a day old crawl,
is better than foolish old, running.
That stagnant water
will stain the blood of fresh mind
Else, pack your crept readiness
in a backyard,
Walk your mind to the room of letters and 
Teach him how to break the box of texts, on papers...

With that ink-filled rod....

I am Abdulrouf Wasiu 
(The Writing Writer)


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