CarL's Ink Flame

A visionary's vision, A vision born cannot be unborn but can be burned in the consistent shut lids of the visionary who fails to awaken from the birthing room - and saddles to the stillness of eternal fate. A vision born cannot be unborn if the visionary lids at full glare, shining brightly to the smirks of sunlight and binges at moon tides. A vision born cannot be unborn! A visionary's vision, - that thin shining light of whispers in gonged prospecting mental chaos burning like due birthing kicks of a babe in its mother's spherical structure. A visionary's vision - that still birth awaiting the joyous pronunciations of life today than tomorrow. Birth that vision! © CarL I.

In sweetness fades of fire-ice romance, we live to die and die to live... eventually living to live and not to die if tests assigned we flew in colours We breathe today - again for tomorrow - Yet next click, a bucket to kick Ours not to inhale for we exhaled our last last second ago. ♡ ...for Onyinye and August  ♡           ♡  (09-09-2022)  ♡ © CarL I.

¹ The bottoms of still oceans digest broken punctured ships like the turbulent sea swallows unbroken whole ships.           .....smiling faces are't any different from visible straight frowning faces! ² The silence of the clouds today doesn't eliminate roars of earthquaking raindrops tomorrow.           .....a setting today, for a rise tomorrow! ³ Ground wrecking rains of today doesn't phase off the appearance of twinkling stars in the darkest nights of tomorrow!           .....a setting today, for a rise tomorrow! ⁴ The daily setting sun falls in sadness...but however rises with towering smiles upon all humanity.            .....a setting today, for a rise tomorrow! ⁵ In a garden of dead plants hitting dead soils,        - a decay            - a rebirth                 - a renew...

(Picture source: https://www.rappler.com/world/africa/united-nations-says-millions-facing-severe-hunger-horn-africa/) Like iya-Basira's sweet jollof rice sold at the junction, in a meal of hunger votes are bought, for piecemeals while peace mills away from reality under flesh covers of waring stomachs. Enslaved by hunger - a political weapon to buy the masses a eucharist not of unleavened bread salvaging tomorrow but a today's bittersweet wine with unsatisfactory digest! The quest for power awakens cruel buyers - hard to blame, for they understand the hunger game... ...a /thumbs-up/ local exchange for a coin, or perhaps two: for the belly too! (Picture source: https://unu.edu/publications/articles/taking-hunger-out-of-equation.html) "I'll take my chances and eat what I see now" you dare proclaim... ...in an Alleluia chorus you exalt "...give us this day our daily bread" for tomorrow shall fend. Amen! ••• ••• ••• Oh then my song to...

I hope not to weep in times of sorrow... ...but my tears betray the boldness of my eyes. I am a man - a Black man and I embrace pain I am a man - a Black man and I embrace sorrow. I am a man - a Black man endurance and strength sums up my natural definition So, when family fails, when economic tumour befalls my pocket, stealth in grave silence - when my broken woman tears strikes... I hope not to weep! I hope not to weep in times of sorrows but my tears betray my Black man's boldness. From birth, I'm beaten but taught not to cry for that feminises my masculinity. So my liquid (tears) freezes - becoming too solid, it bags my eye but soon evaporates for I must remain a man - a Black man. *** A goal getter I am a Black man I strive, I struggle, I hustle to break limits. I am moulded by the arms of the porter Himself  Forged and smelt like metals beaten to shape to shine brightly  The Black man is gold and not cheaply sold!  The Black man is bold and not old to be...

My passion      like flames 🔥  lit up       ABLAZE 🔥 as your      hands  dances through     curls       of    my within... Your every    touch - gentle... crippling       my soul - frozen,          & I melting     with burning 🔥      desires for more       of         you!      ♡ 🕊 ♡     © CarL I.

The dead they say can't live, ironical but true, they yet live, a "life in after". Their realities away from reality and consciousness in dead unconsciousness.  There goes the story of an unruly nation, dead yet alive in optical illusion, like a mirage to onlookers with brightness slapping the crests of ground bringing oblivious smirks to eyes and unturned grins to lips and cheeks.  A nation shortsighted in course - in deciet to forward movement, a Royal Rumble to the stomach, - thus a regurgitated flow for undigested plans. A Captain on reverse set motion pressuring his sailing - in backward thrusts, points forward to his crew - while steadily on a counter-clockwise right propelling.  A nation left domiciled in a life after while in consciousness of breath. *** Hello dear Captain, we'd rather anchor drop, deep dive, cling to immobile bottom rocks, take a swim in defined consistent spots, charge the bloody eyeshots of sharks, than negatively sail.  *** Th...