Many ask, ‘what is there to live for?’
But really, is there something worth living for?
We are on a quest here on earth
But inevitably, we’ll all end up in death;
So why seek vanity to satisfy our flesh?
For at the peril of the soul, pain is unleashed
And sometimes we grope in darkness to find a way
But only in Light can we see The Way
Which brings me back to my wonder
Is there something worth living for?
For I reckon if we take the lens off us,
Only then can we have a clear focus
Maybe we should hold only The Truth
For freedom lies in that route
It’s no bother that our lives should reflect our faiths
But I seek mine to show The Way, Life and Truth
There is a Life worth living for indeed
Then when we close our eyes and finally sleep
We will know that we lived lives
For What we believed in and others
That is a LIFE WORTH LIVING FOR….
© Chukwudi Isaac
holding onto hope when it is far gone,
memories of a song with no melody,
forgotten chords but YET, it remains just a song.
A song of hope where love wins,
yet I am still supposed to be your strings,
and say yes, we will always win
as long as we choose to love,
but love is not enough.
I cannot be your anchor
I cannot be the one you hold onto
when all you do is lie to yourself,
pretending as if those shadows that are turning into demons are not you.
justifying each and every mistake
reflecting it back at me
when all I ever tried to do is move
move beyond all of that and progress.
Warm sun brings you forth
Up! Up, from the earth
Shrouded in beauty
Is all my eyes see;
Pure white covers you
Like snow or as wool
Yes! You are pristine,
Pretty White Jasmine
Say, you’re so tender
Hmm, little wonder
Cupid wanted you;
Amongst his choice few
For your sweet fragrance
Takes me into trance
And I dream of love
Of olives and it’s grove;
Of rhythm and blues
As I sit and muse
Sweet smelling Jasmine
With fragrance lasting
Some ask what you mean
‘Gift from God’, you mean!
I love your aura
Dear Persian flower
© Chukwudi Isaac
I remembered when it was just us
When you and I painted pictures
You did the painting, and I the seeing
Seeing we both had each other in mind
Every stroke of the pen was new
Stories were told; them I barely knew
You smeared smiles that was familiar
Those I can and can’t remember
You made me smell the gentle breeze
And sail with you on ocean breeze
I could taste the grapes and cherries
And sing along the song that merries
Sometimes you made me cry
And ask why? O why?
Other times you kept me on suspense
Wondering when it will all make sense
Sometimes I marked you
So I could run back to you
For being with you made me stand out
And be the leader of the crowd
I hope others love you
As much as I do
For as I look at you on my shelf
With loving admiration and breath
Dear book, let others see you
The way I do…
© Chukwudi Isaac
Tears don’t fall unless you let them,
Words don’t break if you are guarded
Walls don’t shake unless you have cracks within them
But the light can restore, guide and heal
Like a seed, thoughts take control of us,
Consuming us of every inch of greatness, belief, faith
But they won’t take our dignity
Like seeds, we choose what to water, what to neglect,
But that is far from easy when we detect pain, the insecurity that stems so far down within us, that we are blinded to the point it is a part of us.
Like a seed, we can choose where we want to grow,
Where we want to be seen, far above the soil,
Far above what we really are.
But everything around us doesn’t make us.
It is what lies inside of us
What hides so deep into our hearts, our soul that nothing can take that away,
That glimpse of hope, love, passion and light we hold so tightly because we are just like that,
Seed who is fighting through its environment to become what HE/SHE wants to become and sees
But that the problem, what do we see?
are we our own limitations?
Or are we just, seeds.
Frustrated and annoyed,
Uncomfortable feelings that fill me while waiting,
For what is nothing but a hi, or just to know you are alive,
Words and kind gestures are alien to me, when it wasn’t that long when I was swimming in love, affectionate and loving to all that knew me.
Me. Frustrated and upset
As stupid as it is, nothing seems to make sense.
Am I right to feel this way? Or am I just impatient?
Am I just wishing for something that never comes or just hoping that you would prove me right?
Right there. Buddle into a day or so…
But why does it feel like every gesture, every romantic thing you do fails and falls apart without anything to show for it?
And apparently, all of this was to show that you love me.
Then is your love as faded as your ideas and hopes?
Is your love depended on my mood and the days I am the happiest and I feel like a queen? Is it?
As much as hope is what I cling to, doubt creeps in.
Unsure whether or not that day will come. That day where I am shown how special, how amazing I am to you beyond words, beyond touch.
Just for that day. Just one day…
But all I do day after day is waiting for you. Wait for your arrival, prepare, rehearse, practise. For you. Fighting my emotions and holding back to sadness and wondering, is this really my worth?
Frustrated and annoyed.
Beyond just those words, they wrap around me and I feel myself getting grumpy and annoyed to a point your I love you doesn’t move me.
I mean, it’s nice but all I have is a thank you. But where are you? Thank you, but what am I to you? Thank you but WHY does your love depend on things that are the opposite of you?
They all fade away, just like most gifts from you.
words are heart to describe a friend,
a kind heart? a smile that lifts hurt? what is a friend?
one that listens and understand,
one that believes in himself and stands
above all, the struggles that it may bring
beneath it all, a soul so beautiful, with its outstretched wings
attracting all that is good, that is pure, that is kind
mixed in and formed to create a soul, a mind
full of creativity, words don’t do it justice,
standing beside a woman of Grace, her smile, like his fortress.
A year older you are my friend,
And as these years increase, may your joy never end.
Happy birthday 🤗
Gloomy a bit boring,
Things to do, things to write
Beneath the covers,
Beneath all that bothers
To decrease the creativity
Or a spark of reality
Swoops in and burst in all its sanity
That’s the urge I feel when I write.