Skip to main content

FRIED FISH.


So I got to Nigeria last year. 
And realized I was rather in Europe's England, yeah!
I wasn't informed was my reply in multiple shocks,
As I was asked to present my 50 pounds as the party still rocks.
The practice of paying for the food you will eat at a party,
Was being implemented in my fellow African country.
That's how I noticed we still can't fry our own fish.
Even those who can, only blend it in a foreign dish.

Just as prophesy is in ratio to prediction without spirituality,
So is insurance in similitude to assurance in the pension industry. 
Forgive my poetic use of pun, 
As you follow my information as well as have fun.

Every culture, they say is dynamic,
Even when indigenous way of life is dwindling.
They say Africans are systematic,
While actually the individuals are not psychologically progressing.
The fact is that, if you can't fry your tilapia,
Just smoke it with an art of euphoria.

In simple terms, 
In preparing a fish meal, it should not be too dry.
Better still, grill if you can't fry.
Let's collimate black sense and fair mentality.
Let the African not deny the need for foreign technology,
But a blend of indigenous and imported will pave a runway for posterity.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

UnWILLING to Wail

To them all who fail to fall, The frail who don’t wail, Who smile to sad e-mails, Just because they’re males. I know a man who loves One that eats with gloves Starving just to feed his own Yes, everyone at home he owes. I know a strong man! Not for his muscles and biceps But for always saying “I can” Without knowing the precepts. Everyone looks up to him But when he looks up Even the lights onto him dim And doors begin to shut. I know this boy now old; Doing just as he was told “Men don’t cry so be bold” He swallowed his pains And bound all emotions chains. He must in sadness give out bliss? In darkness must he illuminate In drought he was the waterfall  When the rains came, he was last to drink. He sleeps at dawn and awakens same Goes insane to make his family sane He must be frugal and yet extravagant  In all, he dares not say I can’t.  No body cares he gets the courage. Yet if death defeats him in marriage, They awake early in the morning  Not for lack of sleep du...

YOUR own PEN

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.

DREAMSCAPE

An experience of a walking life; Or thoughts of the day in motion at night, Flowing peacefully in spirit like a kite. Awaiting an Estimated Time of Arrival, In your heart’s own built terminal. You woke up from the thunderous snore, Just to realize you were in a slumber. But you vividly remember; The realities you did encounter, And how beautiful it was that you saw. So you shared your story in the morning, While you were still yawning. Yes you shared; With people of like-mindedness. And boom! you are a hit; A one time wander, Now a lifetime wonder, With whom everyone wants to sit, But your dreams, don’t let them plunder. You are now a champion, So go ahead my companion. Go ahead with that plan; Store as many as you can, If it can’t be frozen, just get it canned.