FERT

They called it a consultation - a word soft and mild, But I came as a queen who would not be beguiled. He asked for my story, the root and the vine, But I fed him the branches, the truth kept in line. I wanted a wizard, a mind that could glean The unspoken confession , the whole, unseen scene. I stood in his temple but prayed to my pride , And left half my sickness to fester inside. He worked with the fragments I deigned to provide, While the monster, in silence, grew certain and wide. The medicine failed —the true target was missed, A cure for the lie I had wrapped in my fist. Now, listen… I’m free from the flesh and its cost, But the freedom was won by the life that I lost. The question you ask: “Do they fall sick?” Yes, they do - But the sickness that masters is the one you outrun true. So I write from the far side of grace, A memoir of pride from this desolate place. Be bold with your healer , be naked, be plain. A half-told affliction is a self-inflicted chain. For the all-knowi...

Remember that time you swore your love was infinite, Recounted the rogues' gallery of exes before me, And rejoiced that you'd finally found your harbour, your port in the storm? You blessed the day our paths collided, Marvelled that the universe could create someone so uniquely me, And crowned me with the title of "irreplaceable." For a while, I wore that crown like a king. Your conviction was my religion. Genotype was just a science experiment we were sure to pass. Religion? A mere technicality. Tribal lines were for maps, not for us. The elders, with their weary counsel? They just didn't  get  it. We had a love so powerful, it could file taxes and fix a leaky faucet. That was our belief. Sure, we had our battles, but love was always the white flag. One look into your eyes was all the spark I needed to ignite a whole new war. We thought we had it all figured out. Then the meteor - not just a lightning strike - hit. And we shattered. We didn't make it down th...

Let me tell you of a man, Mr. Viktor by the name, A fifty-three-year-old marvel (though he'll give a different claim). He'll shave off years or add them on depending on the fight, "You're all just children!" he'll declare, especially late at night. His eyes don't see the sunshine, but his mouth is always bright, Spilling tales with the confidence of a solar flair at night. He  said  he was a soldier,  claimed  he was a cop, A helicopter repairman - though he's never seen the top. He  alleged  he made his millions, before his voice could break, He  alleged  he sent his siblings abroad for goodness sake! Every niece and every nephew, flown out to pastures green, Though they all live down the street - but please, don't interrupt the scene! He speaks of Prague and Paris like a man who's been and seen, A global sage who's never left, if you know what I mean. He  fabricated  a Russian love , a romance hot and spicy, A daughter now of thirty-...

Growing up was a mess, so I made a vow to my unborn children: You will have the best of me. The love my parents couldn't give, I promised to pour out in floods. I clawed through the ache of a childhood starved of warmth, clinging to the hope that I could build something better. Academics - checked. Job - secured. Husband - found. But I married a man still bleeding from his own unhealed wounds . Two broken people don’t make a whole. They just bleed on each other. So even before I could hold my pristine child, the furnace of marital strife had already scorched the softness in me. I became the version of my mother I swore I’d never be. And my father? His ghost lives in me too; passive aggression leaking out like stench from an open sewer. I thought I was free. I thought I’d left lies behind. But my own faults stacked up like cargo, and suddenly, I was always on the defensive. Then came the comet's flash ; that bright, burning promise of the mother I’d be. But it died before it ev...

  I was dressed for success. Power suit? Check. Confident smile? Practiced in the mirror. Most importantly, in my pocket, a single, flawless PEN . Not just any pen. This was my symbol of authority. This was the instrument of my destiny. I signed the documents with a flourish, the nib gliding across the paper like a figure skater on fresh ice. The man across the desk, a CEO with a handshake like a vice, smiled. "Congratulations," he boomed. "You'll be credited by end of day." End of day! Me! The first billionaire in my family! The one who would finally buy my mother that house with the wrap-around porch ! The one who would pull up to family gatherings in a car that cost more than some people's homes ! All of it, every brick and every horsepower, was a reality I had just sealed with my PEN! I leaned back, picturing the headline: " Local Pen Enthusiast Becomes Overnight Success ." The feeling was so sweet, so real… BZZZZZZZZT. My elbow slipped off th...

The earth does not apologize for shaking. The rain does not ask permission before it falls. We invented guilt. Painted it on our ribs like a second skeleton, Then wondered why we couldn't stand up straight. Child of stardust and supernovas — You were not born broken. You were not assembled from other people's disappointments. There is no manual. There is no correct way to bloom . When your own mind becomes a courtroom, When the verdict has been rehearsed before you even speak; Ask yourself: Who taught you this script? Whose voice is this, wearing your mother's tone, your lover's disappointment, your own childhood fear? The dung beetle does not despise its work. The flower does not hide its roots. What you call waste, the tree calls wedding feast . What you call falling, the universe calls arrival. So let them keep their rules. Let them keep their sharp-edged words, Their tidy boxes, Their hunger for your shrinking. You are not theirs to diminish. You are the witness an...

 First, a window of loneliness, cracked wide  An invitation to the moon’s dark side . Then, the brief collision, heat without light, A fevered, fleeting coitus in the night. And from that spark, a madness: “Marry me,” We whispered to a face we did not see. Marriage is not friendship. It’s a lens. Character , in time, breaks its defense. The stranger stood revealed, a troubled shore, A wedlock of the mismatched, wanting more. Oh, wisdom learned in bitter, slow unveil: Better to be barren than to sail A child into a storm where hands withdraw, Where love is lawless, and the past is raw. What call is there to summon from the dust A life to cradle in manipulative trust ? Why bring a soul into this modern air; A world of circuits, algorithms, glare -  To bear the ancient burdens, poorly buried? The ghosts you carry, heavy and unwaried? The future’s challenge is a different breed, An AI age with its own thorny seed. Why strap an old world’s weight to their new back? Why give ...

The Love Before The Altar .  This is for the kiss that thought it was a covenant, For hands that linked as one, yet were called disparate. For the garden we planted in the ignorant snow, Where our puppy love , bright and shameless, could grow. It grew past the teasing, past the first foolish fight, Past the secret sweet nothings whispered into the night. It thought it was a tree, deep-rooted, vast, and true,  Until they brought the lightning no sapling can construe. The Junction . Here, the maps of bloodline and the charts of caste were spread. Here, the cold slide of a lab report sealed all that was unsaid. Here, “maturity” meant letting go, not holding on. Here, pure love was a language the pragmatic world had shunned. We stood there, you and I, with futures in our eyes, Watching our fierce, fragile thing meet its swift demise. Not by our will, but by the stern, unyielding hands Of genotype ’s grim verdict, and social class ’s demands. You left to build a life upon a stabl...

Two worlds collide: the realm of moral absolutes and the domain of worldly pragmatism. We're taught to uphold the sacred tenets of righteousness, yet the whispers of innovation and progress beckon from the shadows of societal values. There are the '12 o'clock' purists, bred to prioritize virtue above all else. Their unwavering commitment to morality often renders them aloof, isolated from the pulsating rhythm of the world. On the opposite end, the '6:30' free spirits dance to the beat of unbridled social liberty, morality cast aside like a forgotten relic. But what of those who dwell at the zenith of balance, the '6 o'clock' harmonizers? They walk the tightrope between righteousness and pragmatism, intuitively sensing when to yield to virtue and when to indulge in life's sweet temptations. In this delicate plain, balance is key. The art of knowing when to be good and when to be bad – not for the sake of rebellion, but for the beauty of harmony. F...

 Each dawn, I rise, driven by the fire within, Taught that idle hands reap only barren wind. I strive for excellence, my heart's relentless quest, Yet, like a pin dropped in the ocean's vast unrest. Results fade, like ripples on the waves above, "Not my day," I whisper, solace in self-love. My stomach growls, hunger's persistent call, My heart echoes, yearning for success's thrall. But today, a glimmer, rays of light ascend, My toil, soon crowned with triumph's sweet end. I'm alive! We rise, we fall, yet still we stand, Now, I ascend, my spirit, unbroken hand. For every drought, a harvest awaits, Every night, a dawn that breaks. There are decades where nothing happens, And there are weeks where decades happen. © FERT, 2024

"May the weights of yesterday's wounds slowly lift, As healing's gentle touch begins to shift, Childhood scars, toxic shadows cast, Generational pain, forever past. May inner peace, like sunrise, rise, And calm the storms that troubled minds, With each new dawn, may heart and soul, Find strength to heal, and make whole. Happy World Mental Health Day, May our journeys toward healing find their way." FERT, 2024 

Don't die, Change form. Amidst the rubble, Where once stood strong foundations, Now lie the remnants of what was. Shackles bind tight, The weight of struggles heavy, And the fire's fierce rampage, Threatens to consume all. Yet, in this crucible of chaos, I live. From the depths of darkness, The beauty of light begins to emerge. A delicate glow, Growing brighter, Illuminating the path ahead. I rise, Stronger with each passing moment, As resilient as the break of day, And as unwavering as the constant sunshine. The trials do not define my end, But mark the beginning of my transformation. Through the storms and the strife, Through the trials that test my spirit, I find my strength, I find my truth. I don't merely survive, I transcend. I evolve. In every ending, a new beginning unfolds. In every fall, the seeds of rise are sown. I am not defeated, I am reborn, Renewed, Reformed, And ever forward, I evolve. © FERT, 2024

  Sunday Sermon Topic: Misplaced Priority Text: "And the people of the Niger area arose, filled with indignation, and they said, 'we will take our cancel culture to a whole new level!'" - Unsolomon 3:14 Golden Text: "Leave them, they are bunch of learners!" - Revelations 19:60 Further Text: "How will it be that you'll not learn to focus on that which is needed, but focus on the irrelevance? Verily I say unto you, even a bitch will not copulate unless she's on heat." - Wazobia 19:13 Body: My dear brethren, gather 'round and listen to a tale of woe and misplaced priorities! The sense of care is fast dying, rife competition, and hatred is the order of the day nowadays. In our beloved land, we put importance on what should be optional, while we abandon the necessary for fate to take control. Take, for example, the saga of Multichoice, the mighty owner of DSTV and GOTV. They dared to increase their subscription fees, and lo and behold, th...