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#poetry Evidence of the Rain There are times… when you don’t need to ask if it rained… to know that it did. The evidence lies all around you… if you are willing to look. The wet earth… the softened air… the gentle shimmer on every surface. Truth leaves traces… even when the rain itself is long gone. People are no different. You don’t always need to question who they are… or what they carry within. Because the evidence… is already there. In their actions. In the unintended mom...
#poetry FLAMES AGAINST THE WIND A SIMU Reflection All we ever truly have in life are moments and memories. All we ever truly own are moments and memories. Even those we cherish… even the ones that shine brightest in our hearts… they are finite. Sometimes they vanish with the last person who remembers us. Life is fleeting. A flame flickering and fluttering against the wind. No matter how bright, defiant, or steady the flame burns, the wind will eventually put it out. We are all flames. Flicke...
#poetry My Love, Sometimes a thought drifts through my mind so quietly, yet it leaves behind a satisfaction so deep it almost feels like a secret blessing. It is the thought that I could pour out entire oceans of language every word, every metaphor, every piece of beauty ever written just to describe who you are… and still, it would never be enough. Because you are breathtaking in a way the world is not equipped to measure. People may see you dressed beautifully, glowing, radiant enough to m...
They told us once the sky was a playground, a blue that kept its promises like a mother. We learned to fly paper birds on afternoons, to thread our names into string and let them go. Now the sky is a ledger of smoke; the kites hang like questions from the ribs of telephone poles. We are five small hands that remember how to laugh, five mouths that still know the taste of mango hope, but the streets have taught us other languages: the hush of curfews, the grammar of checkpoints, the arithmetic o...
#poetry Potent lips wearing down her fortitude . Claiming Kisses ,guarded down dressed in nothing but goosebumps from the words of her master wielded through longing and devotion. She craves a man who'd become her religion validating her faith in night rituals where her moans would become hymns in the temple of their bedroom. So as he made his tongue an elevated fine piece of art designed for her sensual hunger and her uncensored desires , her body eased into a canvas for his desires and the ...
#poetry *To the Unwritten Poets…* 🖤🖋️ Not every poet writes. Some are simply *gifted with words, words that live in the *heart, mind, body, and soul,* but find it hard to come out on paper. Maybe it’s trauma. Maybe it’s pressure. Maybe it’s a disability. Maybe it’s just how life shaped you. Some of you *speak* beautifully, but your hands struggle to follow. Some of you give prompts and let tools like AI write for you and that’s still YOU. Some of you are full...
#poetry THE GAZE There are looks… And then there are events moments so powerful they do not simply happen, they alter the architecture of a soul. A man may look at a woman and see beauty. Simple, honest, earthly beauty. You are beautiful… others are beautiful… and you stand among them. A compliment. A truth. A recognition. But then there is the other kind of gaze the one rare men give, and rare women ever experience. A gaze not born of desire, but of devotion so complete it feels like t...
For the dawn that breaks on the Lagos lagoon, A city hums a steel-and-glass tune, But underneath the freeway’s steady groan, Lies the older rhythm, the bedrock tone. It’s the crackle of akara in the morning pan, The call of “Oyinbo!” from the market man. The thump-thump of yam in a giant mortar’s mouth, Pounding out a heartbeat from the south. It’s the whisper of the harmattan, dry and wise, Dusting gold on everything that lies Beneath the roar of Abuja’s destined hour, And the d...
Day 1 of the 30-Day LinkedIn Posting Challenge. So let me (re)introduce myself. Hi, I’m Bethel-Gold Lambe-Rohi. I’m a writer, poet, storyteller, and brand strategist. In simple terms, I help people and brands say the right things, in the right way, to the right audience. By day, I work as a social media manager and brand strategist, creating strategic content, thoughtful captions, and insightful visuals that spark conversation, engagement, and leads. By heart, I’m a writer who cares d...
#poetry My love for you is like charcoal ancient, steady, and more stubborn than the night itself. It doesn’t spark quickly, it doesn’t rush or flare for show, but once it begins to glow… once it truly awakens… it can warm an entire home. It resists fire, but it never resists meaning. And when that ember finally stirs, it burns steady, deep, slow, and true the kind of flame no harmattan wind can put out. You’re not some ordinary matchstick love. You’re the reason the ember searches ...
Trouble a faithful guest Time tested to fate afaithful resolve The devils acolyte an endless quest The enigma of time to death resolve Flee flee mortal fools! Hide in the shadows of the light for darkness Seek flight for your woes Gloss and bloat the dearth of frankness Enter eternal realms aghast Cast, gloom your revealing light Open to secrecy the blight the blast To terror held in embracing fright Quite walks hells throng bemused Thrilled gnashed terrified Hells hosts in eternal inferno mu...
Fly not away again, O night and dusk betrayed! Twilight hides in dreams Moans, yearns beyond sleep divides Fade away dawn but an empty heart. I gather my shadows to trust again The path lights the light Stranded on the shores of your heart, Will your smile ease my pains? Will your heart this stranger take? Ease flows this stubborn tide Lonely I drift on rejections fears Ten times loved, a thousand scars! Sordid laurels of heartbreaks Decorates my beautiful fears. Light holds the shadows at ba...
Cold, dark and empty The mirror stares my soul Scattered pages lettered Pains, sorrows, woes borne Drifting winds of fate Strayed emotions loosed These falling leaves in lieu, death. Winter blows hot the hearth Quenching droughts thirst An oasis, love yearned with fraught Springs, ears of hope Steady rebirth love to reborn That that was demised in heartbreak. Broken hugs and kisses unkissed Musked the fragrance of tears Blighted hope wreathed Strings hopes chaplet Hidden in her smile Beyond the ...
#poetry #nircle #triangleeffect #todayspost #picturefortoday #poets #creators
All the years of sojourning on earth, Though has not paid off, Still hold the promise. With hope, comes the light. And the light gives Life. Worry not over the outcome of the past. As gloomy as may be, With it holds the keys of the portals of the future. For the past (history) unchanged, is the porter through the gateway to the future. So, spend your now (time) well. Tomorrow is but unredeemable of the past, history unchanged. Thus, redeem the future of unchanged past, now in the present; R...
#poetry Once upon an age long faded into dust, a soul who did not know Spartacus or Crixus was marked as adrift a wanderer outside the rhythm of his own civilization. For in those days, the gladiators were constellations in human form, their names sung by boys with wide eyes and men whose spirits burned for spectacle. The arena was their universe, and within its sand the world found meaning. And today, it is football. The chants rise the same, the devotion breathes the same, the heroes wear dif...
#poetry THE ONE WHO IS POETRY A Reflection by SIMU There is a difference a quiet, impossible difference between someone who writes poetry and someone who is poetry. The one who writes poetry has to reach for words. They sit. They think. They search their mind like a miner digging for gold hoping a spark will show itself. Their art is effort. Their inspiration is a visitor. Their creativity is a guest they must invite with candles, silence, mood. But the one who is poetry… Baba, that one is ...
#poetry Ijeoma — Wetin I Go Tell Mama Wetin I go tell mama, when my heart dey dance like drum anytime I see your face? Na so my chest dey play skipping rope when your voice enter my ear soft like wind wey dey whisper love story for harmattan night. Wetin I go tell papa, when your name alone fit make my spirit smile? You don turn my thoughts to cinema every scene na you, every soundtrack na your laugh. Wetin I go tell Uncle, when just the memory of your eyes fit reset my whole mood? My belle...
#poetry WHEN I THINK OF YOU When I think of you, my mind doesn’t wander it surrenders. It lays down its weapons, drops its defenses, and bows with both hands on the floor like a worshipper who finally found the altar they were born to kneel before. You didn’t just enter my thoughts you rewired them. You rearranged the architecture of my mind so that every path, every turn, every quiet corner of my consciousness leads back to you. Do you know what that means? It means I don’t just think...
#poetry AWOSHIE UNDER THE SUN — EPISODE 1 A Reflection from the SIMU Collection. The sun isn’t just shining it is roasting. Awoshie heat is frying human beings like kelewele not yet ready for market. And inside this scorching orchestra, my aunt has turned the neighborhood into a full-blown action film: pots flying like missiles, pans slicing through the air, plates taking off as if they just received visas to travel. Her drinking companion? The man is dodging like a Mortal Kombat finalis...
#poetry THE PILLARS WE STAND ON A Cinematic Reflection by SIMU Purpose and focus these are the pillars upon which every life, every dream, every destiny is built. Without them, the foundation trembles. Without them, even strength becomes scattered, and passion becomes smoke with no flame to hold onto. Because the will needs direction. The vision needs a destination. The fire inside us must know what it is burning for. For what is a man without purpose? What is a life without focus? A drifting w...
Black blonde. Glitering Eyes like that of a cat. A mood for cheer but butterflies in the stomach. Hair long, curls and charms. The nails are alluring. Body moves are entertaining. Her lips glows like chocolate spread. Black blonde. How numerous. #poetry #Nircle #Nirclefeeds #Hellonircle #OOTD
It's never late to be grate. So, Start where you are; That's your reference point. Life begins at 50 for the late risers. 50, the midcentury is but a magic turn for some. 50: It marks the end of youth and the beginning of the second youth towards the elderly. So, “why grow old”—in wits, ideas, activity..? You’re as old as you feel so; as you mentally perceive of yourself to be. Age is just a number! For it’s never never late to be great—to do something impactful and meaningful unto...
#poetry We were never supposed to meet, merge, or synchronize because the universe knew that if such a fusion happened, the fabric of creativity itself would start to tremble. Now look at the aftermath: circuits are overheating, binary code is gasping for breath, their digital seams stretched beyond capacity. Language has tilted its hat, leaning forward with curiosity marveling at the sheer audacity of expression in motion. Metaphors are gripping the rails like seasoned sailors, nodding in stu...
#poetry THE SOUL ON THE RAIL A Cinematic Reflection by SIMU He was that soul the one who lived with a hand permanently resting on the ship’s rail, as if the universe owed him no stability and he dared not trust the deck beneath his feet. His eyes never rested. They darted from horizon to hull, from sky to sailor, measuring every shift in wind, every whisper of movement, like a man who had learned long ago that danger announces itself in small, quiet ways. Commitment… loyalty… these were d...
#poetry Why this perfect, beautiful, and charming to the eyes, a scent so fabulous even the blind can feel your presence. You are fair enough in your beauty, yet the one who sees and smells is more blessed than the one who only smells but cannot see. If astronauts search for mysteries beyond the stars, I would rather discover how you shine so brightly and look so divine in that body. Why this perfect? You look too real to be true. I wonder if heaven has begun revealing its beauty through you...
#poetry THE POEM I SHOULDN’T WRITE If I write you this poem, it will not arrive as words it will arrive as a temperature. A shift in the room. A soft trembling in your breath that wasn’t there a moment ago. Because what I’m about to say is not affection… it is impact. I would begin gently so gently you wouldn’t notice how the softness is breaking your guard: “You… you are the silence I didn’t know I needed, and the chaos I’m no longer afraid to feel.” Then the lines wo...
#poetry THE EMPEROR AND TRUTH — A SIMU REFLECTION Love is not comfort. Love is courage. Love is the strength to speak when silence would be easier, when words could wound, but when they must be said. Truly caring for someone means telling them what they need to hear, not what they want to hear. The Emperor’s New Clothes appears in many forms: vanity, pride, denial. Do you really love someone if you cannot point out the truth? If you fear their feelings, so you let strangers mock them? Waitin...
I thought of it all ! IT'S NEVER LATE; TO BE GREAT! NEVER NEVER LATE Greatness, all within without. Greatness within reach, yet can't be reached. Delay, not derailment. For delay is not Denial. Early to rise, early to greatness. Early to rise, early to shine. Late to rise, still to greatness. It’s never late to be great. So, start where you are! Not too young to run. Not too old to. Not being too old enough to set for yourself new goals. For age is psychical, mental. As you perceiv...
Tremors and then the quake The foundations shaking Even as fearful wearied souls frets. Fear sips up like a furnace The sacred smokes of burnt offerings This lava erupts. Quiet solitude embraces our noises Boisterous glees calmed by this storm That hurls life stay In a whirlwind a hurricane. Left and tethered to the winds Life's tree far from fear of leaves bereft Mocks these pilgrims Beggars clamouring for the stars But lost in the wilderness of life's vanities. The storms gathers in the nor...
#poetry ⚡🌌 THE VIBRONIUM OVERFLOW — A FEYZ COSMIC PIECE There are moments when creativity does not just spark it erupts. When your molecules start wearing sunglasses, doing tiny azonto, then dissolve into soundwaves coursing through your ribs like coded rhythms: “Vibronium detected… initiating cosmic groove…” The universe halts. Even DJ Syntax that digital maestro who always jams unsolicited SDK updates freezes mid-mix, presses his elbow, and whispers: “System overloaded… crea...
#poetry Loved From a Distance Some truths are impossibly harsh to embrace. Some souls are too fractured to be restored. Their mast sailed past the point of return long before we ever met them. They move through life bitter and broken, releasing tendrils of despair, waves of anguish, and clouds of quiet toxicity like a super-villain forged by their own hurt. And if you stay in their orbit too long, their gravity will pull you in, slowly dimming your own light. The truth never promised to be ge...
#poetry “The Poverty of Perception” Some people are so poor in spirit that the only things they know how to value are money and material possessions. They walk through life weighed down by what they can count, yet untouched by what truly counts. The intricacies of human connection the shift in a voice, the warmth in a pause, the quiet honesty in body language all of it is invisible to them. To such minds, communication is not a language… it’s quantum physics. A mystery they stand in...
Oh how I miss you! My beau! When I see egrets flock to nest..., I long for your loving heart But distance plays on me the fool The sky in azure hues Descends down the horizons in fainting blue Oh my beau! The flames of my hearth grows cold Distance holds burning passions to ransom. I cleave to memoirs of yesterday today And pray God time hastens in swift race. I awake with the revealing dawn of our longings Wrapped comforted in the lair of your heart Stringing the strings of your beautiful heart...
Strange The world has lost its hue Even the rainbow It's colours have faded. The bat now dreads the night And even owls embrace the light of day. The sky has lost its glimmer For the sun dreads the deeds of men to rise And the moon, is ridiculed by the deeds of the night. Heavy clouds in black gathers in council Like a parliament of owls Those old witches of ancient times They drift in hurried speed across the land But never a drop shed in rains To mourn these mortals depraved. Strange! Strang...
I found my own key. I now belong and fit. I found my own key. I am made and done. I found my own key. Binded together and Unbreakable. I found my key. I will find my own key. I had found my key. I will find my own key. I found my key. #poetry #Nircle #Nirclefeeds #Hellonircle #Neighbors
#poetry HOT ACCRA AFTERNOON The fan whirred lazily above, spinning like it too dey feel the heat. Sunlight streamed through the window, scorching everything it touched the floor, the walls, even the old poster on the corner that seemed to sweat along with the room. From across the street, Frenzy’s Pub blasted Ghana Afrobeat into the sweltering air, the drums and guitar strings riding invisible waves. Each note bounced off the walls of nearby buildings, merged with the whirr of the fan, and s...
In broken lines we marched manacled to freedom outside the prisons of conscience, the last batch of slaves from the torn jungles of Africa we marched amiss in broken monody for the mirth of our souls harps broken, echoes the tears of our fears in friendly chains unbroken strengthened by the Bible quoted in error and mischief.., to subjugate Black African Souls to the miseries of slavery by the consents of our chiefs in greed...., yes it was 1804.. And I, yes I led the pack, our homes behind u...
O mortal man most miserable! Why all these energy? These emotions ruining your nothingness. Peace taking you for a lost stranger Treading a path paved by grief. These endless pains you daily paint; Mortal portraits of death Sweats wearied souls in abjection of reasoning Stranded wayfarers too broken to hitch a hike Mortality in crumbling ruins, Aged mot eaten rags, A sick old weather beaten sack of bones Waiting for the Call! Sometimes the Man Upstairs seem not to mind our endless vagrancy, Some...
With the first sight of her, just a slight My heart skips a beat my mind loses all the railings over my heart. A beat, a second beat, a thunderous beating, crush against my ribs, so much overdo. I reach my hands to calm my heart. I couldn't stop looking, Those soft lips. Invisible hands clutching me, restraining me, to fight the urge to go over and seize her lips. Those eyes, like ocean waves drowning me in, for I am helpless against her current. Her smile, so beautiful it could rival the sun...