SAY CHEESE

A snack of whey and milk mixture

Popularly heard nowadays with a pose

Cherished mostly by those

Who fancy that thing called picture

Gently distanced from a pinhole camera

Benignly bright bristles beneath

With gums so dark and neat

And a few more flesh underneath

Is the home of a smiling teeth

Kept daily and oiled with Olive

Blessed with love and a life to live

Say Cheese, let thy heart at peace

Brush your hair and stand at ease.

Whenever there's photograph to appease,

Turn around, let your worries veer

If possible grab a glass of beer.

Say cheese if you wish

Roll your tongue like satellite dish

For no matter your beauty

Pixels always make you pretty

Consider the end of the matter,

They say, than the beginning.

Sometimes disagreed with laughter

Yet believers till the end never stop smiling.

WHEN I GROW UP

Now I don’t know what to think, but some day it will all be in ink. I look without seeing, am I even a human being. To me, everything exists without meaning. My language is a cry, but I only calm myself with a smile. Today I take milk, but tomorrow I will break bones. Now am wrapped in silk, but soon I will wear clothes. Hmm! They leave me in pampers, am now among toddlers. Both the young and old handle me. Love and admiration are all I can see. Sometimes how hurtful it can be, especially when bathed by the geriatric. I have no option than to accept their plea. In fact a little smile does the trick. I am now a boy but frankly, am coy. I can’t even cook but I can eat yolk. Where is all the tenderness, where is all the care? How come all this harshness, why all these snare? My ideas are not significant, as tiny as an ant. All my vocals create fun, commonly ignored with laughter. I hate this pan; maybe, I should sound louder. But my cry is an unnoticed plea When shall I be free, I wish I ...

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.

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SAY CHEESE

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WHEN I GROW UP

YOUR own PEN