Kosum Kreations

20/07/2025

Inside the Blue Colony

Inside the sapphire sea we press,
Each ant a note in ancestral drum,
Mapping tunnels like cartographers of hope,
Carrying tomorrow’s promise on our backs.

Through cerulean currents we carve our paths,
Unearthing stories buried beneath the soil,
Our mandibles chiseling echoes of resilience,
Forging corridors of shared resolve.

In cobalt dusk we converge as one,
A thousand hearts beating in Yoruba rhythm,
Building citadels of unity with every grain,
We are the architects of collective destiny.

19/07/2025

Story Time ⏰⏰⏰⏰⏰

N'Gumo - Miracle Land

Beneath every dawn and dusk lies N’Gumo, a realm woven from stardust and shadow just beyond human sight. Its villagers—born of cosmic chaos when the first supernova unraveled—tend glowing ngogo blooms that store the universe’s raw magica. Each dawn, they chant in an ancient tongue, coaxing threads of light into ebony baskets. Unseen currents of this power drift into our world, fueling silent healings and whispering innovations. Every miracle—from a self-healing wound to a flawlessly humming engine—owes its spark to N’Gumo’s hidden harvest, yet its star-borne guardians remain forever veiled by the limits of mortal vision.

15/07/2025

09/07/2025

- We Are the Applause 👏🏿🖤👏🏿🖤👏🏿🖤👏🏿🖤👏🏿

We are the hush before the story
and the drumline at its heart.
We gather like Sunday morning sunrays,
each skin a map of stars.

We rise with names born from thunder,
coiled in crowns of coir and grace—
ancestors humming through our laughter,
joy sown deep in sacred place.

Clap for the sister on the subway stage,
whose voice braids time and song.
Salute the brother with paint-stained hands,
who renders futures bold and strong.

We cheer the child with books for shields,
whose dreams break every mold.
And bless the elders who walked so far
so we could dance this gold.

Our glory is not borrowed light,
not begged, nor bent, nor trimmed.
It blooms in braids and basslines,
in every “nah” and hymn.

We celebrate, we elevate—
in kitchen, church, and street.
We pass the pride like cornbread warm,
with love too loud to eat.

So when the world forgets our fire,
tries to hush our sacred song—
we dance, we write, we rise again,
Black and brilliant, all along.

06/07/2025

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06/07/2025

06/07/2025

Story Time!!!!!! ⏰⏰⏰

🔥 “Gold Runs Hot”

Beneath the Simbwe Highlands, the Beneathkin dwarves carved tunnels not for wealth—but for truth. Grimy faces, gold-dusted beards, always grumbling, always digging. Peaceful, yes. Patient, never.

Gold was sacred. Not for spending. For listening.

One dawn, a boy-miner, Utu, struck a golden stone that screamed. Not out loud—but in their bones.

Elders stopped mid-grumble. N’Jaro wept into his beard.
“The Earth... speaks,” he whispered.

The cavern shook.

From below: a pulse. Not of magma. Of something dreaming.

They called it Nyoka’s Maw.

And deeper they went—into the secrets beneath the secrets. Not chasing treasure... chasing prophecy.

02/07/2025

Story Time!

🌿 The Chantborn

In the depths of the Ekondo forest, beneath the rotting husk of Uwambé—the sacred tree of whispers—a circle of Matrons chanted through seven nights. When the final rhythm rose like smoke, the roots stirred.

From the black earth, crawling through tangled roots slick with ash, emerged a male child—N'Gwaku. His body shimmered with clay and memory, his eyes flickered like stormfire. Not born, but summoned.

They say he hums the chants that made him, and the forest always listens.