Flippy Empire

06/06/2025

"The Sugar War"

Two ants upon a marble tile,
Each bearing teeth, devoid of guile—
A crystal speck, a sugar gem,
Lay sweetly at the heart of them.

They charged with might that shame their size,
No fear behind their grain-sized eyes.
Mandibles clashed, no space to yield,
A war declared upon a field.

Not for love, nor pride, nor fame—
But for a crumb too small to name.
Yet in that flake, a fate was spun:
A meal, a prize, a life hard-won.

They wrestled, rolled, and bit and braced,
While time itself refused to haste.
Each tried to claim that sugared shard
As though it bore a royal guard.

Oh what is man but such as these,
Fighting wars with silent pleas?
For power, bread, or sovereign place,
We battle on with hardened face.

We claw for thrones, we thirst for gold,
We grasp at glories never hold.
The sugar shifts beneath our feet—
And still we fight, and still compete.

One ant retreats, the other stands,
The sugar clutched in trembling hands.
But even victors taste defeat—
For death may come with bitter sweet.

So learn from ants upon the stone:
We all must fight, yet not alone.
Survival, power, fleeting fame—
Are dust and sugar, much the same.

04/06/2025

Title: Horn and Hope on the Highway

In Lagos heat where tempers flare,
The roads become a public prayer—
Of brake lights red and engines stalled,
Of drivers lost and voices called.

The Sallah moon begins to rise,
With goats in trucks and hungry eyes.
A mother clutches gifts of spice,
While youths chant joy and bargain price.

From Mile 2 down to Ojuelegba,
Gridlock sings its loud estranza.
Okadas weave with reckless grace,
Danfos honk to steal their place.

A child peers through the tinted pane,
Dreams of jollof, soft and plain.
The radio hums a praise-filled song,
While traffic groans, eternal, long.

A ram tied loosely on a roof,
Kicks in protest—tired, aloof.
It knows not feasts, nor sacred days,
Just fumes and sun and smoky haze.

Beggars knock on tinted glass,
Mosques call faithful as they pass.
Still the wheels refuse to turn,
Still the tempers start to burn.

Yet through the chaos, hearts are light—
For Eid is near, the stars are bright.
And every horn, though sharp with stress,
Is part of joy in tangled mess.

So let the tires kiss the tar,
In inching peace, both near and far.
For Sallah comes not just with speed,
But with the pause to love—and feed.

03/06/2025

At Oko Erin, sun ablaze and bright,
A slender emerald, a venomous light,
Slithered through grasses, a silent design,
Towards a high crag, where eagles entwine.
A nest of rough twigs, on a jutting stone face,
Held a treasure of ivory, in that desolate space.
An eagle's white promise, of soaring and might,
Dreaming of skies, in the warm, golden light.
The green snake, a ribbon of jungle's deep hue,
With eyes like dark beads, and intent ever true,
Sensed the warmth of the shell, the potential within,
A morsel of power, a feast to begin.
He scaled the harsh rock, with scales sleek and strong,
Each silent movement, where he didn't belong.
The wind whispered warnings, the sun beat down hard,
But hunger propelled him, ignoring the guard.
He reached the smooth curve, the delicate sphere,
A contrast to textures he knew, held so dear.
His forked tongue flickered, a taste of new life,
Ignoring the danger, the imminent strife.
But high in the heavens, a shadow took form,
A cry sharp and piercing, a gathering storm.
The mother eagle, with feathers of brown,
Descended like thunder, from skies looking down.
Her gaze, like hot embers, saw the trespasser near,
The threat to her offspring, ignited her fear.
No gentle protector, but fury unleashed,
For the fragile white treasure, her love had increased.
The green snake recoiled, his ambition undone,
Faced with a power that shadowed the sun.
His moment of daring, turned quickly to dread,
As talons like iron, descended ahead.
No victor this time, for the serpent so sly,
His greed met its match, in the fierce mother's eye.
The egg remained safe, on its rocky high bed,
While the green snake retreated, with terror instead.

02/06/2025

🌧️ Whispers of the Rainy Season 🌧️

In Lagos, where the Atlantic sighs,
June awakens under overcast skies.
Clouds gather in a solemn parade,
Veiling the sun in a muted shade.

The morning air is thick and warm,
Embracing the city in a humid swarm.
Raindrops dance on rooftops and streets,
A rhythmic pulse as the heartbeat repeats.

Thunder murmurs in the distant haze,
Echoing tales of tropical days.
Puddles mirror the gray above,
Reflecting the city's resilient love.

Umbrellas bloom like flowers in spring,
Sheltering souls from the sky's offering.
Children splash with laughter and glee,
Finding joy where the rain runs free.

Yet, beyond the city's vibrant core,
Floodwaters rise and spirits soar.
In Mokwa's lands, the rivers swell,
A tragic story the heavens tell.

But still, the earth drinks deep the rain,
Nourishing roots through joy and pain.
For in each drop, life's promise lies,
Under Nigeria's ever-changing skies.

25/05/2025

"Rise, Young Flame"

In shadows cast by markets torn,
Where dreams lie crushed and hope is worn,
You walk through wreckage not your own—
A storm you did not reap or sow.

They built their towers, chased their gold,
And left you stories barely told.
Now pressure grips your tender mind,
In silent wars you're forced to find.

But listen—still, your pulse beats strong,
A rhythm forged to right the wrong.
Your soul is not for sale or chain;
You're more than just the weight of pain.

The world may call you “lost” or “late,”
But they don’t know your quiet fate—
To shape the dawn with wiser hands,
To sow with care, rebuild the lands.

Rise up, young flame, and burn through gloom,
Your light was born to pierce the doom.
Not every garden blooms with ease,
But still, it learns to find the breeze.

So let the ashes feed your fire,
Let failure sculpt your raw desire.
For in your mind, whole futures rest—
A generation, battle-dressed.

You are not weak for feeling pain,
But strength is standing up again.
And though the skies may still be grey,
You're here. You're breathing. Lead the way.

25/05/2025

22/05/2025

“Porcelain Nights”

She walks through streets the moonlight stains,
In heels that echo silent pains,
A lady draped in fragile grace,
Wearing hunger on her face.

Her youth still clings in soft perfume,
But eyes reflect a darker room—
Where dreams once bloomed in fields of light,
Now traded nightly, out of sight.

Not love, but need, calls her by name,
The coldest kind of hunger game.
Each glance, a price. Each touch, a lie.
Each breath, a whispered lullaby.

She smiles like glass—fine, sharp, and clear,
But cracks each time they pull her near.
She’s twenty-some, with soul turned old,
Her heart is warm, her bed is cold.

And though the world may judge or sigh,
They never ask the reasons why.
They see the dress, the lips, the skin—
Not storms that rage beneath her chin.

But still she stands, a silent flame,
Unbowed by guilt, untouched by shame.
Not broken, just too bold to plead—
A woman selling nights to feed.

18/05/2025

"Quiet Rooms"

In the hush between the traffic sounds,
When laughter fades and no one's near,
He walks the halls of echoing walls,
A heart that speaks, but none to hear.

At twenty-something, still so young,
But time can weigh in silent ways;
No hand to hold when nights feel long,
No voice to fill the hollow days.

He scrolls through smiles not meant for him,
Through pictures framed in couple’s light,
And wonders if he missed the turn
To where the arms stay through the night.

It's not despair, but quiet ache—
Like rain that taps, but does not pour,
A wish half-formed, a breath half-held,
A knock that waits at no one’s door.

And yet, beneath that yearning sky,
He plants small hopes in unseen ground—
That love may come, not loud but kind,
And grow where none had once been found.

16/08/2024

Death shall come
With open arms i shall embrace it
Peace is silence, dark and calm
The pain of this world is too hard to swallow
Death is peace
For it shall come swiftly, short but intensely long within the journey to afterlife
When death comes, my soul will be freed from the pain that has consumed my body
Death is peace!!!

28/09/2023

Death!

Like a bird 🦅 swiftly perching on its prey

We shall all swift to the underworld where value for existence is no longer within psychological thoughts

Death and life is just a term for a transient mode in space