₦airaland Forum

Kay Art by Frederick kumi
Project Description: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3735/KayArt.html?ref=c

VS

Cute Baby by Allentay Photogrpahy
Project Description: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3521/CUTE_BABY.html?ref=c

Works Published on www.54artistry.com

Luxury By Ayomidipupo Filade

Project Description: A piece done with coloured pencils, graphite and charcoal
Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3725/Luxury.html

DJ Sose by Caezar Segun @sCaezar @DjSose| 54artistry

#artist #djsose #amazing #art

Portrait drawn with coloured pencil on chipboard

http://www.54artistry.com/project/3679/DJ_Sose.html?ref=c

Published on www.54artistry.com

Davido by Kennedy Mills


Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3638/Davido.html?ref=c
Published on www.54artistry.com

Artistic Hair by Tracy Adebo

This creative hair was created out of passion for hair making

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3423/Letter_To_My_Ex.html?ref=c

Published on www.54artistry.com

Letter To My Ex By Dave Linus

Ikeja, Lagos Nigeria
AUG 09, 2015‎

Some years I left my formal residence, still tired and quite sick, and traveled to this great western plain, whose vastness and silence and sky ought to make me well again. But I arrived during a long period of rain; this is the first day it has begun to let up over the restlessly blowing landscape, and I am taking advantage of this moment of brightness to greet you.

My dear Ex: I have left a letter from you, unanswered for a long time; not because I had forgotten it - on the contrary: it is the kind that one reads again when one finds it among other letters, and I recognize you in it as if you were very near. It is your letter of august fifth, and I am sure you remember it. As I read it now, in the great silence of these distances, I am touched by your beautiful anxiety about life, even more than when I was in broke, where everything echoes and fades away differently because of the excessive noise that makes Things tremble. Here, where I am surrounded by an enormous landscape, which the winds move across as they come from the seas, here I feel that there is no one anywhere who can answer for you those questions and feelings which, in their depths, have a life of their own; for even the most articulate people are unable to help, since what words point to is so very delicate, is almost unsayable. But even so, I think that you will not have to remain without a solution if you trust in Things that are like the ones my eyes are now resting upon. If you trust in Nature, in what is simple in Nature, in the small Things that hardly anyone sees and that can so suddenly become huge, immeasurable; if you have this love for what is humble and try very simply, as someone who serves, to win the confidence of what seems poor: then everything will become easier for you, more coherent and somehow more reconciling, not in your conscious mind perhaps, which stays behind, astonished, but in your innermost awareness, awakeness, and knowledge. You are so young, so much before all beginning, and I would like to beg you, dear ma, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. Perhaps you do carry within you the possibility of creating and forming, as an especially blessed and pure way of living; train yourself for that but take whatever comes, with great trust, and as long as it comes out of your will, out of some need of your innermost self, then take it upon yourself, and don't hate anything. Sex is difficult; yes. But those tasks that have been entrusted to us are difficult; almost everything serious is difficult; and everything is serious. If you just recognize this and manage, out of yourself, out of your own talent and nature, out of your own experience and childhood and strength, to achieve a wholly individual relation to sex (one that is not influenced by convention and custom), then you will no longer have to be afraid of losing yourself and becoming unworthy of your dearest possession.

Bodily delight is a sensory experience, not any different from pure looking or the pure feeling with , which a beautiful fruit fills the tongue; it is a great, an infinite learning that is given to us, a knowledge of the world, the fullness and the splendor of all knowledge. And it is not our acceptance of it that is bad; what is bad is that most people misuse this learning and squander it and apply it as a stimulant on the tired places of their lives and as a distraction rather than as a way of gathering themselves for their highest moments. People have even made eating into something else: necessity on the one hand, excess on the other; have muddied the clarity of this need, and all the deep, simple needs in which life renews itself have become just as muddy. But the individual can make them clear for herself and live them clearly (not the individual who is dependent, but the solitary woman). He can remember that all beauty in animals and plants is a silent, enduring form of love and yearning, and she can see the animal, as he sees plants, patiently and willingly uniting and multiplying and growing, not out of physical pleasure, not out of physical pain, but bowing to necessities that are greater than pleasure and pain, and more powerful than will and withstanding. If only human beings could more humbly receive this mystery which the world is filled with, even in its smallest Things, could bear it, endure it, more solemnly, feel how terribly heavy it is, instead of taking it lightly. If only they could be more reverent to ward their own fruitfulness, which is essentially one, whether it is manifested as mental or physical; for mental creation too arises from the physical, is of one nature with it and only like a softer, more enraptured and more eternal repetition of bodily delight. "The thought of being a creator, of engendering, of shaping" is nothing without its continuous great confirmation and embodiment in the world, nothing without the thousand-fold assent from Things and animals - and our enjoyment of it is so indescribably beautiful and rich only because it is full of inherited memories of the engendering and birthing of millions. In one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love come to life again and fill it with majesty and exaltation. And those who come together in the nights and are entwined in rocking delight perform a solemn task and gather sweetness, depth, and strength for the song of some future poet, who will appear in order to say ecstasies that are unsayable. And they call forth the future; and even if they have made a mistake and embrace blindly, the future comes anyway, a new human being arises, and on the foundation of the accident that seems to be accomplished here, there awakens the law by which a strong, determined seed forces its way through to the egg cell that openly advances to meet it. Don't be confused by surfaces; in the depths everything becomes law. And those who live the mystery falsely and badly (and they are very many) lose it only for themselves and nevertheless pass it on like a sealed letter, without knowing it. And don't be puzzled by how many names there are and how complex each life seems. Perhaps above them all there is a great motherhood, in the form of a communal yearning. The beauty of the girl, a being who (as you so beautifully say) "has not yet achieved anything," is motherhood that has a presentiment of itself and begins to prepare, becomes anxious, yearns. And the mother's beauty is motherhood that serves, and in the old woman there is a great remembering. And in the man too there is motherhood, it seems to me, physical and mental; his engendering is also a kind of birthing, and it is birthing when he creates out of his innermost fullness. And perhaps the sexes are more akin than people think, and the great renewal of the world will perhaps consist in one phenomenon: that man and woman, freed from all mistaken feelings and aversions, will seek each other not a opposites but as brother and sister, as neighbors, and will unite as human beings, in order to bear in common, simply, earnestly, and patiently, the heavy sex that has been laid upon them.

But everything that may someday be possible for many people, the solitary woman can now, already, prepare and build with her own hands, which make fewer mistakes. Therefore, dear ma, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away, you write, and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast. And if what is near you is far away, then your vastness is already among the stars and is very great; be happy about your growth, in which of course you can't take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don't torment them with your doubts and don't frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn't be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn't necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust. Avoid providing material for the drama, that is always stretched tight between parent and children; it uses up much of the children's strength and wastes the love of the elders, which acts and warms even if it doesn't comprehend Don't ask for any advice from them and don't expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.

It is good that you will soon be entering a profession that will make you independent and will put you completely on your own, in every sense. Wait patiently to see whether your innermost life feels hemmed in by the form this profession imposes. I myself consider it a very difficult and very exacting one, since it is burdened with enormous conventions and leaves very little room for a personal interpretation of its duties. But your solitude will be a support and a home for you, even in the midst of very unfamiliar circumstances, and from it you will find all your paths. All my good wishes are ready to accompany you, and my faith is with you.

Yours,

Dave Linus Jnr‎

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3423/Letter_To_My_Ex.html?ref=c

Published on www.54artistry.com

DUBAI LANDMARK AND MEGA STRUCTURES By Allentay Photography

Dubai Anyone?! #Architecture #Photography #54artistry

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3526/DUBAI_LANDMARK_AND_MEGA_STRUCTURES.html?ref=c

Photos Published On www.54artistry.com

This is an exotic way to style your #twistbraids, for a high fashion look, styled by @ugo007makeme of @makemesalon, makeup by Maureen of @bronzypro, model @jade_zi 

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3530/High_Fashion.html?ref=c
Published on www.54artistry.com

This is what she looks like as an Avatar. What do you think?

Published on: www.54artistry.com
Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3205/Avatar.html?ref=c

BABIES ARE THE CUTEST

CUTE BABY BY ALLEN TAY PHOTOGRAPHY

PUBLISHED ON www.54artistry.com

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3521/CUTE_BABY.html?ref=c

Aderibigbe stood in the clearing, several feet away from the circle of dancing men. The fire that the men danced around did nothing to ward off the cold he felt. As he waited, doubts plagued him and his heart began to race. At 18, he had become a man, and in a few hours, he would be crowned king. But even after weeks of eating concoctions, learning incantations, rules, and secrets, he didn’t feel prepared.

He turned his eyes to Oluwo, who was seated close to the dancing men, grinding something in a little mortar. His racing heart slowed. The chief priest had promised to protect him as much as he could, and he could trust Oluwo; he practically grew up in the man’s arms. He watched Oluwo empty the contents of his mortar into a calabash. The men stopped dancing and moved back as Aderibigbe and Oluwo stepped inside the circle.
KINGMAKING BY OLUBUKOLA OO


Aderibigbe knelt and grunted in pain as Oluwo’s razor made 21 small incisions in the middle of his head. Producing a small gourd from the folds of his agbada, Oluwo poured a powdery substance onto his palm, then rubbed it into the each of the incisions. At first, it hurt Aderibigbe even more, but after a while, the pain lessened. Oluwo spoke in low tones so only Aderibigbe could hear.

“You are doing very well, my son. Now, there is one more thing you must do to lead the people into battle tomorrow.”

Oluwo picked up the calabash and held it out to Aderibigbe, who did his best not to look into it. There was no going back now; he had to make his late father and his ancestors proud. He stretched his hand to receive the calabash and ate the contents. The mixture tasted vile, but he swallowed and struggled to keep it down. Oluwo smiled at him proudly and announced: “Congratulations, my son. O ti je oba.”

Aderibigbe fought another wave of nausea. He had just eaten his late father’s heart.

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3079/Kingmaking.html

Published on www.54artistry.com

Why Men Cheat By Dave Linus

One man’s unfiltered, unadulterated explanation. Well, maybe a little adulterated.
I’ll tell you why I cheat. I need to.. Infidelity makes me remember things. The details that expand to fill my life (my upcoming performance reviews, the aches and pains of training, , my smug self-satisfaction, my fake epiphanies about my progress in this life) —all of that drops away when I look down at the naked spine of an unfamiliar woman, twisting slightly in the late-afternoon sunlight. This is the most absolute choice I can make. I am there on my own. Against every code, rule, and set of mores I pretend to obey. Against better judgment, against every lesson of affair and every bit of wisdom that comes with ageI have no regrets in that moment, because I am naked, or without pants, and I have chosen to be there. I have voted by my presence, declared it, and I feel the blood moving in me again. So it’s the blood. That’s who I am. That’s why men cheat.

Project http://www.54artistry.com/project/3494/Why_Men_Cheat.html?ref=c

Published on www.54artistry.com

Illustration of Solange in Maki Oh.

Project link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/3456/Solange.html?ref=c

Published on www.54artistry.com

lool

buzquet:
more reasons y Africans r nt cute. bad nutrition

An expression of goodwill most exalted. I thought it befitting to breath to life what has only been fathomed by the mind. A token of my faith, I dare to reveal that this masterpiece was prepared before the elections, Presidential and Gubernatorial alike. Indeed, I surrender my appraisal, as is evident in this theme. It is my hope that it inspires, orchestrating your sight to see what is- Perfection.

This is a 3-Dimentional Hyperrealism Pencil Artwork, glistening with sweat from intense labour and teamwork.... I call this, “THE UNVEILING”.

A Congratulant by Kenart Creation.



watch the video here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rgC9l2GMNo

Project Description
Artwork of His Excellency, Governor Akinwunmi Ambode

Project http://www.54artistry.com/project/2972/The_Unveiling.html?ref=c

Published on www.54artistry.com

CornFu by Emeka Eze

Project Description: This is my new baby that I conjured, Lolz. You think its #Ukwa Right? Nah, I named it #CornFu. It's made of corn and some Ngwongwó na Ngwòngwò. My God there's nothing like it. #FreshAndRawNG

Project Link: http:///PnSZPk

Published on:www.54artistry.com

Yummy or Nah?

Black Queen Series by Victor Olorunshogo

Black queen is about promoting African culture and beauty.

Link: http:///5J3JQF

Published on: www.54artistry.com

this is to celebrate all the black beautiful queens that we have.

“No, no butter”
“What of Bama?”
“No Bama”
“Oh, ok…Tea?”
“Hmm hmm”
“Oh…ah…ok…but, I go fit get pure water na? abeg”
“Uh…no water” I replied as I shook my head slowly, I was lying on my bed in Fajuyi Hall, the hostel for the so called ‘Big Boys’, ‘Big Boys’ who at first bought bread before going to beg for bread spread some five rooms away from theirs. Chukwuemeka Osaziniwandochi was one of them, we called him “Oshuofia” and he got me thinking for a while before I stepped out into what I call “my spectacular day”.
The sun was hot, as noise was defined in the deafening chants of protesters; secondary school girls, all on white hijabs and green flowing robes, whether Christian or Muslim, they did not care, all they cared for was boldly written on most of their placards and banners: “Bring back our girls!”
There were a lot of motorcycles on the road that afternoon, a lot of obviously hungry, haggard policemen, a lot of dust, and a lot of in fact; everything! Everything that wanted to speak for himself or herself, probably even itself, everything that wanted to say “Bring back our girls!”
The Boko Haram terrorist sect had succeeded in kidnapping more than two hundred female pupils, and were threatening to kill every one of them if the government did not release a group of Boko Haram suspects in custody, they had already killed a young beautiful Hausa pupil by brutally stoning her to death, and the “horror movie” as many people called it, was all over most of the social networks. Mr President is currently reckoned more as a dysfunctional robot than an active human being by most of the Nigerian citizens.
I stood in line at the First Bank ATM, behind a big guy that made it look like ‘Incredible Hulk’ was represented by ‘Ridiculous Hulk’. I watched as dust flew up, vowing to defy gravity, all to no avail. The roundabout in front of me was already rounded up, the girls stood in a circle, each one holding her uniquely inscribed placard or banner, either the print was saying something as simple as “Bring back our girls!”, or it contained understandable irrelevances such as “Chai! there is God o!”
The policemen had stopped a couple of black cars close to the bank entrance, where the ATM was , and were asking the passengers to step out, but the doors were firmly shut, and the window glasses were unyielding. Ridiculous Hulk was already at the ATM, so I was next. I noticed the rear door of the car in front, the one closest to me, as it opened to reveal a young man on a black shiny suit. As he attempted stepping out, I noticed he was with something I saw only in movies; a gun! Just then, I remembered that Ridiculous Hulk had been busy on his phone all along, whatever that means, it was too late. I could not look back anymore. Bullets swirled around my head, “Are these real armed robbers, Boko Haramians, or am I on a movie set?” Unfortunately, I did not have the guts to verify.
I found my elder brother running from nowhere, we ran across a lawn, and around a parking lot I had never even noticed before. Intuition told me to lie close to a red car, I yielded right away, but I couldn’t believe what happened next, intuition told me to get up immediately! I kept running till I thought I had lost my big brother to the frenzy of panicking little Protesters, and till I found him by my side again. People were already dead, young and great. “Are these really who I think they are? I will find out from the news.” And that immediately became my reason for running harder, if I wanted to see the news, I had to keep alive!
I ran towards a dusty road, and I felt some things hit me; “Bullets!” but these bullets were not painful, they were soft, like the shards of foam from my pillow, yet they seemed to make my head swirl as they hit me, and suddenly, there was darkness, and then light, I was awake!
I stretched languorously as I willed to fully recall my dream.
I will write the whole episode in my big blue diary, and I’ll call it: My Spectacular Day- the kind of dream my Fatherland makes me have.
“Guy, abeg, I hear say u get peanut butter.”

Project Description:
This is a twenty minute sketch of Rihanna. I played with charcoal and color pencils in this. I hope you like.

Project Link: http://www.54artistry.com/project/2948/Quick_sketch_of_Rihanna.html?ref=c

Published on: www.54artistry.com

The Brunch With Astute Professionals held on Friday July 19, 2015 at the Morning Side Suites at 200c Etim Inyang Crescent, Victoria Island, Lagos. The brunch kicked off with an introduction by Joseph Adamu, principal of Olsen-Decker Limited, creators of Team Fest Africa.

Mr Adamu spoke about the idea, the event and the purpose behind TeamFest Africa which is to provide an avenue to help business owners; established and start-ups, grow their businesses.

In contrast, business owners of whatever scale can showcase their products and services to the world. Mr Adamu who is also the visioneer of TeamFest Africa, the continent’s first all business exhibition, where music and fashion also meet also talked about the need for such a unique event to happen because it reached out and appealed to a younger generation of business owners who enjoyed mixing business with pleasure.

Alibaba who famously stands as the pioneer of Nigerian comedy business spoke with wealth of experience and knowledge in the comic industry. Alibaba, speaking about his own personal experience made references to the Bible, citing the story of the boy with five loaves of bread and two fishes which Jesus fed multitude with as his first lesson in the SME business.

He recommended David in the Bible and his consistency in doing a good job as a music player as the root cause to his being worthy to lead the nation of Israel, despite been just a shepherd boy who was seen as a nonentity by some.

Alibaba also advised that even as small businesses, the protocols remain the same even for the large corporations. He admonished that the upcoming ones do the best they can in whatever space they find themselves as that can only be the way they can gain recognition.

Another professional present at the brunch,F liptyce, who is famous for the beat in P-square’s‘Chop My Money’ Remix with superstar Akon, also shed light on the matter of starting small no matter what.

Fliptyce (Folorunsho Busayo Phillips) shared his personal story turned glory of how he started making beats from his university days as a Geology student at the University of Ado-Ekiti.

Knowing what it takes to make it to the top, Fliptyce now makes mega hit songs, working with big names such as hip-hop star and music mogul Dr Dre.

Most success stories around the world have been told with a small beginning. From the starting point, with dedication, hard-work and perseverance, they made it to the point where they are been talked about.

54artistry which supports and empowers creative talented Africans by giving them the exposure they need and an avenue to express themselves through its channels was also present at the Morning Side Suites Exotic bar, venue of the meeting.

Rubrik Studio represented by Chike Dominic and his colleagues also gave voice to the movement, calling out to the youths to come up and take over the architectural industry: a call which Alibaba commented, adding that creativity is not necessarily about displacing the people who were already in the game.

He said: ‘Creativity is about remaining relevant, upping your game even though you have been there for so long and constantly evolving with time and season so that you and your craft do not become obsolete,’ adding that the older ones should give the younger ones the opportunity to also shine and be great.

Alibaba clamoured on the non-challance of the younger generation refusing to grab business opportunities that abound and are available but are so quick to jump at pleasurable ventures.

There’s so much admiration for Alibaba not just for being a comedian but due to volume of moving words that he speaks. His stance on societal issues and vehemence to the ills and wrongs that so pervades the society.

Team Fest Africa is a platform created to combine the groovy nature of the young and upcoming generation (who love to party and have fun) with the unpopular ‘serious’ trappings of a business oriented environment (which the young people run from) in such a unique, comely and timely manner where fun and business harmonize.

The fair holding from August 7-9, 2015 is open to all businesses and young professionals who want to experience a parading shift in their organizational growth; participants are to register on teamfestafrica.com to book their stands for the expo.

Interested participants can get a 10% discount through 54artistry by registering on www.teamfestafrica.com and inserting www.54artistry.com in the space provided for websites.

Who says you can’t mix business with pleasure?

Join the conversation! As an SME or a startup business, what are the challenges you face?
What do you see as the future of SMEs in Nigeria?



Written by Adora Obubo

For 54artistry

Visit www.54artistry.com to Publish and Discover Creative Works for Free.

“Mama please, it’s ok.” I’m beginning to be gagged, I couldn’t say any other words; pain is already putting me on chokehold, tears flooding my cheeks. “Please take good care of my mother.” These words keep reverberating in my ears.” “Chi m oooooo! Okey why did you leave me? Mama bemoans. I’m in a dilemma, I don’t know which to first hold, whether Okey’s mother or my emotions. “Please Charles don’t leave my mother.” Again Okey’s deep baritone voice sounds in my ears. “Mama, please, stop crying it’s ok.” I keep deceiving myself and the old woman. I know nothing is ok, everything is not ok. “Why am I even alive?” The old woman bellyached, and went berserk; rolling on the floor. Then it became glaring to me that I’m suffering from dehydration; my tears are meager compared to hers. The amount of tears flowing through the old woman’s eyes is strong enough to push down even the bravest heart standing as a bulwark, if it were a flood. I knew my pleadings will never be a panacea, not even an elixir, and I knew too that I’m already arrested by emotions. My six feet beefy body built is caricatured by this unseen emotion. I’m held hostage watching the cry of the octogenarian. I crouch beside her like a native doctor in a shrine looking into the empty air. “Okechuhwukwu nwa m ooooo! Who will continue to take care of me like you always did?” Mama cries, making Okey’s picture standing in my face.

“Charles my man, this year is gonna be a bomb, new house, new car and trip oversees.” He chuckled. “So happy for you man.” I said. “Remember to send me your account number, I still gat to bless you like I’ve always done.” He said. “Oh my goodness, God bless you my man.” I said, hopping up and down like an antelope running down a hill. “Before I forget, remind me to as well give to charity and donate to the almighty too. This year, more kids will be taken out of the streets and more widows will smile.” These were my last conversations with Okey; the next was at his hospital bed and now here to pacify his mother.

What I still couldn’t understand is why good people are always at the wrong place? Why do bad things happen to good people? I still have an avalanche of unanswered questions, but I don’t want to be dragged into this conundrum. I’ve thought of it and it keeps putting into my heart to believe that being good does not pay. I keep wondering why bad people last longer and become more successful? I was not the first to think in this direction, lots of prophets in the bible thought like this – Habakkuk was one of them. But then, I don’t ask God why? Sometimes I wish everybody’s proclivity and actions, and did, could best be written and hung on everybody’s chests so that evil will select just the bad ones by their placards and haunt. I don’t ask why bad things happen to good people, but I wonder why bad ones seem to be happier? I wonder why they seem to always survive, even when evil happens to them. Hmmm! Okey is neither the first nor the second, I’ve seen lots of good ones suffering evil, while the bad thrive. I’ve seen more of bad ones occupying the best of positions, and I’ve seen them having the best of spouse, kids, jobs and appointments; while the good keep suffering the worst blow. I don’t want to be sadder let me stop here, I’ve a whole lot to deal with now, especially how to calm Okey’s mother down.

“Charley nwa m oo, where is Okey?” She held my collar, shaking me violently, bringing me back from my mind-wandering; the cry of a widow for the death of her only child. My eyes are as open as the bullet wounds that riddled Okey’s heart; he was just in the bank to withdraw some money for the charity he has planned. Okey was my best friend, the brother I never had. He was a good man, a kindhearted man ready to cry for others to laugh. Okey paid my school fees with the little money he made as a phone repairer all the time we were in the university. Okey fed me, sheltered me, clothed me for all the years I was jobless until he found me a job. If I were to list lives Okey saved, tears he dried and stomach he fed, then it would take longer than it took him struggling in the hospital to survive. It would be much longer than it took the armed robbers to rob the bank and shoot him. But death was stronger than him; I knew he fought to stay alive because he wanted to touch more lives too; he wanted to become fathers to more orphans, and husbands to more widows.

One thing, I’ve failed to and will never do is to blame God, rather I’ll blame the devil for making life miserable for good people. I’ll also not be pusillanimous to say such a crass and gibberish statement that God gives and takes too. But my hope is in God, because I know that the reward of the good ones will be abundant even though they die.

I will really miss you so dearly Okechukwu; and I promise to start from where you stopped, putting smiles on people’s faces. Your mother I will continue to take as my mother.

Adieu a brother and a friend. Tears …………..

“Okechukwu eehhhhh!”

“Mama I will cry with you, till your tears dry.

Found on http:///lVkN7H

This work was drawn on an A4 sized sketch book with charcoal as the main media. It took me 12hours broken within a day. I handed the drawing to her, so it's no longer in my custody. Have a look.

Published on 54artistry.com
http:///ZOiBgy

You have every right to comment against it. If you don't like it that's your taste. All I'm saying is you can do so without being derogatorily insulting, and with a little bit of class or discretion.

XavierBlue:
common let get this right nigga. The comment i made was it directed to you? Don't tell me i gat no impugn right to say off mind on an article or any thing of sort.
Inferring from the statement i made. Of the girl being a gross being, Charlie i see no reason that should be your total concern.

Ohh i get! You're so obsessed with the image that any comment relayed against it will annoy you right? Tell me am wrong


XavierBlue


XavierBlue

You are commenting on a post published by me, if you aim to criticise, please learn to do so constructively.

XavierBlue:
nigga i never quoted you, now learn how to face your troubles.or ill be forced to verbally trash you.


XavierBlue

Let's see what yours looks like...I wonder what it would be as despicable as.

XavierBlue:
I bet the visage behind that powder is as ugly as sin.


XavierBlue

COLORED BY LATIPHA HALID.

PUBLISHED ON 54artistry.com

Make Up on FLEEK!!!

My “Sambisa” Tale: Chibok Girl - 1
Written by: Nwazuosa Nkem Kennedy
It was going to be like a normal night
It was going to be a chat with my fellow girls until I give-in to sleep
It was going to be a night with Amina, Fatima and Hauwa
Just a normal night… just after I said my little prayer

A night when the moon couldn’t whisper to my innocent heart like every other night
A night when my dreams will be engulfed by the darkest night
Have my innocent heart committed a crime to chase that dream?
If achieving my goals through education is forbidden, would an early marriage be acceptable?

If regrets could turn back the hands of time
If wishes could make the watchman not feel drowsy on duty
Oh! I wished my life never depended on the weak index of that soldier (God bless his efforts)
Or on the frail fence where we even jump over sometimes.

In my sleep I heard strange voices; on my feet was a tap…
‘HE’ touched me… Mama! He touched me!!!
Screams went louder from different sections; I closed my eyes and wished it was a dream
Lo and Behold! The very aspiration and my pursuit for empowerment delivered me unto ‘HIM’.

I reached out to Hauwa to at least be on same four-wheeled truck to share from her courage
Instead my worst fears gripped me as I heard more Horror and masculine voice
Gunshot loudly mellowed our screams for help
Could I have jumped off like Fatima and Amina; I thought of it but I couldn’t dare…

How can this same language they speak become foreign to me?
I called on same Allah as they too scream…
Does a different blood flow through their veins?
My heart beat stopped severally yet my thoughts were wide.

The sounds of Crickets and strong wind; cries and prayers proved we were going deep
Deep into Isolation; deep into a cave we talked dreadfully of in our little girl’s gossip
The plague I once feared has come upon me
What is forbidden? Is it my aspirations, HIS Hellish ideology or what I have been subjected into right now?

Father! I need now more than ever your love to rescue me from this hate
It’s the 7th day so far and for the first time in my tender life I have seen my period in the forest
Mama! Oh! Mama… they wouldn’t let me do what you have taught me.
Mama you have no idea what HE has done me…

I heard some of us have died… some of starvation and some from deep wounds
Mama, it’s going to be my turn tomorrow…
I contemplate suicide, would HE do this to me?
Mama it’s cold out here, I feel pains on my chest am I going to die?

You will not be wrong if you think we have taken oaths…
The heights of all imaginations have been done to me Mama…
I will be 13years tomorrow and I have seen it all
Mama, my tender eyes have seen the other side of Life

Be strong Mama, I have tried not to give-up…
Be brave as you have taught me to be
If I see you again, please don’t ask me what has happened to me.
If not mama, know that the worse is yet to happen because I choose not to give-up.

The stars will never shine bright again…
The moon will set at noon…
The cock will crow at Midnight…
It will never be the same again….



But I love you Mama!!!

We indeed need a leader that is answerable to our cry.

I apologize for ones again am not in love

And this pen would no longer take trips on love letters

Its actually the last shout out to you and my past

But ain't goodbye

Even as I watched you leaving

I'll live my life like the leaf you trampled upon while walking out

Though my heart had just one door which got sealed after your arrival

And made a home to stay forever

You soon wanted a way out so you

Picked up daggers and hammers as you

Broke your way out of my heart and life

But don't forget I had you backed up

My brains my memories my sweet dreams my nightmares.

Once a young boy walked up to me saying

I wanna be like you when I grow up

But hey son I rebuke the part I speak of

From my hidden truth

Of a life like diaper taking and keeping shit all day long

Of a life like the pen writing this poem

Waiting to be abandoned when the poem is done

Its new home becomes the trash can when its ink exhausts

A life of my every night filled with nightmares as I

Struggles to survive till sunrise

Seeing pain as joy war as peace badluck in goodluck

Which won't end no matter how I and you try to put a stop to it

No matter the hurts aches betrayals and heartbreaks

For you deserve to be loved

So pure as spring true as you divine as sunshine

Without regrets pain or numbers not like I

On the thirteenth Sucre and still counting

Sucre after four years forced on me a reason to love again

With eyes like diamond one word like thousands

Taking my breath away like under the water but still breathing

I called her sucre when her kiss tasted like

What I'll always order for breakfast

Knowing well she'll do me no wrong if she

Offers them for dinner then i'll be on and coming all night long

She loves she cares yes she cares

And cared less when her love went less

Turning her love into a recipe in which she

Baked of two cakes and

Tried to make big bites of those which she

Found so hard to swallow

For her, time was created from time I never owned see

This time was rubbed off me like a thief in the night at jasper

Leaving me timeless in silence as

Madness became of me when she

Cut my life wires with her

Lies like pliers now the

Light in me are turned down

Darkness erupts again seeing

Noting just you

Seeing my four years of repair as it

Took you just four weeks to ruin

I don chuck chuck myself with needles trying to

Stitch the damages but created more so I

Guess i'll leave my heart broken cos

After you there'll be no one and no reason to love

It just won't make sense breaking a broken heart

But there could always be a reason to write to

you

Letters of words that heals past pains

Creates joy for our today and

Build castles in our sky tomorrow

As I start every letter with

Dear Sucre

Then words would swim into your heart till

I forgive all your wrongs and the pains you have

caused cos I

Still want you still need you still think of you

Still in love with you forever in love with y
Sucre

As these words of mine heal our wounded love

Your dearest

E. S. Effa

Published on 54artistry.com
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Aesthetics By Tracy Adebo

Project Description: This an artistic hair

Project link: http:///d5bnD7

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