WriterX's Posts
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 Sports › Re: What's That Football Fact That Sounds Fake But It's Actually True? by WriterX(m): 6:30pm On Jul 08, 2025 |
His 2005 international debut lasted 47 seconds when he received a red card after coming on as a substitute.!! This person name is Lionel messi. 1 Like |
| Sports › Re: What's That Football Fact That Sounds Fake But It's Actually True? by WriterX(m): 6:28pm On Jul 08, 2025 |
FRANK LAMPARD has an IQ of 150, Albert Einstein had an IQ of 160, academically lampard is a beast  1 Like |
| Sports › Re: What's That Football Fact That Sounds Fake But It's Actually True? by WriterX(m): 6:26pm On Jul 08, 2025 |
No English manager has ever won the Premier League 1 Like 1 Share |
| Sports › Re: What's That Football Fact That Sounds Fake But It's Actually True? by WriterX(m): 6:24pm On Jul 08, 2025 |
Ac Milan once won the league by scoring 1-0s nine times. 1 Like |
| Sports › Re: What's That Football Fact That Sounds Fake But It's Actually True? by WriterX(m): 6:23pm On Jul 08, 2025 |
Since 1982 at least one Bayern player has been in the starting line-up in every World Cup final 3 Likes |
| Foreign Affairs › Re: The America Party: Elon Musk Forms New Political Party by WriterX(m): 11:38pm On Jul 05, 2025 |
PEXBlog:Your riddle is quite interesting. My answer will be the king gave the order and the target is the pope. My view is simple The king isnt necessary intimidated by the wealthy or a rich man. It is not wealth that intimidates a king it is power in other words influence. Between the rich and the pope. The pope has more influence Of course by morality standard we wont expect the pope to desire murder of another. However the king is not tied to moral codes. Real power is absolute. Hence the king goes for the pope. Thereby securing absolute power. If trump goes against elon with policies and all.it.will affect him but he cant do anything really against a pope who commands presidents avross the continents Once there |
| Properties › Re: "Landlord’s Son Impregnates 3 Tenants’ Daughters – Flees Home After Shocking Rev by WriterX(m): 7:47pm On Jul 05, 2025 |
From.been paid rent to paying dowries, how shocking |
| Literature › Re: Orphans With Mothers, Bastards With Fathers - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 8:54am On Jul 05, 2025 |
No one ever asks them, how do they feel? To most of us. They're casualties we are willing to look over in cases of paternity fraud. But those children are victims too. Not by choice, but by circumstances they have no control over. |
| Literature › Orphans With Mothers, Bastards With Fathers - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 8:48am On Jul 05, 2025 |
Orhans with Mothers, Bastards With Fathers (from the collection: A Piece of Reality) They call us bastards — But we didn’t choose the bed. We didn’t pick the lies, Or sign the birth certificates forged with hope or shame. We were born into storms, Taught to call strangers “Dad,” To run into arms that weren’t ours by blood — But were warm, Until the tests came back in bold. Now we’re the headlines, “Paternity Fraud!” They scream. But they forget: We’re not the ones who lied. We’re the ones who lost — Everything. I watched my home split like a fruit crushed from the inside. My father — no longer my father — threw plates at the walls, not just in anger, but in betrayal. My mother, once the softest part of the house, now cries behind doors, face buried in hands as if her body itself was evidence. They both became strangers overnight and I became invisible to them. Court dates replaced birthdays. Lawyers replaced lullabies. I now speak in terms like “alleged” and “non-biological.” They talk over me, around me, through me — But never to me. And I? I sit in the dark, In Confusion, In Pain, In Betrayal, In Shame, just hoping someone still sees me as more than a problem neither of them wants to solve. At school, my friends laugh too loud when they say, "I hope you're not like that boy on TV." They whisper around me, as if trauma doesn’t hear whispers. They joke about DNA, but I hear defect. They say fraud, but I feel forgotten. Teachers avoid eye contact. Some pity me. Others act like I’m contagious. I stop raising my hands I stopped raising my voice I stopped raising my head In classes, in churches, In my neighborhood Even my shadow feels ashamed. Until the man who raised me Asked me to pack up and leave — he doesn’t even look back. Because “you’re not mine.” Just like that. Years undone in a sentence. I don’t even know how to breathe that in. And the one whose blood runs in me? He never comes. Or he comes, sees me, and leaves again — like the damage was my doing. Where does that leave us? Orphans with mothers Bastards with fathers Whole hearts cracked by choices we never made. Proof of a lie. Embarrassment on legs. And when people talk, they never talk about us. We are not victims just mistakes. The scandal. The shame. The silence. That's what we represent. But we are not bastards. We are the casualties of betrayal too big for our shoulders. We carry the guilt of adults, the weight of genetics, the fear of being unwanted again. We are broken by a truth that was never ours to hold. We are not the joke. We are not the shame. We are the chapter no father or mother wants to read — Because it makes them all guilty.
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| Literature › Re: You Gave, He Bought - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 8:23am On Jul 05, 2025 |
Let us remember there is a price even for ignorance, if we continue to give away our future whether with justifiable reasons or not, there will always be a buyer. This market called democracy does not do refunds. We must make the right choices at the right time. |
| Literature › You Gave, He Bought - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 8:19am On Jul 05, 2025 |
You Gave, He Bought (from the collection: A Piece of Reality) A courtroom tragedy in three voices [SFX: Gavel slams. The courtroom murmurs. A national flag droops in the background.] JUDGE (stern): This court now hears the matter: The Voters vs. The Politician. Accused of corruption, deceit, manipulation, And national sabotage. Let the proceedings begin. VOTER (standing, emotional): Your Honour… He promised us jobs. He swore by his father’s grave. We trusted him — He spoke our tongue, ate our food, danced our dance. We were tired, hungry, lost. We believed him. JUDGE (cold): The evidence says that you collected wrappers, Bags of rice, Packs of Indomie. You waved flags, wore shirts, mobilized your family and relatives and fought your neighbors. Tell me— Did you not vote with your stomach And silence your brain? VOTER (defensive): But we had no choice! He brought thugs. He threatened our lives.. Our options were bad and worse. We had to survive! POLITICIAN (laughs from the dock): Your honor, that's a lie! They danced when I arrived in convoy. They hailed me “Man of the People.” They let me divide them— Muslim vs. Christian. South vs. North. This tribe vs. that one. That party vs. This one. They were many. I was one. But I scattered their unity like breeze through dry leaves. I fed their pride, And served their ignorance hot. And still— They cheered. VOTER (angrily): He lied! He stole from us! He built mansions in Dubai, While we queue for sachet water! POLITICIAN (smirking): Ah, but I paid your price. A pack of Indomie, A loaf of bread, A T-shirt and a cap, I paid it all. Did I not give you envelopes? Did I not speak your language? Did I not give you transport fare to rallies you didn’t understand? You wanted show, I gave you drama. You wanted tribe, I wore your color. You wanted stomach and not a future so I filled it — briefly. And now you weep? JUDGE (interrupting, voice rising): Order! This court does not tolerate emotional outbursts. Facts only. You voted. You shouted “four more years.” You painted his name on your gates. You gave. He bought. Transaction complete. VOTER (broken, near tears): But we suffer now! We sleep in darkness. We have nothing to eat. Our children rot in classrooms without chairs. Our hospitals are death camps. We are no longer safe in our lands. We want justice! JUDGE (cold): Justice? You gave it out At the polling unit. You gave, He bought. POLITICIAN (rising, proud): And let the record show: I did not steal your vote. I bought it — With your fears, Your sentiments, Your Ignorance, Your divisions, Your laziness, Your greed, Your price tags. I bought it all! And still, I sleep well, while you languish in poverty Eat well, while you fight malnutrition. I work when and how I choose. You work 24/7 and have nothing to show for it. My children attend the best schools, yours stay outside the school gates. I Fly first class. While you rot in traffic jams. You? You argue on Twitter. You rant on Facebook. You fight over parties. You die for me — And I don’t know your names. VOTER (screaming): This is madness! This is betrayal! This is not democracy! JUDGE (slams gavel): This is democracy!! After full review, I find the Politician… Not Guilty. He simply bought what you offered. [Gasps. Voters rise, confused. Whispers rise to shouts.] VOTER: But… Your Honour! You were our last hope! JUDGE (removes wig slowly and prostrates before politician): All for a price, We sell whether with Intent or Ignorance I gave, and He bought. [Gavel slams.] Case dismissed!
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| Literature › A Gossip's Prayer - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 10:26am On Jul 04, 2025 |
A Gossip’s Prayer (from the collection: A Piece of Reality) In the name of whispers and half-truths, I rise. I am the wind in closed rooms, The mouth that smiles while planting knives. Let my tongue be sharp today. Let it taste secrets not meant for me. Let it twist love into suspicion, And joy into mockery. Today, I bless my circle with betrayal. Let no friend feel safe. Let no story rest. I carry burdens not my own — Not to lighten, but to scatter. Let me speak first, and the loudest. Let me know more than I should. Let me poison wells with casual laughter, Masking rot as concern. Oh, how I love to dig — Through heartbreaks, failures, past mistakes. Even when they heal, Let me remind them of the scars. Let me speak of her dress, Of his child, of their house, Of things that do not concern me Yet burn me to not speak. Make my voice sound like a warning, like concern, like sympathy. Even when it is venom. Let others believe I care — Let them never know I just enjoy the taste of ruin. Let me take what I heard, Break it, bend it, Deliver it bleeding. Let those I speak of lose sleep. Let them doubt the ones they trust. Let them wonder: “Who told?” Let them never guess me. For I am friend, Family, Companion, Confidant... And cancer. Let me sit among church pews, Nod to sermons, Cheer at testimonies Then roast the preacher’s wife at lunch. Let me say "God sees all" While I feed on what man hides. I gossip not for gain. I just do. It is art. It is who I am now. No reason. No remorse. Only repetition. I am the fire behind good reputations turned to ash. I do not throw stones. I whisper them into hands. And if you read this and feel nothing — perhaps this prayer was also yours. And if you read this and feel exposed — perhaps it is time to silence the altar of your mouth. Because words do not return empty. They haunt. They hurt. And they hang on the hearts of those you name.
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| Literature › Re: Chained Like An Animal - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 10:13am On Jul 04, 2025 |
Sometime last year, I was traveling when i saw this rothweiler, chained to a tree in a very lonely spot. It looked sickly, unkempt and scared. I heard someone say, they have abandoned this one. I didn't have to hear that to believe it. It had been discarded. I still remember how it stared at us, at the bus. I felt really hurt and sad. I have seen so much cruelty against animals we call pets and it is saddening. It hurts. They may not be able to speak to us. But these animals deserve alot more than a post on Facebook or Instagram. |
| Literature › Chained Like An Animal - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 10:08am On Jul 04, 2025 |
Chained Like an Animal (from the collection: A Piece of Reality) They chained me. Not to keep me safe. Not to give me shelter. But to show they owned me. I was small once — playful, soft, ran in circles when they smiled at me. But the chain came early. And the smiles stopped. Now I sit beneath the sun that burns, in rain that soaks my bones, through days and nights that blur into ache. My fur is gone where the flies feast, my ribs count time better than clocks. They call me “Security.” They say hunger makes me meaner. But I was never born angry. They fed me violence, not food. They walk past me with cameras — click, flash, post. “My loyal guardian.” But who guards me? Who guards the one left outside while the family eats inside? I bark. Sometimes because I’m afraid. Sometimes because I’m begging. But they say I bark too much. They shout, Kick, hit, or worse — stop noticing. When the thunder comes, I shake. But my chain does not let me run. It only reminds me that I am alone. And when I grow sick, too thin, too tired to bark — they loosen the chain. Not out of mercy. But because it’s easier to dump me by the road Because it's easier to abandon me Because it's easier to forget me than to care. I watch them care for things they don’t chain. Their phones. Their shoes. Their pride. But me? I was never seen as someone. Just a tool. A title. An accessory. An image. You teach your children nothing of love when you let them watch me rot. You raise them beside my cage, warn them not to get close, not to feed me, [b] Yet wonder why their hearts grow cold. I did not bite first. I trusted first. And when you betrayed me, I learned fear in your kindness, and hate in your silence. I am chained like an animal- Killed like one- But not for what I’ve done. For what you refused to do: To feed. To shelter. To care. You call me beast. But look in the mirror, and tell me— who taught cruelty first?
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| Crime › Re: Sokoto: Terrorist Attack In Kwalajiya Village Leaves Over 20 Dead by WriterX(m): 8:04am On Jul 03, 2025 |
Freetech:No let me mention your name again oh, i dey try avoid ban this morning |
| Education › Re: Man Laments As Engineering Professors Fail To Fix Faulty Generator In His Dept by WriterX(m): 3:09pm On Jul 02, 2025 |
Because like i tell all people.. Nigeria education system is hinged on textbooks and handouts and notes. With no practicality to word problems, even the smartest man becomes a dullard. It is easy to find X on the board than find X on the map during aerial or sea navigation. 1 Like |
| Politics › Re: 2027 Presidency: Peter Obi Submits One-Term Proposal To ADC Coalition by WriterX(m): 3:05pm On Jul 02, 2025 |
This is what I always thought of... Just as the camp of Israel wondered and were dismayed at Goliath.. It only took a little boy, a little sling to knock the giant down. I have always believed this. Obi is not the so called savior of Nigeria. He is a John the Baptist. One who is supposed to become the medium, one who is to cry from the wilderness.. Thats what I think. And such people don't need to stay in the office for long. One simple change here and there in the constitution, rule of law, offices, department, title, position, one little change in the executive, legislative and judiciary is all it takes. A man must first dig before he plants. So I support Obi. 2 years is enough, those who have done 8years and no result has traumatized so many they can't believe the right steps can be taken in 2 years. The change alone in the hearts of so many, to know some out side the realms of all that is known could do it. That thought alone is enough to spark a chain reaction in the right direction 1 Like |
| Celebrities › Re: I Don't Believe In Long Distance Relationship, Stop Deceiving Yourself - Falz by WriterX(m): 10:36am On Jul 02, 2025 |
This is one person's opinion shared by those who have not had the experience by fate or circumstances. I have been in a long distance relationship. For me it was a defining moment to be better, I had to learn to communicate and try to be better and invent full, my relationship is non sexual of course it still remains that way till we are settled properly as it is intended. I am bringing the sexual aspect up because now i think of it. It has really helped me and my partner to be more focused and determined thanks to God to make things work. Whether we are close in terms of distance or far away. Let no man use his opinion to rub you of a the right spouse. 2 Likes |
| Romance › Re: The Mistake That Made Me Better - Your Best Mistake by WriterX(op): 5:01am On Jul 02, 2025 |
Tenrack:You have for the sake of the future, if you let it in too much that would just be another mistake that can go on forever. I pray you find the strength to come through and stand tall. I am cheering for you! 1 Like |
| Romance › Re: My Recent Encounter With A Lady I Was Introduced To For A Serious Relationship by WriterX(m): 5:53pm On Jul 01, 2025 |
drehdinho:I get person oh but she is baller, spiritually, mentally, socially and physically. Highly intelligent, a pro graphics designer with a vision and purpose, you fit no cor even be her type, we dont talk much but from the little i have interacted meh she has intelligence in the right balance and manner |
| Literature › The Little Boy We Don't Know - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 2:53pm On Jul 01, 2025 |
The Little Boy We Don’t Know (from the collection: A Piece of Reality) He sat by the gutterside, legs folded like questions no one would answer, skin wearing dirt like second skin, eyes too hollow for his age — maybe seven, maybe nine, but time had stopped counting for him. He wore a shirt that wasn’t his, torn at the neck, stained by things we pretend not to see. His slippers—mismatched. His voice—silent. His hunger—loud. Some called him nuisance, some just hissed. Others threw money from their air-conditioned guilt, Never stopping, Never asking. Never caring. He watched children behind school fences, laughed alone when they laughed in groups. He danced for strangers in traffic and begged like a ghost rehearsing to live. Some said he stole. Others said he lied. But no one asked where he came from. No one asked why he was here. He knew corners darker than night, men with breath that stung, women with names he never heard twice. He learned to sleep with no eyes closed. and dream with neither. We blamed the parents—if they exist. We blamed the streets—though we built them. We blamed the system—though we are it. We blamed everyone but ourselves. And when they found his body— curled under a wooden bench, flies singing hymns over his lips, bones sharp against his paper-thin skin— people gasped. Someone took a photo. Another blamed the government. One lady cried and went on with her day. The report called him unknown male child. No name. No number. Just gone. And we? We moved on, like we always do. But he still lives — in traffic lights and abandoned buildings, in the face of the boy at the market gate, in the girl under the bridge selling water at midnight. He lives, unnamed, his identity a shadow while we walk past them as though their lives are stains on our polished conscience. We saw him. We described him. We buried him. We forgot him. Because the little boy we don’t know is not just one. He is many. And tomorrow, we’ll walk past another.
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| Literature › Old Soldier, Old Soldier! - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 2:31pm On Jul 01, 2025 |
Old Soldier, Old Soldier (from the collection: A Piece of Reality) Old soldier, old soldier — Do you still remember your name? The one they once carved in glory, Now buried beneath the silence of time. You were the drum behind the march, The spine of a nation’s pride, Loyal beyond logic, You gave them your breath, your blood, your bones. They sent you to jungles thick with death, Where the sun never rose kindly, Where rain fell like bullets,[/b] And hunger became your only friend. You crept through shadows, Crawled through nightmares, Behind enemy lines where silence screamed, And sleep was a stranger with cruel hands. You watched friends disappear in gunfire, Laughed so you wouldn’t cry, Wrote letters to children you’d never meet, And stitched your sanity with fading memories. You came home, But never really returned. They called you hero for one day, Then left you with echoes and nothing else. Your medals gather dust. Your pension? A ghost. Your uniform? Now rags stitched with shame. You sit on a wooden stool that leans like your spine, Eyes cloudy, legs trembling, As children pass without a second glance. No parades. No salute. No thanks. Just mutters of “na old man” as they walk past The man who once walked through fire So they could dance in peace. You’ve buried comrades and been buried in forgetfulness. You scream in your sleep but wake up to hunger. The government you bled for Cannot find your file. Your family — gone, scattered, Some ashamed to call you theirs. The war never really ended, did it? It just followed you home. In your joints. In your breath. In your dreams. You see things you can’t say. You feel things you can’t touch. You sit by the roadside, a shell, a relic, While the nation moves on like you were never there. Old soldier, old soldier… You fought for the Nation Who will fight for you now? Who will remember The bodies you stepped over, The parts of yourself you left behind? You deserved rest, But were handed rust. You deserved peace, But were left with pieces. And still, you stand… barely, Not for pride anymore — but out of habit. A fading salute to a nation That forgets too quickly, And honors too late.
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| Sports › Re: Fulham Plot Move For Nigeria’s Tolu Arokodare After Prolific Belgian Season by WriterX(m): 2:19pm On Jul 01, 2025 |
Another talented man on the move, bigger goals, greater impact can't wait... Naija to the world as always. Wow 5 Likes 1 Share |
| Romance › Re: He Should Cheat And Have Fun: Nigerian Lady Shares The Kind Of Husband She Wants by WriterX(m): 12:29pm On Jun 30, 2025 |
I can remember an ex telling me this, i later found out it was the only way she could clear her own conscience over her dirty deeds. Thankfully i didn't fall for that nonsense. I want you to lie because I too am a liar... Thats just what she is saying... Note the fact she doesn't want him to be home all the time lol [center][/center] 2 Likes |
| Literature › Re: The Teacher I Once Knew - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 12:05am On Jun 30, 2025 |
Rest In Peace Dear Mr Daniel Iraoya. I will always remember your great impact as a teacher and a father figure to me. |
| Literature › The Teacher I Once Knew - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 12:03am On Jun 30, 2025 |
The Teacher I Once Knew The teacher I once knew walked with pride, Chalk in hand, truth in heart, A voice that stirred young minds awake, A light in rooms dimmed by ignorance. He stood before blackboards like altars, Wielding nothing but words and wisdom, Turning noise to knowledge, Chaos to comprehension. He wore patched shirts, yes — But his dreams were never torn. He believed in the nation, Believed that one child at a time He could mend its broken bones. [/b]He came home tired but smiling, His hands ink-stained, his feet sore. Yet he wore his title like a crown: “Teacher.” it used to mean something. But now… I see him hunched in a wooden chair, Eyes cloudy with time, Voice cracking not from age — But from heartbreak. His pension has not come. Years of service signed into dust. No phone calls from officials, No plaques on walls can feed a man. They gave him “Thank you” and a piece of paper. But they do not see his cracked shoes, Do not know how many nights He taught without light, Or [how many times he skipped lunch So I could eat. Now the classrooms have changed — and not for good. In private schools, they dress the teachers well Only to strip them of their dignity. More work, less pay — Lesson notes, after-school duties, Holiday classes, unpaid hours, All demanded without thanks, As if teaching were charity, As if their souls were dispensable. They become slaves in polished uniforms, Warned to smile, to bow, to endure. The parents are kings, The children are princes, The teacher is a servant Trapped in silence. Raise your voice, and you're fired. Correct a child, and you're punished. Children run riot in the name of “customer satisfaction.” Respect is no longer earned — it's sold. And the price is the teacher’s pride. The schools care more about image than impact. Fancy gates, glossy fliers, High fees for low standards. Education is now a market stall, Where results are forged for status, And certificates handed out like sweets. They don’t ask if the children learned — Only if the parents are pleased. Teachers are told to pass those who failed, Promote those who cheated, Because business must grow. Because clients must be happy. And so, the teacher suffers. Made to kneel beneath profit and pretence, Robbed of their authority, Robbed of their reason to believe. I now watch my father — Once the lifter of minds, Now sitting on plastic chairs at home, Counting pills, counting time, Still waiting for the government to remember him. He doesn’t say much, But his silence screams. He sees the news, Hears the noise of campaigns, And sighs. He sees the new generation of teachers, Burning out before they reach forty. And he whispers, “They are breaking like we did.” The teacher I once knew is fading. Not just him — But the idea of who a teacher was: A shaper of nations, A holder of futures, A name spoken with respect. Now they languish with real hope, Eyes sunken, dreams deferred, Living month to month, Marking books in the dark, Depressed, But forced to smile. Some cry in the staffroom. Some faint in overcrowded classrooms. Some teach on empty stomachs Because they must. Because no one else will. They are mocked by society, Insulted by those they once taught, And left behind by the very system they helped build. And I wonder: is this what it means to serve your country? To give everything, And die with nothing? The teacher I once knew Deserved more than applause, Deserved more than paper plaques, Deserved more than unkept promises. He deserved rest, not regret. He deserved peace, not pain. He deserved a nation that remembers its roots, Not one that forgets those who planted the seeds. And still… I write this, hoping someone reads. Before the next teacher breaks, Before the next child grows without guidance, Before the last light in the classroom goes out — Let us remember: Nations rise only when teachers are honored. And they fall when teachers are forgotten.
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| Literature › The Nigeria Of My Nightmare - A Piece Of Reality by WriterX(op): 11:37pm On Jun 29, 2025 |
The Nigeria of My Nightmare I dreamt of a nation, but woke to a wound, A country bleeding promise in broad daylight. The chalkboard is cracked, the books are blank, And the classrooms echo the silence of lost minds. Where knowledge once sat crowned in light, Now money answers every question — Not from toil, not from truth, But from crooked hands behind closed doors. Diplomas are bought like loaves of bread, While brilliance rots in the gutters of the forgotten. Fraud wears fine linen, And Hardwork wears shame. The innocent are jailed for crimes they didn’t commit, While the guilty toast champagne on stolen thrones. Justice here is not blind — she’s bribed, bound, and gagged, Her scales tipped by tribal blood and brown envelopes. In courts where truth should thunder, Silence is golden — for the right price. Law is a tool, not a shield, Bent to protect the powerful, to pierce the poor. O Nigeria, what have you become? A nation where merit dies a slow death At the altar of surnames and secret deals, Where tribe is ticket, and talent is trash. Ministers molded from mediocrity, Offices auctioned to the highest godfather. Nepotism tightens its noose While the qualified gasp for air. Elections are carnivals of blood and lies, Ballots buried beneath bullets and bribes. Leaders rise, not by will of the people, But by the weight of rigged machines and rigged hearts. The hungry are given religion instead of bread — Temples built in place of factories, Pulpits richer than hospitals, Pastors fattened while their flocks faint. Holy words twisted to chain the mind, Mosques and churches whispering power's lies. Prayers loud, but justice silent; We kneel, yet never rise. We worship while we burn. We fast while we fear. We speak in tongues but never truth — Because truth offends the gods of greed. And insecurity spreads like harmattan fire. The roads are graveyards of the unsuspecting. Children are stolen from sleep into silence, And homes become hiding places, not havens. The soldier is tired. The police are paid to look away. The farmer flees from fields of blood. In the north, the east, the west, the south — Terror wears many masks, and none are new. We have become a parody of promise, A nation unborn though long delivered. We build cathedrals, but crumble hospitals. We chant unity, but march with machetes. This is not the Nigeria of my dreams — This is the Nigeria of my nightmare. A graveyard of greatness, Where tomorrow mourns before it arrives. Yet even nightmares must end. Even night gives way to dawn. So I raise my voice in this darkness, A warning, a wail, a whisper to the unborn: We must choose light. We must fight rot. We must write truth. We must birth justice. Or we will watch our children Inherit only the ash of what we refused to change.
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| Food › Re: How Many Have You Tried In This Combination? by WriterX(m): 12:34pm On Jun 28, 2025 |
So it so happens I have to consult my doctors, man has eaten 18 out of 20 combos. With extras like avocado. |
| Christianity Etc › Re: Owl: The Bird Nigerians Refer To As Witch (Photo) by WriterX(m): 8:16am On Jun 28, 2025 |
Dear Twitter user stop telling me what to do with anything that enters my house uninvited, it is not a zoo |
| Politics › Re: President Tinubu Appoints Ismael Ahmed, Executive Chairman Of PCNGi by WriterX(m): 8:06am On Jun 28, 2025 |
I see he is not going to work today so I can go to work tomorrow morning |
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