Poems, Short Stories and Write-ups 

Day  3


Life can seem an endless puzzle
trying to leave and live above the struggle.
But things always come back to normal…
at the right time.
Efforts might fail to yield,
the doubled hustle seems not to pay to plan.
Fortune will find the deserving man…
at the right time.
You want everything to be right,
but it keeps bouncing the wrong way.
Obviously the bouncing will stop…
at the right time
Life can be sturdy, no doubts,
but hope is the thing that is inevitable.
Surely a turnaround is at hand…
at the right time
© Ifeoluwa


Bring out our drums, bring them out,
it’s time to sing the song of hope.
Beat the drums well,
let the sound match the tune of our songs,
let the drums speak of hope for us.
We shouldn’t be pessimistic.
We shouldn’t feel hopeless.
Our fears are gone,
our predators have been caught
in the ambush they laid for us.
The vampires that seek after our blood
have turned against themselves.
Even murderers that walk at midnight
are now killing themselves.
Why then should we not sing
the songs of hope?
© Sanni omobolade


When our days be green again,
and the smokes be gone.
When the slaves be free again,
and nothing’s there to bemoan.
The cactus shall sing out,
and purple hibiscuses resonate the lyrics.
Peace shall then our anthem be,
and fragrance – the smell.
Our dead wives and lost sons will fill the diaries.
Our burnt buildings and ruins will be to us artifacts.
Our new sons will remind us of the baking sun, and we,
yes mankind, shall be as Job.
©Akin OLA


I hope my mighty pen sings;
sings out my songs of hope
giving melodies to my audience.
I hope my pen will continue to bleed;
bleed out witty words profusely like a
wounded soldier in a war,
pulling down walls of words,
filling up those who are down
and giving great energy to move on.
I hope my pen can carry mighty messages.
I hope my pen takes me to places;
places unimaginable to my feet,
so I can set people free from captivities.
I hope it doesn’t fail me whenever I pick it up;
pick it up to bleed out witty words.
I hope my mighty pen is able to sing out
songs of beautiful hope.
I hope…
© Ashade Grace ( The pen🖋️🖋️)


It is dampy and darkened,
it is cloudy and clumsy,
it’s like marathon and not funky.
I know it won’t always be like this,
I trust it’s going to get better one day,
certainly it won’t be delayed.
I’m getting over this soon,
before night falls and gives its moon,
the darkest night will be over soon,
I’m activating a positive mood.
The distance between “Here”
and “There” is “T”, which is “Time”,
so with “Time” I’m getting to my
glorious destination soon.
© Pope-Chris.


There are songs, and there are songs.
Some send chills to my spine whene’er they are sung,
but some others just do it all wrong.
To the days when I’m up,
I get to dance to songs of hip-hop,
but this doesn’t happen when I drink life’s dreg-full cup.
You can learn them too – Songs of hope.
Although not all composed by the clergy or Pope,
I bet you that their effect remains ever dope.
© Oluwatomiwa


I am Nigerian,
The first male of the journey my parents began,
In the darkness of unemployment my life gropes,
Yet I hear songs of hope.

I am Nigerian,
First female of the journey my parents began,
Tied by inequality my life like a rope,
But I hear songs of hope.

We are Nigerian,
But how much we would give to be American,
For then we would not worry what our kids would eat,
Oh! the songs of hope, the beat how to our ears sweet!

I am Nigeria,
While the thought of my past gives me bulimia,
I’ll wash thorough my present with water and soap,
Leaving my future clean to sing the songs of hope.

© W.I.C


The ancient Labule was a city of fame
whose resources proclaimed its name.
Chaos and pestilence made it desolate,
yet its inhabitants stuck to their faith.
They hope they’ll soon be out of the ditch,
so noble compatriots raised up their pitch:
‘Labule is now a shadow of itself,
in unity she’ll progress amidst the cleft’.
Great and small made up the orchestra,
in unison with little and no rehearsal
they proclaimed: ‘the gory present
will turn to bring out the glory we expect’.
© Dah-me-law-lah


When I board a plane with no doubt
of reaching my destination,
I sing the songs of hope.
When I leave my house to find my daily bread
like I already put it out there, I sing the songs of hope.
When I tell of tomorrow like the God of the
Universe who wields the time and seasons,
I sing the songs of hope.
When I plan for the future like I know what it holds, I sing the songs of hope.
When I pray in faith, I sing the songs of hope.
When I love for love, I sing the songs of hope.
When I battle the known and the unknown,
I sing the songs of hope.
When I fall and yet pick myself up,
I sing the songs of hope.
When I go to bed mourning, and wake with a
good morning, I sing the songs of hope.
When I believe in God I do not see,
I sing the songs of hope.
I sing daily, the songs of hope…
You should too.
© Thobbie Gabriel


Iron bars, behind bar!
darkness loomed.
The treasury sunk down.
The chant volume has increased.

Eyes red, Whip stretched!
Soul in anquish
The penalty wasn’t deserved.
justice was murdered in cold blood.

Dreams, Faith!
Reality Stares,
Despite the undeserved agony
The faith in tomorrow sticks.

Freedom, freedom!
Chains broken
The sun is brighter.
the ray of hope comes.

© Jane Onojeta


I twist my waist as in Indian step,
I wink my eyes like a glimpsing style,
I have got no worries of a quack.
I am very well, I know.
I hear a calm nice calling from a mile telling
me to chill for a while, hurdles go,
relief come and continue forever.
They both come and leave,
but then, I know.
I hear the sounds of hope
beating awesome rhythmicity all over sense.
 © Waleeyah Olalekan.


Weep not babies,
human race still has an escape route.
Weep not school boys,
other ways shall soon be acquired.

Weep not daughters,
we shall overcome this Pandemic.
Weep not mothers,
this trauma shall end soon.

Weep not good men,
there is still hope when life exists.
Weep not people,
your mouth shall soon sing songs of hope.



Today may be tough,
things may seem rough,
I may seem not to have enough.
Yet, singing songs of hope, I won’t rebuff.

The present situation may not be favorable,
making my desired plans look unachievable
and rendering my dreams unattainable.
With my songs of hope, I remain immovable.

Cold heat may keep discomforting my zone,
sending very sweet pains to my jawbone
and making a bold fear become my clone,
songs of hope remain to me a precious stone.

When the knocks of life come banging,
these songs of hope will I keep singing.

© Witty_pen 


From the indepth of my heart comes a Melody;
a Melody that sounds as a remedy for all situation.
From my heart does a beautiful song come from,
a song that can relieve me from pangs of pain.
From my soul, comes a song that has been ordained;
ordained to bring dead hopes back to life.
Beautifully orchestrated melody,
for all situation, it serves as a remedy.
A remedy for the healing of broken hearts.
A remedy for the springing up of a new plant.
A remedy for bringing dry bones back to life.
From the indepth of my heart comes the melodious remedy.
© Eriikeoluwanimi


The smoldering ash may slumber,
the rosy plants may nip when it rains no more.
But whispers of hope
shall keep echoing my ears
with bliss putting my heart to sea.

I see the light of greener pastures
glittering like Golds
with dew caressing the fading aisle,
leading to the promise land
like the moon tilting the nipping plants.

I may eat from the rump’s hen,
wallow on the ghetto street
through sea, through desert,
but in the end – I shall dance in my best outfit
when I reach my comfort zone.

© Atanda Clinton S.


Momma said I would make it,
she said only if I could endure it.
She reminded me of how far I had gone,
and it would be wrong if I made a turn.
‘Imisi, Life is not a bed of roses ‘she said
‘and you don’t get things on a platter of gold’ Dad muttered.
Then I knew I would eventually make it.
I have got Daddy to make proud,
I have got Momma to make happy,
I have got Ola Mi to make boast.
These were the songs of hope
that lingered in my heart.
© Ebunife


A conversation with Thee
prompted thy expectations to be free.
In lease, I have snatched,
the tune of life bearing risk.
Your words made a plea
to my heart.
My souls could swing
in hope of possibility as a king.
Not dwindling as a grain
of sand,
but dilating to make me dance
to plausible future band.
© Midun


I’ve many times sailed through the sea seeking shark.
Her gills electrocuted me, almost I died.
But I’ve caught other bastard beasts, thank God,
to make me want to aim more.
I’ve tried to climb many mounts.
Their meeting was but hell,
but I’ve stepped on many stones, thank God,
to make me aim more and more.
I’ve struggled to pluck many flowers.
Their beauties waned in the dusk,
but I’ve plucked a thousands of leaves, thank God
to make me still aim more.
I’ve forced myself to gulp a cup of coffee.
Yet, my tummy repleted not.
But I’ve sipped on some milk, thank God
who wants me to aim more.
© βαπur


This is my song
upon which solid trust I plot
to make our blind heart see flames above ashes
and dawn wisdom upon our deaf slumber.
This is my song
to spread healing to our remnant souls,
to spread life to our falling eyes,
to spread hope that does not limber
to gravestones and to make trust
that does not fleet stand for generations,
generations upon generations.
This is my song
plotted upon paper
like a seed, rooted upon dust
that when our eyes again
are cast into eternity,
we will see nothing but hope,
like the moving clouds
and trust, like the rising sun.


What you and I share
in this world are the chiming bells
of hope, keeping the things of our sufferings
away from the devouring us.
We are now here with instruments ready,
I will spring-like voices dancing jubilantly
under the dome of heaven.
We cried for miracles yet, none around,
but our songs of hope kept our
flickering candlelights aglow.
We hurt each day to survive,
Our pains blind our joy,
We reach our breaking point when
left to our thoughts, but
We now heal coz we opened the door to hope.
© Sempiternal Melody Phoenix (S.M.P)


Drowned in the sorrows, oppressions and shame of the world,
I welcomed the anguish and agony that embraced me.
I plunged into the sea to rid me of my ignominy.
With wounded pride and skewer heart, I sank to the bottomless deep
hanging on the last ray of hope, my eyes begin to dim.
Surrendering to the darkness that enveloped me icily,
Everything was moving with no place to go,
a destination without a fare.
Emptiness seeped into my heart and brain stem
I hungrily sought for warmth; but was stone cold and alone
The thick thin atmosphere dominated my senses
A deep surge racked my nerves and suddenly
A much needed intake of air; satisfying my organs immensely;
Songs of hope danced into my head
but words were not within my reach.
© Precious


Nothing is bright,
depression and panic strides.
Rain doesn’t cool the land;
sun can’t light over day.
Families are winning in pains,
many tear their voices and scream;
but no one hears their silent sound.
The storm always passes.
It won’t last forever.
Like Zion’s captivity,
we’ll wear a song;
dancing and rejoicing.
Wilderness journey will pass,
Canaan will be to us a possession.
You and I will live to tell the story,
how God grant us victory.
© AfolaOluwa


Living is weird in my country.
Some even says the country is dead,
but I remember Sarah’s womb was empty,
soon dead, yet “laughter” it bred.
Living is tough in my nation,
Samaria was probably tougher back then,
but very soon, an end came to starvation
And abundance was the new song. AMEN!
Living is grievous in my country,
Modern slavery is the order of the day.
Four hundred and thirty years, Israel was in slavery.
They came out singing song of praise.
Be it weird, tough or grievous in our nation,
our Sun of hope brighter and brighter it shines
’cause we know a God that sets free from desperation.
Let’s call to him, He will never decline.


A beautiful day came crawling by
with the seizure of ululation and cries.
The sun portrays a ray of hope
and the moon optimism around the globe.
The lament of a soul ushered out
by the songs and echoes of victorious army.
Bloody cries from the altar wiped away
and the salty water from faces thoroughly mopped.
Mouths run silently on different account
Uttering something more like a faint whisper,
but as the ears afford to listen,
it was nothing but songs of hope.
© Barnabas


Give them the minstrel songs of hope
and see them gulping it down like a bowel ofmilk-honey served on an arduous night.
Hope never ceased when daily bread ceased.

Out of the hollows of deep seethed hunger
sprout new songs of gratitude.

A composition of churning stomachs, and strained eyes
viewing the fruitfulness of a future coming,
harking to the meritious tidings that melody has not lost
its potency to resuscitate forlorn minds
who perceive only the emptiness of today.

© Fedelia 


A new song I want to sing
dance I want to, out of life’s bing.
The clouds are packing up, soon to rain.
Here we stand prepared to reign.
In the ash, we will find the match again.
The heights we couldn’t see, we will attain.
Joy will embrace peace to a conference
and our faces will glow without interference.
The plagues of man, our resolve test.
The maker; the one fountain to our thirst.
Pruning we go through to shine bright,
for the dark will eventually bear the light.
Bring me to a halt, I will stand at ease,
for war exist for us to appreciate peace.
These are trying times, yes I agree
but after the drought, the land will be green.


Though the mountain before us speaks impossibility,
the eyes of our heart see hope and our minds sing music of hope.
I see the street bubble again,
businesses open again,
I see joy restored again,
yes I hear songs of jubilation again.
A new dawn will come.
All we have is divine hope, our only hope.
Let’s see beyond our present,
and shine our light to the future.
We will smile and dance again.
This, too, will pass.
Our deadbones will rise again.
We have hope, our future is brighter than our dark past.
So, let’s sing our music of hope.
© Benedicta Agagbo


You made me walk on the turbid water.
There has never been sunlight for this love.
My aims and visions are turning down.
The dews continue to weep from trees.
The hope I have is fading out.
Deep down of me, I live with the hope.
Every rug has its weave and underlay,
seen only by the maker, deliveerer and the layer.
Evening folding to mark its end
and morning rolling to break the day.
The end is always the past.
The future is what we’ve never seen.
My good might lies in you.
But the past bad will always serve as lesson.
The sleeping hope should be waken.
The fading hope should be restored.
© PenAdrenalin

Short Stories and Write-ups section


We are like the children of Alabata village awaiting the return of our loved ones. The king of Zuma land had invaded our peaceful town rendering many homeless, desecrating our sacred altars with the virgin blood of our damsels, and ravaging the crops; wheat; barley, oil and every produce of the land. The earth groans! All innocence is lost. Who will heal the land?
But like hope that makes not ashamed, we sit daily at the gates, not mourning our loss but looking forward to a brighter morning. To the awakening of the land and return of the sons of the soil as they dance to the beat of freedom. To the healing of the earth and restoration of all that’s being carted away, we wait. One day, our Alabata will bring forth its kolanuts in its season. Our lips will move to the rhythm of life. We sing!
© Favour Fasanya


It will happen, but not before it is suppose to. The fact that it hasn’t happened, doesn’t mean it won’t happen. It only means it’s not yet time for it to happen.
People often loose hope when a particular thing does happen when they want it to. They are ignorant of the fact that everything has it’s time and season.
Anything that contradict this law of time and season would have a negative effect. Ask the man who was destined to be rich but went ahead to do money rituals.
© EMs


Challenges are meant to strengthen your resolution on the reason for your struggles. On the journey of life, many thorns await you. Many people in your shoes have been left behind in the race. Many got lost. Many saw no reason to continue and so, gave up.
It’s okay to take a break but you just can’t give up. Know dear, that the gloomy sunset doesn’t only mark the end of a hectic day. It also promises a beautiful morrow. For when there’s life, there’s hope. And at the end of the tunnel, there’s light. Believe in your Lord’s Promise that after hardship comes ease.

© Ummulkhayr


Long time ago, a cobbler, richly rich in poverty resided in a rickety, ramshackle and dilapidated mansion down a slope very close to the stream. The cobbler had in possession his most treasured awl, he lived so close to a stream yet he washed his hands with spittle.
He worked hard all night and day, so hard that he could provide only a square meal. A stone thrown by God to him split into three, yes into three beautiful Bismuth crystal.
Three beautiful daughters he had in his humble abode, the first married the wealthy palmwine tapper who owed a thousand cowries in the village, the second married the famous fisherman whom only the fishes in the sea knew, the third married someone just someone who had no name.
The optimistic cobbler thanked God for his life “It is well, it is well with my soul” he confessed.
© Barnabas


I was like the paranormal creature that lived within the shadows cast by daylight. I traversed within the infinities of my woes, that manipulated the fatigue that leaped up my heart and the heaviness of my court case faded the light within my eyes. I’ve been cheated and denied salary with the multinational company which I had appointment with. Their reason was in reference to the frightening epidemic and they’ve decided to save their cash and left me to suffering with preferential treatment to other colleagues.
Barrister Obi’s eyes burned lightly before the judge as the court hearing flung opened with hot argument gushing out like the roaring flames. The judge passed his final verdict which pushed my lips to clap and sang to victory.
©Israel Eze(Equity)


Suicide is not the best option, just have hope and pray to the creator of the universe. When there is life there is hope, I don’t understand this until my teacher narrated the story of prophet Ayub to me.
Prophet Ayub was endowed with blessings including wives and children. He was tested by his creator with a serious illness. He lost everything due to the illness including his wives and children. He did not submit to despair because he knew with hardship, there is relief.
After many years of illness, he was healed by God. All his lost glory was redeemed. Since the same God then also the one in power now why don’t you believe that better days will come?
Once you choose hope nothing is impossible but the presence of despair makes you believe you can’t do it. Aim higher and believe in your pilot. He will always be there for you when their is no one. Always remember that Better days will come.

© 🖊️Abdullahi Shuaib


What keeps you up at night? Always trying to check covid-19 updates like weather forecast then become downcast because the figure increased so fast. You become too worried and lose your sleep, but is that really worth worrying? If you know whom is behind the wheel, you will sleep even if there’s yet peace.
Passengers take nap in a moving car because they trust the driver. God the potter is in control, though the journey may be breathtaking. The journey of life is not always smooth, I would even break your heart but always take it as it takes you and break it as it break you!
Perhaps, the heart won’t rupture when it breaks, it bruises, heal and get better just the way the potter wills. It won’t halt!
It could pause, fast forward and even skip but it will still beat. Each heart beat says; “you are still alive, God is in control, there’s hope” those are the songs of hope and that’s what matters most.
© Jigs Michael

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