What calls for all these hullabaloo?
Like the rantings of the animals in the zoo
But don’t be annoyed, it’s what I love to do
And I care less about the accompanying boos
I have my cronies, my bosom dudes
Who are at the vanguard of speaking the truth
We made a pledge never to be rude
To the existing laws and rules.
So if you hear me shout on top of my voice
That appears to you like a deafening noise
It may be a noise at the highest decibel
Like the voice of Danny and Jezebel
It’s all in the bid to tell my cronies not to go there.
As a result of my disposition
And my uncanny proposition
Some seem not to be enamoured at me
Which means they don’t like me
But that makes me to be more meek
My disposition mixes no business with pleasure
Time for venture, time for adventure
Mixing both is like incurring the wrath of a vulture
That can consume the flesh of one’s business
Thereafter what happens? An incurable sickness
I draw a thin line between the two
In the time of business,seriousness
And an unwavering commitment
With the application of my tenacity and savvy.
My face may appear contorted, unfriendly
And my voice so vociferous,
Outside of business, on the social strata, no one’s palaver
Like the indifference of a cadaver.
A perfect apotheosis of flippancy
Adopted by anyone inebriated by the social life.
Don’t mix business with pleasure
Work while you work, play while you play
Don’t play while you work but you can work while you play.
In the quest to unravel more of myself
I came across a stunning discovery.
It’s a discovery per excellence
One that I may not have had to agree with
But it’s not a discovery encapsulated in one sentence
Pivoted on the periphery of human’s subsistence.
Don’t sing your own praises, says a popular maxim.
I don’t think I agree with this.
You can recite your panegyrics
But don’t appropriate the praises to yourself.
I’ve come to see myself as being dogged,
Unruffled by anything whatsoever.
Firm, resolute, quintessential,exemplary.
Stubborn but not with a trace of recalcitrance
Except in a glance.
My recalcitrance only exists in a trance.
Upon discovery, it goes off in a glance
And I try as much to avoid playing pranks.
I’m as dogged as doggedness with other sterling and admirable qualities.
Except with a deficit of a quantifiable measure and quantity.
It’s quantifiable because it causes no stir and scare.
It causes no jitters in nobody’s spine.
This is it; I don’t have the capacity of thinking.
It’s a thinking not categorized under reflection.
I do reflective thinking and a thorough appraisal
I think thoughtfully.
I reflect soberly, not somberly.
But my brand of thinking lacks anxiety.
If it were a thought, it’s reflective implicitly.
I’ve got a large of accommodation
But it’s porous to hold anxiety.
Some perceive this as a virtue,
Some see it as a vice
A virtue to those who practically relate vertically,
A vice to them that hobnob and interlock horizontally.
I never saw it as any of the two, fleshly
But the deposit of God’s word does the bidding.
It has become so unconscious to feel and explain.
But something of all things makes me anxious,
Restive and restless but not to make me sleepless.
When someone tells me we need to talk.
We need to talk about something.
It makes me feel jittery
I’d begin to dissect and dilate upon nothing.
Have I done something wrong?
Does the person need my help?
A gamut of ranges of negativities begin to prop up.
Aside this, my emotion is stabilized in God.