SOULFLAME MAGAZINE

  Soulflame Magazine: A Global Reflection of Thought, Poetry, and Human Experience Soulflame Magazine stands as more than a digital publication. It is a living archive of thought and feeling, a meeting point where reflection and poetry embrace the complexity of human life. From its earliest beginnings as a simple creative blog, it has grown into a space where moral inquiry, emotional honesty, and poetic expression coexist. It began with a single vision: to create a platform where words are not only written but felt. A place where life’s moral choices, human nature, and personal growth are not merely analyzed but explored through the lens of poetry. Over time, that vision took shape, finding structure, rhythm, and an audience. What started as a personal writing outlet has gradually become a global reading space where voices from different nations now converge. Today, Soulflame Magazine reflects a growing international readership. Visitors from Singapore, Hong Kong, the United States...

MAD  " I ’m Not Mad, I’m Misunderstood"  What does it truly mean to be misunderstood? In a world where perception often outweighs reality, individuals are frequently judged not by who they are, but by how others interpret them. This deeply reflective poem explores the fragile boundary between identity and perception, questioning even the assumptions people make and the silent battles fought within. At its core, this piece is not just about confusion or sanity, it is about self-ownership, the courage to resist societal labeling, and the quiet rebellion against being defined by others. Through layered metaphors and introspective language, the poem invites readers to reconsider how quickly they form judgments and how little they sometimes understand. If you have ever felt unseen, misjudged, or misrepresented, this poem speaks directly to you and that experience. MAD You look at me So deep into the eyes of him Whom to you is a confused fellow And you ask but your very self Why at...

  HOW IMPORTANT IS QUARREL! How about Mr Joshua Who tapped the daughter's back glory And she took it so mean I'll never fail to mention Sir Ken Who asked a sister, “Do well to drop it on my bed” you know what that means Not to talk of Sir Duke, a Reverend! Who knows about her underwear And where it tears. You desire that I say more? In the cause of protecting their images Mr. & Mrs. Ben have bent their daughter's womb My boy! Never tame the untame Tame that which can tame it, “the mind.” They should...that I die with this little swamp Of secrets. At which, if no fellow hits, it dies in me. Peter Simon! Begone with your sword For him who the sword so cliff, death comes This, they all know. Him who teaches and they who hear The same can relate. AUTHOR’S NOTE This poem emerges from a profound reflection on the hidden realities within society, realities often concealed beneath silence, fear, and the desire to maintain a public image. It considers how wrongdoing can be widel...

BOOTIES OF WAR Away a step from the scene Where a baby mourned her mum who lived no more It's painful, for us who wept, found no comforter. And those who did, took not his advice. For their fate was controlled by the stream of endless ocean That sprang the baby's eye  Who took no suck if not from mum Who exists no more. Back from the scene For you shall behold and sleep no more. There lies a river that sustains canals That flows to an ocean which gives Wave to no ship of merchandise. What ended him was the edge of a sword Pierce into the soul. All she labored for was her  vessel of honor, Who now, is to men Of valor a booty of war. Toasted like vow wine, prepared just for the master's use. Keep that sword! Or shall you again race while your mother lame? I know! Always had it been in the blood to spill. And yet, there be no Napoleon Who will show, only to behold it conquered. Those who've seen it take it, a film. Those who have heard it, a story. And those who've exp...

OTHER SIDE OF POLITICS Mum was a farmer And dad had signed a petition, A death warrant to die for the nation. I'm a political scientist- I remember mom's words when dad played the down game. If only I had heard him I would've told him to his face His father was a fool, Had he not died  A year to his life would make him the greatest of fools. Her husband was a wizard Butchered at the village square. Her mother was a Necromancer She had a nail thrust into her head. I equally heard them say my dad was a Nero Dancing till the city was razed down(Read more here: history.com ) They said he was full of lies That he can lie for the nation. That he forcefully seized his land from him: A thing he never would've done had it meant his dad was alive. That he is biblical Laban in nature, He doesn't pay the debt. How can he ever lead the youth? And then I began to kill their words, Burying them with my five fingers. Politics is a game of survival, The true elimination chamber. Eve...

  BEHOLD MY DAUGHTER Mother night is that night When the moon is fully ripe  And down it goes, falling from the weak branch Rolling down the cliff To the skull of a victim whose life the mighty had taken, Wishing she had lived again Thinking of that day when she dated the night Going against the rules. When the sons of perdition bid her adieu Having harvested her daffodil.  Toasting her to the fullest. Drawing every sugar from her and leaving her in her own pool of blood, Wearing her natural costume. Mother night is that night When the executioner thrusted the axe Into the pound of flesh Engulfing the circulation of the ocean of blood Springing the soul of mother's loving son, Who was of a Buccaneer. He paid dearly with his blood, Having bit-hacked a damsel who refused to be his date. She was as well her mother's loving daughter. Never shall it be well, the damsel's mother said: He shall die same way. And the loving son's mother said: Same way shall he die. So goes the...

  NEVER GO SO SLOW There is no comfort in Rope So let me find it in Nail Never go so slow sincere executioner! But speedily. So I sleep so soon and not in pain. Tell me, oh Learned Man! Do I have the right to tell how it should go? If this you must grant me and again none, Then I shall die smiling, for even in my adversary, so much love prevails. Oh! How much they are who wait to hear me speak in the dark But I disappointed them, I never spoke dark speech even in the dark And today, here I stand in the light to suffer for the truth. I’m in for it! Only let me tell you how it should be. So speedily without pain, not with a rope but a Nail from Kalashnikov. CONTENT/POETIC ANALYSIS I just want to remind us today that we don’t own this world, so we shouldn't carry it on our heads. We are only a player: "All the world's a stage, and all men and women merely players" — William Shakespeare's(As You Like It). I won’t really spend much time analyzing the poetic ingredients...