SOULFLAME MAGAZINE

  Why Sad When You Can Have It All Does it baffle you why men run mad? Simple! They tried putting their legs in animals shoe, Going where they can't tell: sheep. Having the taste of everything on the floor: birds. Developing an intense love for rubbish: Rodents. Smiling uncontrollably: Quokka. Just name them. But regaining consciousness is a different ball game Why, Simple! They enjoy being animals more than humans I could hear them say, Why sad when I can have it all! But at times the mad sees better That is why they call you a madman And you take it for irony. But come, Are you not mad? If you were not then Why do you green-spray the hair you would always Cut years ago because they were brownish? Why do you have to blade cut your trousers For what purpose the tailor lives? Imagine! You dress up take a walk And mother asks, where to? And you said you do not know Is that not taking a diploma in madness? Why tell the tailor to advertise such an Exhibit when the land is not free from...

The Soul of Music The chord Is odd. And the string, Like a spring. It flows Like a droplet in a hose.. He took hold of the drum stick, He held the very peak Like a scroll About to roll. Take hold of your violin And remember not violence. Strike you conga And shop in konga, Think of your wind instrument And get ready for merriment. He touches the string And it rang, Then I saw sleepers in the mortuary Smiling, though in sanctuary. Music has soul anyway. AUTHOR’S NOTE This poem reflects a deep fascination with the mysterious and almost supernatural power of music. It moves from simple sounds and instruments into a larger vision where music becomes a force that transcends life and death. The imagery may feel playful at first, but it gradually evolves into something more profound, suggesting that music is not merely entertainment but a living presence capable of awakening even the stillest silence. The lines carry a rhythm that mirrors the very subject of the poem, allowing the reader to f...

SACRIFICE Luxury rides are pounds of blood. Mansions, a thousand head count. The useless, and choiceless man takes the contract. He gives hope to the man who is desperate for money. He gives him an advance To claim the balance when the job is done. Genuine work builds slowly, But the darkest trades rise overnight. Speak no truth about the truth, Manipulate the figures in the book, Force sense into the stubborn ledger, Tell the accountant his share. Money will speak, And men will keep the secret. Sacrifice is pain, Giving away what is loved. He gives his wife for this same money, His parents are wagered, He wants to belong. To be first among men, To sit with the powerful, To stand among the elite, To command influence, To walk into power without question. If wife and parents are not enough, The children may be  added They must not die, But they may be broken. Let their eyes grow weak, Let their bodies lean uneven, Let unseen wounds define them. And let them smile- A laughter no one ...

MY COUNTRY'S REQUEST Herod! Even Herod has desire the head of John A mouth-watering bounty has he offered, Even the double of the figure is not Enough an offer to secure the field of blood. We have brothers out there Called the “prodigal sons” Men whose hands are stained, yet called our own Even such great resources cannot bring them back home Yet the same wealth is set aside To reward the fall of the righteous For the head of John I know a fool is wandering, searching Even for John himself Not for him though, but for his head He wants to win the bountiful bounty All thanks to my country who can keep mute. To Deborah "the second" Who keeps the neck that holds the head, Bravo! Think not about the first For life isn't the one that ends when breath seizes. Perhaps, it could be Cyrene Joseph Blessed hart thou for feeling the weight of the cross Anyway, thanks to my country for keeping mute. How costly is this head, Even the unseen head! How troubling it is for him who has...