Bliss resort

By Ola Vincent Omotade  I am the ghost always knocking at the door of your Christian heart,  I am the interior shadow always making you remember your sins earlier forgiven, I am  condemnation  so please fight me to any-length so you can conquer me. i am the  anger that diminishes your persistence in studying and reading  your bible,  i make you lose your sense of belonging among the comity of saints and believers, i dis-unite your heart in intercession, causing you to have the sharpest memories of sins whenever you beg for grace. When you're forgiven, i make you  blame  yourself and cry for mercy yet tell your Christian heart  you  still need to do this, you're gonna recieve mercy "Your lord is merciful "  I make you grow up with so many myths, a trajectory that leads you not to anywhere but towards hell. though you know t he guilts you feel after committing the sin is so terrible that you will ever regret why you did it, but I still tell your heart y

Is life this thing we rescued from two haggling dogs; the colonial masters and the colonels? This thing we carry for the ruling others; this thing around our neck. For we are not permanent entries in life's log books. We have appeared because of the need for  black, when white is to be identified. we are the hum that comes before the song, the tapping of the fingers before the Gong. Some say we will be  reimbursed by death because we really never lived. And naturally, dying should only come after living. That we cannot give account of a body we did not use, but merely moved about! For all we did was to  breath out gases just like any exhaust pipe! Is this thing we are doing called living... Is life really our tennant or the other way round? this thing that comes and goes! If you cast a net in earth's oxygen sea, we're the planktons you're meant to catch. the living preludes, the election consumables. We are not the beer but the foam before the b

He came in an ambulance, the man was old so the stretcher took  it easy. The hands on duty jumped into action like  men in death's embassy. His face  was cloudy, not a perfect frame to cheat death. But it was not our duty to read these signs. For as we raised him  onto the white bed he smiled through the pain. Then his son whispered, "Doc, he has always wanted to be here,"  But the old  man's peace did not agree with his breath, for in his breath was that noise of a fight with death. so we called on our art and invoked medical science, but even the heavenly bodies knew we didn't have his 'yes'. For although we urged him to ascend his  Everest, his equipment of flesh was already packed for the journey home. And though all looked cloudy this man was smiling,  Though his heart was weak,  And has failed all tests and we have gathered to help him cheat. This man turned down the offer and enjoyed the heat. even oxygen was shocked so repeat

Photography by Akinjogbin By SAMUEL BAKARE From the dust we came,  To the dust we'll return someday soon Don't be scared I wished I wasn't too  But what really is death?🤔  in my words death is just a doorway to an eternal walk. So in this or the afterlife,  I hope we see eye to eye and speak words of words that clears doubts untold and heal scars within. But until then I'll make each breath count. Each word speak, every action living. For death is just a doorway to an eternal walk. Never forget this #Death#SB