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REFLECTIONS II . There is something my father told me about water: He said it is a mirror where we see diverse reflections, – I see myself sometimes through the flames billowing from his pipes with residues of ashes on his fingers – I see a city whose name I can’t utter unless I see the letters falling from my mouth like leaves reciting the poems of gravity. . This city is a silent night: The other day, I dipped my fingers into the sky and I watched how the clouds squirt the juicy flames of our burnt men, who sank 6ft beneath their boots when they danced with fireflies in the ballroom of Bornu; I saw how the night tore itself into shades of gray as the dark began to filter its hues into tints of shades. The flames of the men found home in our eyelids when they became insomnia - an antidote to blood-stained lullabies. . I watched the other day when my shadow stared at me with tears in its eyes, we both held our hands at the river till it faded into the walls of the w

HOW TO GROW IN ONE'S ART Good evening fellow poets, writers and sages here. My name is Micheal Ace. I want to believe that name rings a bell and if it doesn't, let me tell you little about myself before we proceed. I am a poet, a writer, a blogger and a reader with at least enough knowledge about the basics and rudiments of growth especially in art. I am a product of evolution, transition and consistent learning. I believe the world is too complex for a pen to remain idle. Were you expecting me to talk about my achievements, awards and recognition here? No Those things are secondary goals, to me though. The primary purpose of me being a writer is to impact, to inspire, to heal, to redefine, to build a legacy and to make history. And this is what i want us to understand here, your motive towards your craft determines how far and how well you go. Believe me, as a poet, it’s so easy to get depressed, it's a norm to consider quitting, you’re very prone to get discouraged a