Thursday, 17 August 2017


People fade
their faces a blur
their voices an echo

like everything else we cease to miss them
we do but the feelings don't run deep like they once did
like everyone else I'm having a hard time remembering you face

The sound of your voice
the way you move
and talk

they will all fade eventually
but the memories we share
is the one thing that won't...

Like a bullet proof vest i have worn mine
like a shield I'm holding mine close to my chest
hold on to yours...

Friday, 11 August 2017


Sitting at a corner café
Enjoying my perfect day
Sipping an exquisite fruit fresh
While reading the novel “Stand by me”

Seated across of me
A beguiling muse
With the rainbow in his eyes
And the day’s newspaper at hand…reading

Noticing him noticing me
He makes me think of straight lines and sky blue
Even if I could
I wouldn’t ask for anything more…

This right here is what happiness looks like.


Too good to be true
Your light burns too bright
Your world moves too fast

Your company is mesmerizing
Your presence so overwhelming
Your candor so refreshing

I cling to your every word like a life saver
I do as you say no questions asked
Love speeds up time when you are around

My walls tall and painted blue
Like shimmering glue
You are tearing it down

My good my bad you take them all
I’m enchanted by you
And that’s how I know

You are not good for me.

Sunday, 14 May 2017



She was called the mother of all nations
A beauty queen of her time
The hope of the future
The light at the end of a dark tunnel
She was an embodiment of wisdom
A home and a nation builder she was

From head to toe reveals the perfect job of the creator in her
She was the mother of kings and queens
Although man was made to be her crown
Without her men are incomplete

But as the beginning of the end of days approaches
Cries without tears
Bleeding hearts
A mistress of deception
Placards with expressions of disappointment
Displaced the hails of her glory

She lost her honorable name to agodless world
The queen becomes "Every"
Her vessel becomes many vessels to strange men
Who have interest in nothing but her exposed contours
And the skimpy dress she wears

What happened to her former glory
What happened to her integrity and decency
When did her figure 8 becomes a trademark for iniquity
Will she continue in this lifestyle of godless abominable acts of corrupted womanity?

Wednesday, 10 May 2017

High atop the steps of film house cinema in ShopRite surulere Lagos a younger version of herself laughed and called down to her. “Grace, hurry up! I knew you couldn’t keep up!” her smile was magic.
     She struggled to keep up but her legs felt like stone. “Wait”, she begged, “please…”
     As she climbed, her vision began to blur. There was a thundering in her ears. I must reach her but when she looked up again, the little girl had disappeared.
     She was trapped in the nightmare again, she stood in the middle of the vast room imprisoned by walls so distant they might have been miles away. There was nothing but the pounding of her own heart. She was not quite sure how she got there… she was at the film house cinema trying to keep up with the little girl and the next minute she was in her step father’s house; in her old bedroom.
     Suddenly she knew what she had to do, save the little girl. With great effort she turned, her legs felt weighted, her pulse hammered as she listened for a sound… a whisper… a stirring somewhere.
     Unexpectedly, a dim, pulsating light appeared in the opposite corner of the house, she saw her then. Her body, clad only in a night dress, was flung across the bed like a broken doll, discarded and forgotten. “Grace, kiddo” She lunged forward but found herself frozen in place, like an ice statue. Again she screamed her name, straining towards her lifeless body but she was paralyzed, unable to move.
     Finally she broke free, stumbling towards grace, crying her name over and over again, in a desperate litany. She moved with maddening slowness, felt the floor grasping, sucking at her feet, threatening to pull her down. Her every move was labored. She strained, her heart thundering, her chest burning with the effort.
     The horror deepened, seizing her mind, threatening her sanity, as she saw grace body suddenly jerk. Stunned, she watched her lift herself up with agonizing effort, then turn around and at that instant, their eyes locked. The little girl opened her mouth and began to scream, a terrible echoing that pierced the last vestige of her sanity “God… help me, help me”. But the abuse to her innocence, pride, girlhood was total, brutal and devastating. #Onceuponafamily...

Friday, 17 February 2017

You came in the dead of the night
bold and decisive
turning heads stealing hearts
Beating your chest
boasting your ego
claiming victory for every trophy
Yet in your wake
breaking hearts leaving scars
and people worse than you met them
But someday you going to catch your cold
from the ice inside your soul
So super star
who do you think you are?

I’m not a perfect person; I’m not a people person. I cherish being alone doesn’t make me a freak; it just means I’m different. I bleed, I hurt, I cry, I laugh,  I dream, I wish upon stars, I make mistakes, I get angry. I’m sporadically rude, I have a mini study/library with all my books and novels and I never get over those books. I read them over and over again and I never get bored. I am so boring that I make boring interesting, I am ambitious, and I love schooling more than anything else. I hate Telemundo, televista, zee world and it likes. I have a strict rule for honesty, I dig wrestling and football. I’m not very pretty and I’m not very smart.
I listen more than I talk, I am a reflector and a little bit a pragmatist, and I’m a dreamer, a visionary, a lady, a daughter, an aunt, a friend. I love completely and I’m crazy most part of the time. I don’t talk much but when I do, I’m ruthlessly blunt. Except for my feelings, I keep them all bottled up. I probably should have been named plain Jane (I’m pretty much the only female I know that don’t dig make up and fashion). I cannot stand people that talk too much, it wears me out. Mostly, I’m just trying to make the world a better place but most of all, I am human too and I’m nothing like you.
All these are part of the baggage, garbage and package I come with and I would never apologize for who I am. I am Isa Joy Anzayi and I love every single, tiny, crazy, part of me. Accept all of me or none at all.