A woven Stream of voices

Art rest in hearts of bright minds

Like rocks rooted firmly in the earth

Where ideas flow like ocean currents

Faces gather with stories to unveil

Though colours and races may differ

They are bound by a shared voice of purpose

Each mind brings forth its own measure

To guide and shape a rising cause

Across the wide and waiting world

Where war became their solemn cry

To bring an end to needless strife

And find a clear path through mutual wisdom

As they together kindle lasting progress

Where hope and vision work as one

And dreams become a living force

In harmony, their spirits endure

Risen above the walls that divide

With many voices flowing as one stream

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

THE WEIGHT BEHIND HIS SMILE

A strange man ran through Adigun street.

“Who was that ? and why did he run that way ?” Jamal asked

He was sitting with a few street guys at his shop when the incident occurred.

“I've seen this face before, he looks like Mr. Akinlabi”

Later he stopped the man and asked what happened

Breathing heavily, Mr. Akinlabi replied to him. My wife chased me out of the house with a turning stick

“She said I don't deserve to stay at home if I can't provide for the family.”

He explained how work had been slow and the way hardship had destroyed peace in his home!

Jamal quietly helped the man with the little he had so the issue could be resolved!

That was the kind of person Jamal was

People loved being around him because of his kindness. He hated seeing others down or discouraged.

Unknown to many people, Jamal had a fiancèe named Zainab. He kept the relationship private due to his shy nature.

One cold evening Jamal received a call from an unknown number

“Your fiancé had been badly injured,” the caller said. The first name she mentioned was yours!”

“For the first time in his life Jamal lost control of his emotions

His hands trembled as he asked for the accident location

The guys around him were shocked.

“What happened? they asked.

It's nothing! Jamal replied weakly. I just need to get somewhere

He rushed to the scene immediately

When he arrived, the accident was terrible.

Zainab was badly injured.She could not move her body.

Jamal quickly called the state emergency service, and she was rushed to the hospital.

For days, Jamal could not open his shop. Zainab had suffered a severe brain injury and was placed on life support.

Gradually, she was responding to treatment and that gave Jamal hope!

Two weeks later, Jamal returned to his shop wearing his usual smile

Whenever people asked if he was okay, he simply replied, “I'm fine”

But every few days, he disappeared quietly to visit Zainab in the hospital

One day some of the street guys secretly trailed him

When they arrived at the hospital the truth shattered them

The same man who constantly encouraged others was silently carrying deep pain inside him

Yet he never complained

Jamal later saw them at the hospital corridor and became speechless

The guys walked up to him and said “You smiled at people while hiding your own pain.That takes strength”

From that day, they stood by Jamal with love, support and kindness throughout Zainab’s healing process.

One year later, Zainab finally regained consciousness

The first person she recognised was Jamal

Not by his face alone

But by the special smile and soft song he sang to her whenever she did something very impressive

That moment changed everyone around Jamal

“Heroism is protecting others even when you're hurted”

“Because behind many smiles lies hidden struggle and behind many struggles lies a strong mind persevering it all”

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

The Price of Greed

Omowunmi was a socialite, from a middle class family who loved exploring new places for fun.

One December period, she travelled to Edo State, in Nigeria, south-south zone to witness the Igue Festival, a New year thanksgiving led by the Oba.

After the Oba completed the ritual rites, the celebration began. Dignitaries and community members filled the streets in traditional attires, beads and corals.

Omowunmi felt alive in the moments and joined the dancers.

In the middle of the performance, a dancer stepped forward and greet her warmly, “Óye oo, è fiẹmwin, meaning Hello, how are you ?”. She replied “mi ye o”. I'm fine.

The next day, while walking to get supplies, she bumped into Efosa, the same dancer. They chatted, but Efosa’s Edo was too fast for Omowunmi. The only phrases she understood were, “Óye oo, mi ye o” Efosa, chucked and realised Omowunmi was a tourist.

Jokingly, Omowunmi said. “What now? At least I know an Edo greeting”. They both laughed!

Omowunmi asked Efosa to show her around when she was free. And Efosa agreed.

On their short tour, they discovered they have the same profession "Product designing”.That was the start of their friendship.

Four years later, they had built a brand together. They won clients, earned respect in their field, and got their furnished apartment.

These were not gotten on a platter of gold. It wasn't easy. Their success came from selfless teamwork that earned them global recognition. Efosa was the idea generator, always putting projects forward. Omowunmi was the contract magnet, skilled at securing high profile deals.

Their earnings reached millions, which they split fairly. But their habits differed. Efosa invested in property. Omowunmi loved flashy things and spent most of her shares on material things. Efosa warned her to save and invest, but Omowunmi kept making empty promises.

Trouble came in when a big client appeared. Alhaji Ibrahim Tanko, a notable politician offered Omowunmi a ten million contract after meeting her. He was impressed by her drive, he paid five million upfront.

She hide the deal from Efosa. “This money is huge,” she said. “I can't wait to have it to myself”.

Omowunmi completed the work, overpromised on quality and received the final payment without her partner’s knowledge.

At the same time, Efosa faced a crisis. The government threatened to seize her property in few weeks over ownership issues. She needed two million to resolve it, and asked Omowunmi for a loan. Omowunmi refused, even though she heard more in her account.

A week later, news spread that their company “Bright Arc Technologies” was in trouble. Alhaji Tanko claimed their work was substandard and demanded a refund. Their brands reputation began to collapse.

When Efosa learned the truth, she was devastated. She ended both the friendship and partnership, saying, “A partner who abandons you in crisis isn’t worth keeping”

Omowunmi lost her friend, their projects, and the trust they had built. Her greediness cost her everything!

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

In my quiet reflections

Where souls clothed in

shimmering glow are found

While aching beneath the surface

A hidden wound lives within

It keeps them restless in the night

Where silence become their only

bosoms

It hunts their nerves and deepens

beneath their flesh

And paints a distorted appearance

on the outlook

But here they are,

Holding fire in their palm

While the haze consume their silence

"Come off it Man" pretense has nothing

to offer than slow ruin

Hiding withing your own shadow

Only nurture bitterness and rancour

Now, is your time to heal

Let the ree out to a heart made of light

an unburden mind, a soul

like a blooming garden

Where every burden drifts away

Like fumes into thin air

And every tear you've carried fade without a trace.

©️Asmau's pen 🖊

I am not a hater, but

clean hands mean empty hands

and this system built it that way.

It has painted bad beautifully as the new good.

To survive in this system,

Honesty must be thrown out the window,

Cause it does not feed a home,

And it is very clear.

I am not a hater, but

working hard feels like pouring water into a basket,

while I have seen people cut corners

and watched doors open for them

while clean hands stood knocking.

I am not a hater, but

truthfulness is underpaid,

and righteousness is the new crime.

The system failed me first,

Me, questioning the system a little,

Does that mean am a hater?

Empty hands can not pay the pills,

Tired of losing for doing the right thing,

In a system that reward wrong doers.

I am not a hater,

Am the result of broken system.

We often mistake action for progress. True fulfillment, however, is found not in the frantic pace of daily tasks, but in the quiet, reflective moments between them.

The Unbeaten Fate

The sage lilly shrinks,

Its petals folded and softly

crumpled

But do glitters like the tender

kiss of a morning dew

Time cast weight upon its shadow,

It sways, renews, and freshens

regardless

A beauty refined through passing

seasons

Moments of resistance, coolness,

and rising

The lilly keeps its blossom alive,

for it understands the hidden rhythm

with the quiet phase of endurance

Its fate remains unbeaten

Through every strain, it endures

For it knows how to close in storms

And keep up being blossom

even in harsh weather.

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

The Voice of a wordless blessings

In a distant mangrove forest, there lived a free-spirited man, whose presence was nothing short of a blessing.

He possessed the rare ability to connect with people effortlessly. From the very first encounter hearts were always drawn to him, as though the earth bond with him right from existence.

Whenever he spoke in the neighbourhood, his voice carried warmth and wisdom. His words do not merely reach the ears; they touched hearts and settle gently in their mind. As a result of these charming duo, he was deeply valued and greatly respected by all who knew him.

Even in the world of business, fortune seemed to favour him. Profits compounded in abundance, flowing endlessly like water in the sea. It was as if, grace walked beside him every step he took.

From Apolema town, he had gathered many greatminds who followed his vision faithfully, trusting his ideas with the same tenderness and certainty like a mother would care for her child.

At times, he stood amazed at how far he had come and all he had accomplished despite having only school leaving certificate as the education he acquired. Yet, beyond every effort and achievements, there was something greater at work in his life.

He barely uttered prayers, but grace continued to speak on his behalf.

Deep within him, a calm voice constantly whispered:

You're favoured by your lord

This is your divine gift, to speak

with wisdom and attract greatness

So with a heart full of humility, he remained ever grateful, continually appreciating God for immeasurable blessing bestowed upon him.

©️ Asmau's pen 🖊

First prose written

Friends like this are fake friends?!

So don't try to convince me otherwise,

They actually have my best interest,

Because if you look at it closely,

They backbite about me,

And am not going to deceive myself,

They are one of the true friends to keep,

I will keep reminding myself,

They can leave at anytime,

And nothing will make me trust that,

They truly stand by me,

Because truth be told,

They only think of themselves,

And am in no position to trust that,

True friends exist in them,

Because whenever they are around,

I always feel

Friends like this are true friends?

Read from bottom to top 😁

EMBERS OF THE UNSPOKEN

(Continuation)

The soft hum of the AC was the only sound in Adrian Nicholas’s office. Papers were stacked in precise piles across his desk, a pen dancing between his fingers as he flipped through documents without really reading them. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. He moved like someone trying to outrun his own mind.

The door burst open.

Evan stepped in, still looking slightly out of breath from having rushed over.

“Seriously?” he blurted before the door even closed. “You’re still here? You didn’t even go back to the hospital? Aurora literally woke up from the dead, and you—” he waved a hand at the desk “—you’re sitting here signing documents?!”

Adrian did not lift his head.

Evan continued pacing, muttering to himself.

“I mean, I know you don’t love her. But still—this cold? This level of emotionally frozen? She woke up after an accident that could have killed her. Anyone else would be crying, celebrating, thanking God or something. But no. You’re here. Working.”

He stopped pacing long enough to glance at Adrian’s face.

Nothing.

Not a blink.

Not a frown.

Not a single flicker of emotion.

Evan groaned dramatically and threw himself into the chair across from him.

“Seriously, Adrian, what is wrong with you? Are you allergic to emotions? Did love kick you when you were five? Did you swallow a block of ice as a child? You didn’t even bother going home after hearing she woke up! Does Aurora annoy you that much?”

Still nothing.

Just the steady flipping of papers.

Evan rubbed his face, exasperated.

“And here I was, thinking maybe—just maybe—you’d act like a normal human being for once.”

Adrian finally stopped flipping the document in his hand.

His fingers pressed down on the paper, stilling it completely.

His eyes lifted—cold, sharp, unreadable.

Evan sat up a little straighter.

A long, heavy silence settled in the office.

Then, in a calm, controlled voice, Adrian asked:

“Did Aurora settle in well?”

Evan blinked.

“…What?”

Adrian repeated, almost bored, “Did she settle in well?”

For a moment, Evan just stared at him, his earlier irritation melting into stunned disbelief.

“That’s… that’s all you’re going to ask?” he murmured.

Adrian said nothing more—already looking back at his papers as though emotions if express by him, were something that could kill him.

In a quiet village nestled between two hills, there lived a young boy named Sadiq. The village had no electricity, and when the sun went down, darkness covered everything like a thick blanket. People depended on lanterns and small oil lamps to see at night. But among all the lamps in the village, there was one that stood out—the lamp in Sadiq’s house.

It was not the biggest lamp, nor the brightest at first glance, but it had a strange reputation. No matter how strong the wind blew or how long the night lasted, that lamp never went out.

Sadiq lived with his grandmother, a wise old woman who had seen many seasons come and go. Every evening, just before sunset, she would carefully clean the lamp, pour fresh oil into it, and light it with great attention.

“Grandma,” Sadiq once asked, “why do you take so much care of this lamp? It’s just like the others.”

His grandmother smiled and said, “This lamp is not just for light, my child. It reminds us of something greater.”

Sadiq did not fully understand, but he watched her closely every day.

One night, a great storm came upon the village. The wind howled like a wild animal, and the rain poured heavily. One by one, the lamps in the village began to go out. Darkness swallowed the paths, the houses, and even the hearts of the people.

Inside their small hut, Sadiq grew afraid. “Grandma, our lamp will go out too!” he cried.

But his grandmother calmly adjusted the lamp, shielding it from the wind that slipped through the cracks in the walls. The flame flickered, danced, but did not die.

“Watch carefully,” she said.

Sadiq stared at the lamp. He noticed how the wick was trimmed just right, how the oil was full, and how his grandmother protected it from every gust.

Hours passed, and the storm grew stronger. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was their neighbor, trembling in the dark.

“Our lamp has gone out,” the neighbor said. “Please, can we light ours from yours?”

Grandma nodded kindly. Soon, more neighbors came. One by one, they lit their lamps from Sadiq’s flame. Before long, the village began to glow again, tiny lights pushing back the darkness.

Sadiq watched in amazement. “Grandma, our lamp is helping everyone!”

She smiled gently. “Yes, my child. A well-kept light can guide many.”

When the storm finally passed, the village was filled with gratitude. Everyone spoke of the lamp that refused to go out.

That night, as Sadiq lay down to sleep, he understood what his grandmother meant.

The lamp was not just about light—it was about care, faithfulness, and being prepared. It was about having something strong enough inside you that even storms cannot extinguish it.

From that day on, Sadiq took part in caring for the lamp. And as he grew older, people began to say something new:

“It is not just the lamp that shines—it is the heart behind it.”

And so, in that quiet village between two hills, the light never truly went out.

The 1st arrived without fanfare. It didn't need it. It simply was. A pale pink light it, didn't judge the dark, but quietly replaced it with a blue that went on forever.

He looked back at the thirty days and saw a thread of gold that he hadn't noticed while he was walking on it. It was the thread of his own endurance.

The key had been missing since the 15th. On the 1st, he found it in the pocket of a coat he hadn't worn in weeks. Inside, he found his old self.

The gravel road of the month finally hit the asphalt. The ride became smooth, the noise died down, and the speed increased. He was finally making progress.