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Cyril A. Okoro, Bower Street Maidstone, Enugu (2026)

19/04/2026

Title: A Future Without My Name

Maybe I do not exist there
In that tomorrow I keep rehearsing
Where everything is already arranged
And I arrive like a stranger to my own life
Smiling in rooms that do not know me
Answering to a version that feels rehearsed

Maybe that future is not missing me
Maybe I was never written into it
A script passed down, well spoken, well dressed
But stitched with someone else’s measurements
And I kept trying to shrink into it
Calling the tightness ambition

I have been standing too far ahead
Trying to live in a place that has not breathed yet
Judging myself by a shadow’s reaction
Fearing doors that are not even built
Exhausted from proving my worth
To a world that has not asked for me

Or maybe it is simpler than fear
Maybe I have been loyal to the wrong direction
Mistaking noise for calling
Mistaking pressure for purpose
Holding on to a future that feels like absence
Because I thought endurance meant truth

So if I do not exist there
Let me not beg to be included
Let me return to where I am still real
Where my steps still count for something
And build a future that recognizes my voice
Before I arrive and ask who I am

Okoro
Seereal'sInk, 2026

05/01/2026

Title: Are You Nice or Kind

Nice learns early
how to survive rooms
how to keep its hands clean
while the floor stays dirty

Nice is fluent in smiles
trained to nod at damage
it mistakes quiet for wisdom
and calls fear diplomacy

Nice knows when to laugh
even when something inside
is being negotiated away
piece by piece

Kind is heavier
it arrives with questions
that interrupt dinner
and ruin the mood

Kind refuses the comfort
of borrowed silence
it understands that peace
can be a form of violence

Nice asks
Who will this offend
Kind asks
Who will this hurt

Nice chooses timing
Kind chooses truth

Nice stands close to power
so it will not be mistaken
for the problem
Kind stands with the problem
until it is no longer ignored

Nice leaves conversations intact
Kind leaves scars that heal

Nice says
I meant no harm
Kind says
I will stop it

Nice wants to be liked
Kind accepts being misread
misnamed
and sometimes alone

Because kindness knows
that doing nothing
is also a choice
and it has a body count

So ask yourself
when silence protected you
more than it protected others
when harmony was cheaper
than honesty

What were you preserving
your goodness
or your comfort

Were you nice
or were you kind

16/12/2025

I Am Rich

I am rich.
I count with figures that make heads turn.
My name opens doors I do not knock on.
I wear confidence like tailored cloth.
I speak and rooms listen.

I am rich.
I have tasted applause and clean success.
I know the language of upgrades and next levels.
I understand comfort, leverage, arrival.
I understand what the world calls wealth.

But wait.
Let me recount properly.
Let me open the books that matter.
Let me show you my real assets.
Let me tell you where my riches sleep.

I am rich because a few can call me wrong.
Not softly. Not politely.
They strip my excuses without mercy.
They wound my pride to save my future.
They love me enough to risk my anger.

I am rich because a few will stay.
Not when it is convenient.
Not when it is loud.
But when silence weighs a ton.
When loyalty has no audience.

I am rich because I can fall apart safely.
I can fail without becoming gossip.
I can cry without becoming weak.
I can doubt without being abandoned.
I can rebuild without starting alone.

Tell me.
Who answers your call without calculating gain.
Who tells you the truth when lies would keep peace.
Who corrects you when you are winning.
Who stands with you when you have nothing to offer.

If your circle disappears when your shine dims,
check your balance again.
If honesty is rare around you,
check your vaults.
If everyone agrees with you, you are poor.

I am rich.
Not because of what I own.
But because of who owns my back.
A small number. Solid. Unbought.
Enough to make me wealthy for life.

05/12/2025

And today we go again... I want to talk about growth fantasies and the realities afterwards... On our series of " "

I used to think adulthood would line up neatly once we crossed thirty. I imagined a sort of quiet order. Work would stabilise. Friendships would mature. Love would settle into something steady. Ego ga abuzi nshi obogu... Yadayadayada...

That fantasy did not last long.

I remember one particular year that opened my eyes. My closest circle moved in different directions faster than I could understand. Chuka bought a house and invited us for a small prayer gathering. Ada carried her first child a few months later. Kene decided to end a long relationship and moved back home to rebuild. Another friend shut down a failing business and started a course in coding. Obinna is dead. Paschal is into tech (Not Yahoo) And I found myself nursing a quiet heartbreak that no one could see coupled with years in banking and Insurance. Not funny but it is now.

We still laughed together when we met, but our conversations shifted. Someone was discussing mortgage plans. Another was trying to balance childcare with sleep. Someone else was learning to trust again. I kept pretending I was fine because everyone looked so focused, so sure, so balanced. Even though I wasn't bad at my current level. It's called "amachie uwa george" or better still "packaging".

The truth is that many of us are guessing our way forward. Some nights you felt left behind. Other nights you felt guilty for feeling that way. No one prepared us for the silence that follows disappointment, or how easy it is to feel invisible even when surrounded by people you love.

One evening, during a long walk home, I accepted something simple. Everyone is figuring out life at their own speed. Nothing is out of place, even when it feels like you are standing still. Healing is a stage too. Reflection is a stage too. And you do not need to pretend to be ahead of your own journey.

Now I know better.

03/12/2025

Title: The Weight Behind a Quiet Door

Do not treat another person’s presence as something you can summon.
Every life carries its own pressure, and some days press harder than others.
When someone who once reached for you falls silent, resist the instinct to call it change.
Silence can be the sound of a spirit fighting to stay upright.

People vanish for reasons that have nothing to do with you.
A mind can be crowded.
A heart can be tired.
A day can swallow a person whole.
Yet even then, they might still offer a small act of care, shaped from whatever strength remains.

That gesture is not casual.
It is the portion they could spare while standing in their own fire.
Treat it as something rare.
Treat it as something earned.

No one owes their full time.
No one owes their constant attention.
Kindness is not a contract.
It is a choice made in the middle of private battles you will never fully understand.

So look again at the quiet door.
What you call distance may be survival.
What you call absence may be effort.
And the smallest sign of care from a weary soul is still a gift worth holding with both hands.

28/11/2025

Title: To live forever is to be remembered

A name survives only when a life refuses to shrink.
The body falls back into the soil, but a single act of truth
can rise above the years and stay where hands cannot reach.
A quiet choice can outlive a loud century.

Some people chase glory and still vanish.
Others speak once with a clear heart
and their words stay lodged in the minds of those who heard them.
Memory has its own stubborn justice.

You last when someone says your name
not out of duty but because you shaped the air around them.
You last when your kindness becomes a reference point
someone else leans on in a hard season.

The earth forgets almost everything
so you must live in a way that gives it no permission.
Let your actions settle into others like a stone in a deep river.
When the water moves on, the stone remains.

This is the closest thing to eternity we get.
Not the breath in your chest
but the echo you leave behind
when that breath finally ends.

~Cyril Okoro ©

19/11/2025

Title: Quiet Missteps of Modern Love

I watch the world speak fluently about feelings now
as if everyone has mastered every lesson of the heart
yet we stumble over the simplest truth
that love sometimes asks us to wait beside someone
who is still learning how to hold their own weight
still learning how to rise without trembling
still learning how to be touched without flinching
and none of that is supposed to look perfect.

We have memorised the dialect of warnings
we recite boundaries like scripture
we carry red flags like torches in our pockets
so ready to run at the first sign of something unscripted
that we forget healing can be messy
soft in the dark awkward in the light
and never smooth enough to win applause.

We live in an age where a single message
typed too quickly or too honestly
can end what might have become something real
and a small human slip
can seal a verdict on someone’s entire character
as if missteps are crimes
as if tenderness must audition before it is allowed to stay.

We guard our peace by building distance
we call the retreat safety
even when it is simply fear dressed as wisdom
and we confuse calm with coldness
clarity with domination
and emotional discipline with emotional disappearance
until our lives look neat but feel hollow.

And so we gather only people
who never press our limits
who never reflect the parts of us that still need work
who echo us instead of opening us
who keep everything polished but unreachable
and then we sit inside these curated rooms
wondering why every connection feels faint
even though we swear we are doing everything right.

12/11/2025

Shout out to my newest followers! Excited to have you onboard! Nwodo Basil, Adetayo Tianah, Nwulu Tocito, Nnabueze Nnadi, Akala Nze, Harrison Osagiede, Chinenye Lucy Agu, Anthony Ajoborokaye Okpe Okokoye, Arc Ifeanyi Johnpaul, Nwabunwanne Winifred, Nonso David, PC Nwamu, Chijeoke Ojiekwe, Ofor Emmanuel

12/11/2025

We Are Not Fools

He stood, rooted, calm, in uniformed truth,
Before the swollen pride of a man in fine cloth.
The minister barked, voice drunk with power,
But the soldier’s reply was simple, firm, clean:
“I am not a fool.”

And in that moment, something shifted.
It was no longer a quarrel between two men,
But between conscience and arrogance,
Between duty and deceit.

He had watched these rulers
Raise monuments to themselves
While potholes swallowed cities whole.
He had seen greed wear designer suits
And call theft “leadership.”

He knew how lies became law
And how the rich fed fat on the hunger of the poor.
So his defiance was not rebellion, it was reason,
A line drawn in the sand of national decay.

For years, silence was mistaken for ignorance,
Obedience confused for weakness.
But the soldier’s voice tore through that illusion,
Proof that courage can still breathe in uniform.

He spoke for the woman balancing goods on her head,
For the student reciting hope between blackouts,
For the worker whose sweat buys another man’s pleasure,
For a country too patient for its own good.

Let them keep their titles, their convoys, their lies.
The wind has changed, and eyes are open.
When next they demand worship,
The nation will answer, one voice, one truth:
We are not fools.

Cyril A. Okoro

10/11/2025

Sa’adah

The sea hums my name in tongues of blue
each wave a verse of forgotten joy
Sunlight spills its gold across my skin
a blessing stitched in salt and silence
and I wear peace like a second shirt

The wind flirts with the hem of my white sleeve
birds carve hallelujahs into the sky
their wings slicing through memory and mist
and time for once forgets its duty
choosing to linger in the rhythm of now

Salt clings to my lips like a quiet promise
each breath a psalm of gratitude
I close my eyes and the world unfolds
not as a map of losses
but as a hymn of becoming

The ocean tells stories older than pain
whispers of love that outlived storms
and I believe her
because her language is motion
and her truth wears no disguise

I have chased so many mirages to arrive here
where laughter feels ancient and true
No crown no conquest just air and light
just me unarmored forgiven
a soul rinsed clean by the tide’s applause

Let the world rush with its noise and need
I will stay here where stillness sings
where every ripple knows my pulse
and the sun writes poems on my skin
in ink only water can read

Call it what you will joy grace rebirth
but today the sea knows my secret
I am not searching anymore
I am found in the shimmer between sun and wave
and the word for it is Sa’adah

Cyril A. Okoro
SeeReal'sInk 2025

Cyril A. Okoro

19/04/2026

05/01/2026

16/12/2025

05/12/2025

03/12/2025

28/11/2025

19/11/2025

12/11/2025

12/11/2025

10/11/2025

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