Once upon the night sky Stood a frigid breeze Aloft a dusty clay ground Reminiscent of melancholy days cresting through the valley of grins and grimaces.
I am between the past and the now. Am not taking sides,but I’m pinched each time there’s a good I failed to do,or where I reacted when I should have responded.
Can you feel my pain? You should! I think you’ve been there ,I think we’ve all been there. The prison of loneliness and the curse of retrospective introspection.
From the way i see it,when you can shuffle between personalities, When you can break into the vaults of people’s minds and steal at their possible thoughts, When you can travel through the vehicle of time, You have the most potent weapon known to mankind-the mind.
Once upon a mood swing, I’ve seen posterity flirt with the goodwill of many men. I’ve seen the strong fall as weak and the weak bask in the glory of the strong.
Can you feel my pain?..you should! I think you’ve seen it too.
From the way I see it,there are different strokes for different folks…and the next time you see a man cry don’t be impetuous to ascertain his weakness..for results are not always the accurate judges of efforts
Words swell as if to rupture my soul From the place where once one coal breathed flames of passion that did sooth my noble intention.
Words once danced in that fire place, wearing a cape of rhythm As two hearts did kindle
It was our favorite spot But now i retrospect with a sharp cut At the glamour we had, The freedom we once shared.
I thought I found you I thought I loved you
But you changed When my heart you had tamed
You gave just to take You came just to break
What you had was fake What you brought was heart ache.
I thought I found you I thought I loved you
But I must be about my search, I must not let your bitter waters stiffle the flames of love. May be i will,maybe i won’t But I will search on till I find a heart that beats like mine.
I will search on till I find the one You should have been but never was..
There’s nothing more painful than a fresh cut on an already scared soul. The present hurt hurts more, because it combines the energies of past hurts. But never let anyone change you cos of the way they treated you. If you hurt people cos other people hurt you,then you ain’t better than those who hurt you. Just be more careful with people next time.
There’s a river up ahead A river where he can empty the dregs, from the cup of hurts. A river right there in the mountains of loneliness, where the wind blows boisterous.
There’s a river up ahead. A river,where he can lean over to have a drink from his futile journey in the woods of love. This river must be the only solace he has left-His music,his fellowship with The divine.
The birds sang sad tunes to him. The dragon flies that came playing by this quiet stream of hopes,flapped their wings in cadence; They seemed to say “don’t lose hope.. The sun is yet to set from where the river gets its source”.
The stars seemed to whisper hope Into the dead atmosphere of the soul of this sojourner. Some prophecy from yesterday say he would find what he is looking for after this journey.
But beneath the very depths of his soul,he knows he is not ready to make another journey into the woods of love soon. For He is still nursing the bruises from this one.
Who is this sojourner and what does he seek? What could have happened to him?
Listen closely, let me tell you who this sojourner is. Somewhere in the east of west Africa, In the season of ten months When white fouls from many ivory towers across the nation,come out to heed republic clarion call.,
This sojourner let himself go, He sort for a ripe grape in the city of pomegranates, But he was stung by thorns of deceit. His Cupid’s arrow was a misfire.
Many words sort to save him from going down that path, but his simplicity blinded him until his spanish armada hit the rock.
But this sojourner has learnt wisdom. He will never let his heart wonder with the daughters of eve again. His eyes will be open to the “what’s behind the curtain” next time.
And so the story promised a happy ending, but for now,Mr sojourner,reach out and pick up your trampled heart and move on! [In the words of the poet] “Hear my sons,beware of the daughters of eve!”
When I cannot leave the security of my room, When I can only find solace within these walls of silence, I find that my pulpit is beyond the regular wooden figure you see in church.
When I want to empty my mind into the jar of time, When I wish to stamp how I feel without the resistance of your opinion, I find that my pulpit is whatever I make it.
When I want to listen to myself alone, When I want to pelt the rhetorical At imaginary audiences, at the whole world,at people who don’t think like me,at you, I use my improvised pulpit-my pen.
For with it,I can paint my colours on the walls of social media[call it graffiti if you like], I can plug my mind into the sockets of the internet, I can make everyone listen to me first through every letter.
Please don’t judge me! Sometimes we all just want to be listened to; We just love the attention! We want to hear ourselves breathe over many voices.
If you find that I am not saying what you like, If you find my words cut like a blade, Just accept me,its my pulpit and I am shamelessly uncovering the nakedness of my mind..
The writer is a sculptur, His pen is his chisel, His words are his engravings.
The writer is a physician, His words are his tablets, With them he soothes aching souls.
The writer is a musician, He writes the melodies that feed the souls of men.
The writer is anything, Anything at all he wants to be!
If the writer is pained within his heart, He picks up his pen and pours Copiously or in tiny drops, Emptying himself into the gaze of the public. To some he is naked[they know when and what he is talking about],to others [he could be talking about anyone but himself]
The writer could stage a large concert, A movie, A conference, A tour, A tournament… Anything, within the flexible intimacy of his letters and pen.
The writer,knows how to make royalty out of his original pain. OK..tell me,how would you know if I didn’t tell you?..perhaps I’m the writer…and there are many like me.
“Spoken words are like spilt salt,they are never all gathered,no matter how much you apologize. So the next time you get really angry,don’t say a word until you calm down” John gentle
Shush!..quiet please!..I’m soliloquizing. Through the lattice of the window of my thoughts, to my outward loneliness; “Words fail to articulate the speed at which my heart palpitates when I think of loosing you”[my soliloquy]
Mother, i tabernacle by this beach. Somewhere in a vast distant land,in the north pole of my brain. Here,am caught in the time portal between fiction and reality,reclining on this armchair of memories. A wave of grins and grimaces cresting through my face, Time lost in the soft and sonorous whisteling of the care free sea breeze. It creschends ever so smoothly. What an ambience!so real yet as intangible as a handful of wind;within the peace of this blissful scenery,i go back in time to how you housed a foetus for nine months. How it fed on you and was cloth by the fine membranous walls of your womb.
Your prenatal journey, the nausea,the illusions- though Dad was there to play shock absorber. I try to paint a picture of that faithful mor(our)ning when your water broke. You told me the doctor spake of complications.
But even at your birth Pangs’ peak,you would rather trade your life for your baby’s. I tell you,if a mother could give her life for her baby,she would do same for her family,her nation! Think about Mary slessor of Scotland,think about mother Theresa of Calcutta,think about our own Dora Akunyili.You know its a litany! They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But when she loves,she loves for real.No room to compare! The love of a mother!;so simple, so pure,so powerful!
Mother,you fed this baby on lactose. Your priced breasts were the first restaurants he knew. Though so petit;with love you early schooled him to trust with the endearing word ‘mama'[in baby semantics].You weaned him.
Its almost thirty years now and he’s cocooned into quite a man. But you never stopped being that ‘mama’.’How do you do it?’ ‘How do you turn into a forgiving machine?’ ‘How do you keep faith in me after all these time?’ People called you a single mother,but you were actually father and mother in one person. O and much more… You were the first woman i knew. My teacher,my nurse,my coach,my fashionista,my play mate.What balance!
Now I know why we refer to our nation and our earth as ‘she’. True feminity is complete!; a giver of life and a chiseler of character;what flawless balance! Mother,the waters of coruscation from the sun hit your prayers at an angle of destiny-my destiny
The heavens came to a jolt,even God took notice. Most nights,your eyes spurned the pleasure of sleep, out done by the care of tomorrow-my tomorrow. I would awake,in between sleep to find tears Strolling down your cheeks,but how so quickly you would wipe them and wear a smile again. With love,you reassured and softly soothed me back to sleep. As a little boy I couldn’t decifer the tears ,but now i do.
Your right hand was the ‘rod’ and your left, the ‘love’. Many times I was your bane,but you never threw in the towel on me.
I was fifteen when I knew what dad looked like for the first time. It was two years with him. I saw why you two couldn’t be man and wife. It was clear who loved me more. Mangled within the walls of many extended family bad bloods,i knew the emotional muscle of polygamy would strangle me. So i retreated from dad’s and my half-siblings,to solace in the woman who gave me suck. O how many storms we weathered together!; it was always under God’s sub-wings[your wings] Through the rain,and shine.
But the tables are turning; In a couple of twilights i’ll be hanging jungle boots and bidding farewell to my NYSC adventure[the first graduate from your side of the family tree]. Its hard not to go down memory lane,but there’s only room here for an anthology,not an encyclopedia.
Mama,how could I have come this far without you?; The menial jobs you did, the stipends you slaved for. To put food on the table,to educate this only child. You swam against the tides of mockery from family,friends and foes and poured your life into the jar of time. Filling my cup every single time[even when i wasted resources and time]. Your cup was always empty[you barely had any good clothes,never went on vacations ] patiently, lovingly, waiting for the returns on your investment. You earned my trust with your love,with your very life you have sealed it forever.
I imagine your face as the canvas. And I want to erase every tear of pain and paint a tear of joy in their place. I want to take you round the world.I want to show you dimensions of royalty beyond the horizons of your wildest dreams.
Dear mother,even eternity would be lying. if it boasted room enough to articulate my gratitude to God for you. Its pitiful most of the girls I’ve met were nothing like you. Perhaps if they met you,they would learn something about womanhood. This special month,i choose to pour libations of encomiums Without care, on the alter of posterity. In pure honour of womanhood. Because when i gaze through the lense of the love you’ve shown me,I see womanhood in its purest light. Today,I revere a trojan,my gold,my god after God, my hero,my mother!
I am the one who robs you in broad day light,though I carry no guns or machetes; i use a more superior weapon-your consent!
I am the one who says you need not spare a care for I take things mare. You resist me a little but I always win in the end because I have your consent.
Shattering dreams is my choicest skill and I do it seamlessly. I do it so gradually,that you hardly notice.That is how i secure your consent.[laughs]..”come on,don’t look so aghast “
Yes!..a couple of times,you arrived meetings,church services,rehearsals and your office early and the meetings never held. Or the others came very late or never showed up
And each time you try to go early, I remind you of such times.At first you try to shrug me off,but soon you see reason and give me your consent.
You snoozed your alarm,you kept folding into more comfortable sleeping postures as though you knew you would be late for that interview. You lost the job because you were late. But I told you you would get another. You listened again-you have been a faithful student and I will reward you bountifully.
I will reward you with shattered dreams and a broken heart. But don’t judge me,I will do it with your consent!
We have been best friends all these while.but suddenly you woke up this morning and realised I had shared 20 years of your life.You called me a thief..and I quite agree.But I stole with your consent.
Look at you!.. You stand there to judge me. Didn’t you enjoy it when I asked you to sleep some extra minutes those frigid Sunday and Monday mornings?.. Didn’t you enjoy it when I told you to eat all you had then and save later?
I always comforted you with ‘later’ but you suddenly realised there was never a later..and you accuse me of stealing your time.I agree but I did it with your consent.
Pity yourself at least and tell yourself the truth.. You enjoyed all those moments. Who am I??keep guessing.. Hahahah..i am he who robs with consent..
Before I say my last farewell, I will at least tell you my name,so you can warn your children. I am procrastination
Gentle's Blog 