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The Other Side Of Tommorrow

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I want to wake up on the other side of tomorrow,

In the pure arms of true love,

To the lips of truth,

Wearing faith, on a bed of roses,

Powered by ravishing joy,

With the music of the wind,

To the liberation of the real me.

 

I want to wake up on the other side of tomorrow,

On a landscape of melted frost balls,

Wrapped with righteousness,

To the warmth of purity,

Adorned with beauty,

Perfumed with joy,

To the whiteness of new creation realities.

 

I want to wake up on the other side of tomorrow,

On the velvety pillows of hope,

To the reverberations of peace,

Glowing like the sun,

Basking in the aura of mercy,

Soaring on the wings of eagles,

To a banquet of promiscuous grace.

PALACE OF HOPE

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May the dance of my dreams be forever mine.

In my palace of hope,

May this bond be forever strong; this song forever sung,

In the fat realities of reality.

Conjured powers of our shared universe, shall this union bless

With canopies of love

and banners of sweetness from high above.

 

May this bond be nourished with meats of many heavenly tomorrows

Cursed be the glasses of adversity; the winds of negativity.

Let the wine of hope thoroughly satisfy our nerve and ease our sorrows.

When this pink dreams end and the pink roads bend,

Pink love will be my recurring theme, my sacred hymn of hymns.

 

Music of dancing waves, serenading ears and healing souls;

The song when I sing, the laughter when I laugh, the love of my life.

Pink be the fire that burns, buffering words that melt,

Packets of divinity entwined in bonds of humanity;

Atmosphere of miracles, currents of happiness;

My dance of dreams, my palace of hope,

May this bond be forever strong.

 

 

 

The Nose Saw

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Slowly the light went out to play
In the crossfire of irreconcilable differences
It didn’t die but it did not come back the same…
Serenity became noisy, noisy became sane.
And so, little by little lost we the zen
Our den of unguarded treasure;
Lair of veiled pleasure.

Layers of life later,
love couldn’t peel yesterday away
Too many particles of reality have tampered with this equation
Unending search parties for peace,
With us to find, their mission is,
Insanity, the wings with which they flew,
Still they couldn’t steal them back,
“There isn’t any us left to take back” they cried
No us to fill our lives of empty plenty, of colorless color,
“Us” now resides under the heaps of vanity and insane sanity we now stand upon
Pictures of hope float weakly in the dark quadrangles of our minds.

In a party of loud silence
Useless battles with no victor and none vanquished,
The head took the valueless trophy home, someone had to.
Alone, lifeless and weak,
starved lay the heart till it became a lifeless pulp
Nylons of despair; plastic bottles of tears,
Drowned the soul every second under the realities of reality…

That day, many memories ago,
In the dungeon of choices,
Cold, bloodless and dead,
With the twin eyes of reality,
The nose saw
How the heart and head went to war.
In the bed of an engulfing fire, ashes remained
Embers of peace, Hopes of happy regrets;
starved and taken by claws of sanity,
Stolen by the grips of reality…

Beautiful Surprise

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She is my beautiful surprise. She took my cheeks and my feet. I didn’t even know I gave her my height too. She is quiet and strong, unique like her name and driven. I am not sure what drives her yet. Could it be because she has always wanted to meet me or because she missed me? If I had loved her before she loved me would she love me differently? or does blood offer such a powerful connection that it seeks you out and finds you even before you know it. Does blood offer a strong sense of magnet, does it stand in the middle of quagmires and still finds the ability to pull and attract like genes?

The waters that separated us and the bridge that connects us offer lessons on different platforms. The bridge is held together by secrets that separated but now bind. We share life now, let the scars only be beautiful reminders not maps with which we can visit the old wounds. On a second thought I consider the possibility of traveling from my island to yours. You have changed the emotional climate Of my world it is only fair that I understand what yours is made of.

I’ve looked. I see bitterness and a valley of broken dreams. Caves of repressed passion and will power but I’ve seen beauty from the ashes, the burnt down zeal and the slightly dropping shoulders. I feel guilty. Forget me and you would have turned out greater but I am not the type to regret actions and choices, I believe the higher power utilizes them and carefully orchestrates them for my ultimate good. So I re-focus. I see the colorful future and the ability of a surprise to change, nurture and bring freedom from stereotypes and single stories. I see my beautiful surprise as the missing link to the achievement of new paradigms and cultures.

Sometimes I want to be angry at you. Why would you hide something so precious. Why did you choose amongst other options to delay this happiness. Did you really not want to be with me? I wouldnt have happily taken our diamond away; the most precious of all that would later remind you of me. As much as i wanted you, the decision would have been yours to make but at least I would have been a part of the new life we share. The new life that has tormented you into willful submission. Maybe I should be happy but did your beautiful eyes have such monstrous view of me? Why would you sacrifice her proper development for trivial issues.

My heart has stopped beating as fast as it used to, as fast as I want it to. Decades have taught my frail heart to become cold and inactive so I’m thankful for the fresh possibilities and warmth my beautiful suprise constantly offers me. I like to be the victim, the giver not  the timid father with absent years I may never be able to fully catch up with. Other fruits of my loins may not understand. I’m preserving this beauty for myself for as long as I can, then for them. This beautiful surprise will have its consequences that she adorns herself with but i am too old and too wise to care about tantrums and sibling rivalry that i know blood can dissolve.

Why dont we take it on from here. She found me, let her find you too but the finder needs to be loved. Blood streams that flow fresh with passionate red and waves of friendship transcends other relationhsips that man can form from the comfort of his mind and experiences. It surpasses the waters that seek to divide and wash. Blood is a connection that water cannot adequately form. It is God that chooses those boundaries and ties and helps us gravitate towards them. How he put me at the centre and in charge of such a beautiful soul and says she belongs to me as a result of my misbehaviour doesnt even feel like punishment. I am grateful for this kind of consequence. I am grateful that i can still be her father in my life time. I long to give her all that I am capable of and take adequate care of her. I want to be able to merge the experiences i couldn’t give her and the characters she has formed and compress time and memories with us in it for her.

Soon she would be for another. She’d decide if she wants him to be like me. i would hope she would flatter me by that but I would expect her to choose more; to negotiate a better future for herself. Later she’d bring boys that have my face and girls that call me pa and i would wonder when I became so old and soft and surprisingly I would love to be old and soft. I would love the custodian of my beautiful surprise for doing a good job thus far. I wont let such a custodian love on a strong level. I would make love easy for her. I would send her parcels of happiness, I would warn her to never hide secrets from me. Secrets I am a part of. I would shamelessly demand for the total honesty I wasn’t able to bring to the table.

I seek peace, I’m reaching out to freedom. Freedom to love and be free. Freedom to handle gifts i couldnt handle effectively. Freedom to know I messed up and courage to exploit the available right options. Help me do right by all who carry bits of me. I would need wisdom and strength to die happy and empty. Wait for me my beautiful surprise. I am trying to slowly and breathlessly catch up with you as you lead me to the heights of blood that I havent successfully climbed yet.

iFALL

I fell, Like I will if the sole of my pumps kisses scattered finger peels of banana on hard concrete, head first, then heart and soul into depths of love I could not fully comprehend. I was home. I am home. I now know why I am. I connected with me, with us. Not as bodies entwined in an embrace like the twisting of braids on human hair, this was more. It is more.

Like flashlights, powered by love, through your eyes, I see me, I see paths earmarked for me alone to thread lead to previously unimagined heights. Zeniths greater than my mortal mind can conceive, you have made mine. Conquered levels do I reach with passing seconds every following minute through your Spirit. You empower me with might.

Composer of time, the ageless painter of eternity, I can never love me the way you do, for you are love. Her entirety is you. You shield me from myself and save me from nemesis. What we are is of the abundance that is you. Your unwavering love, you pour on me.  

Words that my spirit cotton’s on; the language of souls heard by many understood by a handful. Your life giving breadth satisfies me…I’ve put my hands, that which you made, in your outstretched ones, take it, own it…I’d gladly follow as your love leads.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I give myself away.

Roots.

 

Branches from trees whose roots I sprout from, they also seek their own soil, Can’t we see the beauty that is us? Know us not the formidable impact as one we can achieve? House hold waters no longer nourish us. Our answers are tormented with questions that dilute them while we entertain episodes of bitterness like important visitors. We serve them with our choice China, They have received warmth even in our roots. Yes, Wickedness has become like a bank of cloud over our identity.

If we tarry together long enough, can our salvation refuse to come back home? Sweat from days of useless struggle has invited termites to feast bountifully on our skin. Now withered leaves fall like fruits to the ground season after season. Some have been blown away by merciful winds to greener pastures Where balls of white frostiness fall like tears from the sky. They have chased the green and found it. Grasses have long since occupied our vineyards How much longer shall we wait for us to make our way back home?

Who have we left to tend our hearts and cultivate it?

What remains…

May God help me!

May God help me! (Photo credit: radiant guy)

These days I exist in realms apart from the present. For instance, I am here now, but I am absorbed with thoughts of yesterday and pre-occupied with my analysis of it. I try to understand what I thought I had lost and what I feel I should have or could have done, what I shouldn’t have done and somehow I also wonder if I have missed the point of today.. But how does one get to ‘today’ without “yesterday”? So many thoughts swim inside my head, I feel like I can literally see them. I try to catch some of the thoughts as they roam, try to still them but they escape my grip…i chase them for a while then I realize what a futile effort it is.

My Sun has set at dawn.

I am sorry Temi. I should have been your covering like I promised. How could I drive you to your death? I miss you. I miss you both. I wonder who I should grieve for first.  I miss laughing with you. I miss writing with you. I should have read you those poems I wrote to you while I watched you sleep. Every single day I should have told you how wonderful you were, how blessed I was to have you both. How much I love you, how much I adored you both.

Until now, I didn’t understand how heartfelt but pointless some of the things we say to grieving people are. No one has asked me to write yet. Only the pen understands that I need to write. What does “tradition says no one who was burnt to death deserves a proper burial” mean? Why do my civilized family members keep telling me about our barbaric tradition? This time, tradition will have to wait. It is not like burying a wife and child is something any sane person looks forward to.

“May God save our land” I hear uncle Bidemi saying and Mama Ifeanyi answers “Amen!”

Bad news has a way of traveling fast to unite us. I listen to their conversation from the kitchen and conclude that In Nigeria, we have a penchant for linking everything to corruption. Not like everything here and corruption are totally unrelated but I wonder what would become of us when we cannot afford to blame the government we feed fat for all our woes; when we become the government the struggling people blame, when we see ourselves through our own eyes. Sometimes, blindness gives you a new sense of sight.

I want to tell Yewande, my sister-in-law, to stop cooking, it is all she has done since our demise,I want to ask her to help me tell all the visitors that I cannot consume all the food that they keep bringing. But I watch her instead. People react to pain in different ways. On a slightly different level, I can relate to the pain she feels. This pain; we all share. Does she think we’re celebrating Morenike’s marriage? This is the seventh Nigerian dish she has prepared today. Maybe I should remind her that we are mourning and my appetite has traveled to a very far place.

She was only nine Lord…Morenike was just nine years old.

My heart feels like it is going to burst from the realization. Not just because she was my first and only seed but because I loved her, because I love her still, because I miss her.  I smile. It is the best I can do to stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks because the time to cry is not now. I watch as family and well -wishers watch me closely in between sobs. I know I have to be strong for all of us, for me.

I feel like hot oil is being poured on my bare back. My heart is breaking into tiny pieces and all I can do is watch them scatter before me. If only I can find the right words to express the pain I feel, I will scribble and scribble until warmth slowly envelopes me. Until I see my healing reach out and touch me from far away. Until I know the universe is not in one accord with some other dark force to punish me, until, until…Come .Back .Home. Please.

Sleep well my queen, sleep well my princess. If eternity is anything like we hoped for, like we prayed for, like I still pray for, I will see you soon.

Tomorrow, while I write, I will think about today and lingering moments like this when words won’t do. I may even be grateful for “tomorrow” and her father, “time” Maybe then I will find strength to be thankful for their gross inability to erase the scars that the wounds they heal leave behind.