Tag Archives: Creator

Harmattan 2016

Harmattan (source: nairaland.com)

Shadow,

How have you been? It’s been aeons since I last reached out to you. Since I last reached in to you.

But you have always been there somehow, haven’t you. You faithfully stalk the soul. Lovingly following your owner. Through his busy days and dark nights.

I have been silent because I went away on a trip. I have been busy being stranded on this trip. But you were still there somehow, reminding me of what was inside me. Reminding me that I was not nothing.

I went out tonight like I had done many nights before. And imagine the very simple joy that I had seeing the dusty mist. This is what heralds the harmattan. And I fondly thought of you.

Make no mistake, the rain has its magic. But the rains of this year met me at night. The dark days. And I was not even home. I had travelled lost into the night, working away my bones and blood, alone and lonely, comforted with the numbness only the living dead enjoy. I had travelled dead into the night. Living like one who does not live. So, when the rain came, it was like a flood. I barely escaped with my life –figuratively and literally. Never mind that I was properly drenched. I stoically looked forward to the relief of home. The rain was faithful to the mission life had given it. It made a frank mess on my hut of a life. I had slippery clay everywhere and nothing made a lot a sense. Many things made very little sense. I could not reach out to you. I could not reach in to you. I was just A-W-A-Y.

Harmattan however did not fail me. Hence my coming here tonight. Harmattan blows dust that settles on my flesh like a soft protective cocoon and cold that cools my blood. I remember how I came to be. I remember how life all started. From dust. Harmattan does not fail me. It comes and kills the trees. The green leaves turn brown and most fall away. The whole ground is littered continuously and human intervention won’t outwit the downpour of death. Death fills the air. The trees leaves die. The animals run away. The whole region is bare. The sights, sounds and smells of death do not fail me. They put me at ease. They remind me of how fleeting everything is. They remind me of how I must take time away from my toils and cares and dying, and focus on the state of existence –the frailty of existence itself. They remind me not to focus on the frailty of existence itself. But to live for life.

 

Shadows,

No, I am not deep.

Instead, I probably am shallow –for something as the weather change to be what turns me on. I must be shallow for waiting for external changes to bring me back to you.

 

I am not the best of the pile. Please accept me the way I am.

I wait to see how long I stay at home this time before the wanderlust maggot starts eating into my soul again.

I hope I stay this time.

I hope my soul does not get lost out in the jungle of life this time.

 

Yours,

 

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Where it ends

(source: seriouseats.com)

On the day I was born

You saw me

My heart like granulated sugar

Little drops of innocent sweetness

The kind so pure

Everyone wants a feel and fill of

Including the ants

Who really have nothing to offer in return

They come asking for ‘some sugar’

Even they know what’s sweet

 

I became smart in my own ways

Learning my share of lessons from life

I took pride in the great pyramid I built

Heart now hard like cubed sugar

I swore anyone who wanted a taste would sweat

You were there warning me

A little drop of water could mar me

I am not invincible yet

 

Life told me I hadn’t seen the start

The worst began to take a shot at me

I tried, God you must know that

You know I could only withstand the heat for so long

They told me the heat was good

They told me the most painful lessons

Would bring out the better in me

Behold my heart a golden syrup finally

 

But I fall short

I ain’t no honey

I still attract ants

Water still dilutes me

I am tougher than a cube

But I bend under pressure still

 

There is no way to complete this story

There is nothing within me

That could turn this tale into a fairy one

The only way is to remove myself from this story

Change the writer

Who appears obsessed with the various states of matter of sugar

Maybe for a writer who’d paint me as dust

 

At least, there’d be hope for a diamond in my end.

 

*flaccid smile*

 

 

What do I know again

Are these cows happy?

Could I possibly kill this spider that's just going about its own life?

What do I know of sorrow?
The feeling of a woman in prolonged obstructed labour?
The burning hurt of mother over prodigal son?
Or the torture of always hoping yet no results?
After all I was still in the womb 1 month ago,
Being prepared for a life of writing.

What do I know of joy?
The relief of a constipated man opening his bowels finally?
The bliss enjoyed by the unconcerned/ignorant/aloof?
Or the euphoria associated with heaven?
After all I only smiled at birth yesterday,
Looking forward to learning writing.

What do I know of goodness?
The little boy helping a little old man across the street?
The sick mother who still prepared breakfast for all?
Or the constant unrequited love of the Maker for men?
When my diapers were bought just yesterday,
And I picked up the pen today.

What do I know of cruelty?
A dog owner who kicks aside a cat on the street?
A boss who bullies employees at work?
A spiritual leader who deliberately deceives the followers?
After all I sucked my first breast milk yesterday,
And wrote my first piece today.