They pour along the stretch of the streets
Like dogs let loose on a rabbit chase,
Except that these don’t have
Half the focus rabbit-chasers have.
A man here with steel-rigid gaze
Walking purposely towards my left;
A teenager there critically appraising
Every person that crosses his view.
Half an hour later I see the same man
Return with face still and grave,
A bottle of gin making his hand shake
As he staggers past the teenager;
Whose gaze is now fixed on
The lower part of a passerby lady,
His eyes swearing
They would follow her to the grave.
They are all there:
Flocking to and fro the street of life;
Samples of humanity
Trying to define and achieve purpose.
See this medical doctor
Happily take a break from consulting,
To pour out himself into words,
To make his surgeon’s fingers busy.
As a writer.
From the balcony
Of the second floor
Of his hospital.
This is not poetry, and the words have no deep dark meanings…
Most times, I feel
Like I am living in two bodies:
One is always on a long road,
Moving fast and free;
Feeling very o-kay,
Moving on the border of two worlds –
The seen and the unseen.
The other changes locations and experiences –
For instance, now,
It is sitting on a chair writing,
Tommy-full and wearily bobbing head to music.
P.S.: Other times, I just don’t quite know what’s up!
So I am a blood-y Christian
So I am a black African
So I am a mid-vicenarian
So I am a non-promiscuous bachelor
So I am a medical doctor
So I am a passionate writer
So I am a happy melancholic
So I am a labelled-occasionally immature
So I live in the reality of the other unseen world
So I do not give an ant’s piss about skin colour
So I feel I should still be a light-hearted teenager
So I still respect appropriate boundaries on sex whilst feeling free as the air
So I get shamefully caught up in job titles at times
So I am obsessed with writing about the connection between the unseen world and this world
So I really do not believe in rigidly classifying personalities/people
So I am not crazy about appearing mature and respected.
P.S.: So I live in the consciousness of the person and power of the Christ.
Wake me up.
From the bland dream
Kiss me and sing to me.
When I hear your lips
I’ll know I am awake.
Show me reality.
Show me the mystical world
Through your eyes.
Holding me as I hold you,
I’ll know it’s real.
But how will I know
I’m not just in another dream
With you in it;
A world of illusion
Through your dewy eyes.
I know it sounds sweet to say:
“I’ll rather live an illusion
If it’s you.”
But, if it ain’t real,
Then it IS NOT real!
So, send me back
To the world I came from;
Where reality is simple-non-magical
Save the drama
For when I know what’s real.
I used to believe in all the drama.
But please, let me enjoy
Something more definite.
A dream based on a reality.
A dream in reality!
A god lounging out at his balcony,
Spectating those tiny particles moving below;
Men and women, children and animals;
All the activities in the stream of life.
Of course, they don’t know I am here;
So blind to my pretty realm
Above their petty realm.
All of them so myopic (shortsighted)!
Let me pretend to also ignore them.
Or, better yet,
I’ll spit out on them;
Or cause some interference –
Just for my saddistic godly pleasure
Probably then I’ll draw some attention and due recognition to myself.
But, I am no god.
I am just a crazy writer –
Who has a God,
From the type I am feeling myself to be,
Whilst hanging out here,
From the balcony,
At my hospital building,
On a merry Thursday night.