Indulge Me | 1 day of Fall

My palms caress the velvet dress on your lower back. I know you miss my touch, you have blossomed in my absence and it could only mean one thing: you have missed me. The silence in your heart will become memories of the past, freed by the bonds that has held us together this long. I am here.

When I departed, I fell into memories of you- memories that reminded me of your rosy smell: an illusion that sprouted roses in the watered cracks of my heart. You smile at me with your hazel eyes, I wonder where they came from. 

“You are the dream…” I whisper and kiss your chocolate cheeks which have been brushed with strokes of makeup. A little smile from you feels like gentle petals falling. Your soft hands grace my cheeks and you whisper into my ears, “I’ll always be your sunflower.” My head spins madly on. 

The sound of your voice throws my mind out of orbit. We step on to the patio under the grey skies; one look at you and I remember my broken vows from a time when my heart was feeble and weak.  I want to write you something beautiful enough to remind you of what my heart keeps whispering to me.

Beneath the night sky you trace my lips with a combination of kisses, searching for my emotions to tell you the story of my absence. “How many ways can I show you that I hold my breath for only you.” I yap in silence. Even I know that my life will come undone if I tasted any other kiss than what your lips offered.

There is a reason I hold my breath when you look at me, and it’s not because I’m afraid you’ll take my breath away with your radiance. I hope the night will swallow us as we dance to the silence of the constellations.

I tried to find you between the miles that separated us, thinking that we could hold on to something that our love could contain. We craved for something more, distraught by our lack of patience and optimism. I painted butterflies in the doorway of your collarbones and you planted seeds in the cracks of my heart. You said you wanted them to blossom in your absence- a reminder of sorts. You have had my heart since.

I have happy thoughts sometimes too. Mostly when I have forgotten that you once stroked my heart with a desire and passion. My heart thunders in your absence. I wish my tears and sorrow would end for the flowers in my heart to wilt, and their root decay in the cracks.

My wishes have overstayed their welcome. Reality is on the verge of uprooting their roots. I have stopped thinking about you and dreams that have been shattered by the cruelty of the miles that once connected us. I'm in defiance of this distance, my mind still captures thoughts in its corridors; lingering, wandering like beggars in search of hope and promise. If you were the last person to tell me, you’d love me forever, I’d swallow it the way the sun does dawn. 

I’m pondering new ways to love you now that we are smudged in this mile storm of distance. Creating memories that do not exist. Lost in my wanderings like a castaway looking for rescue. 

Notes From My Journey | Learning Goodness

Perhaps no exhibition of that kind has ever elicited my attention as the words currently hitting the walls of my ears. It was midnight, and we had been summoned to pray. My three sisters sit facing my mother, and I, in a corner somewhere around the dining area. Separated from the family unit defined my current state of being. Throwing myself to the thoughts that have easily beguiled me, anger simmers within me. Maybe not anger, but somewhat repulsion, or for lack of a better word, indifference. My reflections, be sure, were of no consolatory kind. I was simply lost from the flock

I am not sure of what to say to Him (referring to God). After the thanksgiving and worship part, everything else is a blurred vision which may never be in focus. For days- weeks even, I had been oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears. Although I could not at first ascertain to what degree I had been separated from this Christ consciousness, it was beginning to show in my mannerisms. It repulsed me, and I felt angry. Inside, I felt nothing. The words that left my lips were empty- a recital. "Now, my dear friend- now for your sins, you suffer the infliction of a long drought." the very last thought that crossed my mind as I scratched my head to welcome sleep.

Darkness begins our lives. In our mother's womb we grow, live in darkness. We see nothing, literally. We live dead. Pitch black. Morbid darkness.

When my late father crossed to the afterlife, I was eight years, and I felt numb to the pain of that loss. After the memorial, I made my peace with it and moved on. In the years that followed, the numbness began to wore off and I began to feel the weight of the loss and his absence. In class six, I began to feel this overwhelming sorrow that buried me beneath sheaves of uncontrollable tears. It was a sad nightmare, and I was ridiculed terribly for it. My mother did, without fail, tell me that God is good and that everything He does is good. I knew this hook, line and sinker. My spirit knew it, but each time I thought of it I became angry, and each time we prayed things just worsened. It seemed like things were easy when we prayed less but  she always gathered us every morning to pray. My anger stemmed from the fact that even though we had prayed for my father, he still passed on. In my heart and mind, God had disappointed me, and it was good. Each time those words left my lips I felt like a little boy who was saying thank you after being spanked. The feeling lingered  on.

I think that when people say, "I know how you feel." during an emotional loss, they are just trying to be sentimental, relate, ease the suffering-  and that is honest- but sometimes being speechless sells your sentiment better. Until you have experienced something of the same nature as I have, spare me. At a latter part of my journey, the realization that God is indeed good hit against me on a solemn Thursday afternoon. I had estranged myself from everything, and retreated into solitary confinement. During which I learned that God wants each of us to experience Him differently. Our experiences although complimentary must be different.

 I think God has a weird sense of humour, and gets bored easily. I think He is excited by the innate things we are excited about. God can easily give us everything we want, need, desire. But if He did that, the balance we so much crave will be thrown out of orbit. The crippled peace we find in this conflicted world would be thrown into utter chaos. Our shimmering hope- something we should all take pride in- is that God is good, and He did not create you to live a marginalized life. Everyone will die. So no matter how long they live, the pain does not get easier when they pass on. Understand that your judgement of God does not change who God is. He is absolute, entirely full, nothing can undo, mutate, trigger something that He isn't.

To  close my little inner conversation, I want to tickle your brains with this mystery, if you would indulge me. God created everything and said that it was good. Everything- the good, bad and ugly and said it was good. Of course, when God created it he mandated man to label it.

Where You Are

A man can't be saved from himself; they said. 

From generation to generation, that's what we heard.

With scales removed, clearly can I see now 

When the nights chased away the days

That none can save themselves, not then, not now. 

And we felt immortal in life's rays 

Rigor Mortis sat with unlimited patience

Like the beast ready for the hunt among nations.

It chased us with gentle whispers; seduced us into it clutches

Then I remembered the smile of my beloved, but its iced grip still clutches 

A smile so enchanting it could dissipate any glare 

Like lightening, she lit me up with beams of happiness as I faded into the magical flare 

Beautiful thoughts of all the times I chased her through a field of red and purple tulip filled my mind Now pray! Do tell, where will I again meet her kind? 

For I have been to a lot of places and I try to remember all faces 

But none seems to have what hers demand

Oh! And her coy gazes.

The most vibrant kind of kindness;she did infect me 

Breaking through my barricaded heart with just her smile; we were to be 

The inception defined the odds and leapt into the unknown 

Broken but beautiful from the love never found; now our own 

Fading away, now on a shimmering cotton-ball cloud, she is my last thought 

Her warmth seeped into my very core, in her love web, I am still caught 

Like ink on a pad, oil on a napkin, we are different yet defy all odds for we walked hand in hand. Found myself helpless and at the mercy of something so strong I did not understand

Muffled hidden words, how do I express them to her? 

Words that only she can understand; if that be fair 

Words that will find meaning in her ears and be in tune with music her heart will for me play 

I remember when I first touched her cheeks, felt like a dream in the day 

She is a colour that is yet to be discovered, my ray of bliss 

Though drift further away, I leave her with all the love she must not yet again miss.

Collab between Nana Aba and Kwame Ebbs.

If I Were To Tell You Another Story

If I were to tell you another story, Spring would be here. I have always loved Spring and the rebirth of nature. It often feels like an orchestration of charm and beauty, with a dash of love. Before we sort through the nomenclature of what exactly we are, I would whisper in your ears that I belong with you during our first walk at the marina. The sound of the water slapping against the rocks and the air beating against my cheeks would remind me that happiness graces me with their presence.

If you could listen to my heart, you would know that I have fallen into spaces of your heart. This unblinking self examination of what is simmering inside left to fate with nothing left to lose. I would tell you that I am quite in awe of your accent; you'd smile and whisper about how mine resides in the interesting columns of life. It feels like dancing on love’s slippery slopes without a care in the world. 

We would be laying on the rooftop patio, counting the constellations as the dawn slowly chases away the night. You would tell me how they look like our two hearts in unison. I would smile and hold your hand. Saying with an approving glance and your almond eyes obediently twinkling on, you would remind me of what it feels like to be loved in threes. Your sweet nothings have thrown a lustre over me and they ring forever in my ears. Hold me in your kind arms; tell me that you are lovesick, and that only my warm hugs can sustain you.

I would tell you how much I have longed for this, and how I always saw you in a different light. Skirting my feelings, wandering through freeways of doubts- which were like a separate county- and thinking about how you could unspool my heart. You would remind me that we should celebrate each other and live on love. Your words in their essence, purely honest, kindled the dying wick I had harbored year after year

If I were to tell you another story, it would be a chilly November afternoon. And I would be reminded of your departure after Autumn's end. Wilted roses, and broken mirrors left in the place where you once stood and made me happy meals. You are still remarkable. For several days, I would bear about me a memory of your touch, and the many solemn hours we spent in the embrace of the night. If you could feel what I feel, you would know that I still belong with you. Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular amplification of your absence; of how I hurt, beauty weak in the flickering light. The foundations of our love have finally dissipated and although it was confusing and painful trying to sort through the swinging cacophony of disturbing emotions, my ode to you still remains the same: you are always the part of me that matters.

The No You Should Listen To

Fact: The worst battle you have to fight is between what you know, and what you feel. Example, you know the guy is bad news, but your feelings for him say otherwise. Another fact: If you like a woman, show her that you do. Attention and honesty. The common denominator between the two is you. You are at the center of the decision making process. You can either stay and fight to win her heart, or walk away. In both cases, the decision rests with you. When I tell people this story about the No you should listen to- they do not believe it. I now tell it to you- and I can scarcely expect you to put more faith in it. In this case, there is no evidence, nor substance. Just words.

The faculty of my resolution when Annie refused my date request over the phone was daunted, albeit invigorated with relief. I had never been turned down before. Prior to this awkward situation, which I was currently regretting like a fish that had been baited by a worm on a hook, all I could hear was a loud "No, don't do it" yapping at me from the corners of my mind. Of course, I foolishly did not listen. I pursued what my heart wanted. My previous relationship had ended on the premise that I made her feel like she had run a mile each time, and nothing I did made her stay. Not even after I changed my identity and begged her. I was addicted to her love and she unjustly, and merely on a simple account that it wasn't real, walked away. Meeting Annie was different. It was unexpected and the feeling worked me laboriously. I was caught up in this unwanted feeling, uncertain of its origin, but it was there every second of every minute. She was unavailable. I respected that. What I felt after her answer- something that could be likened to a terrible hangover- was the consequence of my disobedience. One out of ten, ignorance is bliss. I would have preferred that One.

The weeks that followed were friendly. Our conversations had shifted to the weekends, and text messages smudged here and there during the week days. We had started a friendship that was built on one simple truth: I saw potential where she saw fact. The fact was that I was her friend, nothing more, nothing less. The potential, however, entirely different. I saw all  that she could be to me: girlfriend and maybe wife. I guess there is something about young love that breaches all the defenses we put up. But sometimes love is simply letting go. Freed from the thought and emotions of something beautiful that may never be.

Note to self: Love yourself so heavy that nothing catches you off guard. Be strong enough to stand on your own if you have to without malice or bitterness. Annie had reassured me that her feelings for me were non-existent, but naivete impaired my thought process. It led me to write a love letter. In my head, it was a simple case of moves and counter-moves. Feeling something that should be non-existent, coupled with unrequited love, was the worst. My pursuit grew stronger each time. The feeling had overwhelmed me. It lingered, and I wrestled. It was sour. It was hard. Hitting rock bottom with my pursuit opened my eyes. When you are obsessed with pearls, you ignore all else. Unless of course, pearls are your preferred choice. I severed all ties with Annie. She hated me for it. You know how in those romantic, happy ending films, a scenario like this would have a happy ending; well, my life is not a movie. 

When a woman tells you no, listen to it. Women may be fond of attention and honesty, and you may be the best of the best at it. However, the first No is enough. Suffering through something that is non-existent, moving mountains to create it, is artificial. You cannot create chemistry. It has to be natural because the longevity of that relationship among other things, depends on chemistry. The pursuit of a suitable woman who doesn't want to be pursued is a preamble for wasted years. What ifs and Maybes kill your chances at something real. The pursuit of a suitable woman is never about immediate results.  It's about being yourself and telling the truth and if you still get a resounding No. Listen to it. Having the girl in your life outweighs getting her. Besides when exactly did we start letting women dictate our happiness. As for me, I am a poem in progress,
 a tangle of meanings
 searching for the right words.

A Case Of The Blah

It is almost midnight, and I just finished a report that is due Monday. The night has been mundane and I am not enjoying it. My eyes dart at a black mark on the wall of my room, and I begin to ponder how it happened. I scarcely started when my mother walks in to tell me that it's time for midnight prayers. My emotions soar through the roof because in my head, I'm asking God, when all this  would end. I am asking because about a couple of months back, superstitious terror crept by some degrees into my spirit. I was angry. Burning with rage and it was all directed to God.  Most people tell me, "That is immature." "A christian should not do that." This anger, before I could lay a finger on it, had mutated to bitterness, and repulsion. Everything about God, church, and what not, began to slowly irritate me. I was done. My lines to God in my writings were simple: I did not ask for this. My entire life began to unfold into something bitter. Church wasn't doing much for me anyways. Pastor always preached about how I must have money in my pockets and how prosperity is my portion. For the most part, I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, and imprisoned by this mizen-mast of a disturbance. Church failed me. I needed something more. The evidence of what the pastor was saying, rigged on something intangible. Faith. Faith did not soothe my pain. I needed something more. I wanted something that was in-tune with what my spirit was craving for and I was on the verge of discovering it.

My mother stands in the doorway, and urges me to come for midnight prayers. Every since I returned, my midnights have usually been given to prayers. But tonight, I did not want to. I just wanted to sleep, after a long night of work. I needed that. Grudgingly, I made my way to the parlor and she begins to tell us- my sister and myself- about a case of the blah. A man had sacrificed his sister  for blood money. The lady in question, a mother of three children had passed and the man, remorsefully confessed that he had sacrificed her for money. It was gruesome. Painful and abhorrent. It was also sad that a man would sacrifice his sister- who cared for him after their mother died -for thrills and temptations of youth. Wicked and perverse generation. Man's end begins when he loses his sense of morality. When our thought process okays immorality, our end draws nearer than we think. It is not profitable. It maybe satiating, but it gives us no profit. When we first discovered our hormones, we were innocent, and often made fun of each other in the showers. Some would talk about pubic hairs, others; their man and lady parts, and their proportions. They would later at some point joke about their sexual trysts in corners, as they scouted their next victim. Girl after girl, boy after boy, lust became insatiable. It spread like wildfire in the middle of a hot summer. Ashes of which began to form dark abysses in the pits of souls. Perverseness shared a bed with love of money and gave birth to wickedness and all kinds of evil. Young men who want to enjoy riches which they have not earned; sacrificing friends, and family members for money. Playing with charms and bending people to their will. There was a time when morality was the order of the day. Now immorality is a right of passage. Our moral compass is broken and all we have is a lust that cannot be quenched.

What mainly inspired me with relief, was that the ungovernable actions of people will be judged by their creator. No matter where or how, the end was universal, and even though everything we own on this earth is a temporary loan, we shall account for everything we have done. Eventually, we will all become aware of the glare of white light streaming down the sides of wherever we laid to rest. The less communication we have with God, the weaker our spirits become and the easier we float through the perversions this world offers us. Time and time again we should be reminded that God owes us nothing. 

 We all die in the end. Death is universal. The important part of human existence is not when or how we die, but how we live. It has always been how we live. We cry when we enter the world, and when we die, people send us off with tears. 

Pain. Guilt. Regret. Remorse. Anger. Bitterness. Greed. Lust. Things that are buried deep beneath the soils of our comfort zone.

We are nothing. We own nothing. We shall return to nothing.

"Unwrite" Me

In crafting a personality, one must be studious. You can’t take any chances. You have to constantly let who you are canvass what you want to be; and that is no easy feat. I stand in front of the weathered glass windows in my hotel room. It’s midnight and I just checked in. As my eyes inch up the ceiling, I am half naked showing my average chest to whoever is up at this daunting hour of the night. This new personality path that I have been navigating is turning me into someone else, and I am scared. I had this velvety feeling in my spirit as I gazed into the open ahead. Slowly, I began to feel the sadness rise up in me, again. My lips twitched out and in grave agreement, uttered a quavering no. My legs were failing me. My back was pressed hard against the glass, I thought I would give in and send me to my death. "Unwriting" myself for the years ahead

My encounter with love was insanity on wheels. It was like being fed with two spoons by different people. Love wasting away in the corridors of our hearts; we did not want to stop, because we were high on the dosage, abusing it in every way we thought possible. We could both run to it whenever our days were going south. It was love. It was addictive, and in limited supply. When the flame died out like fire in the middle of winter, she left me to crawl out of the dark place the addiction had left me. She had unspooled my heart and left it to bleed out. It wasn’t beautiful, it was sour and agony. There was no light. I hovered from darkness to darkness until I crawled out of the pit of bitterness. She was the kind of girl your parents would chose for you, so that you’d have a fair idea of your parent’s taste. She was perfect and I accepted her love.

They say follow your heart, but take your brain with you. Because the brain brings sense to where the heart finds none. The eyes are connected to the brain. I am able to decipher clues, and coded text and so on. All that failed here. The encounter left me bare, with a throbbing pain in my chest. Long nights of nothing but heartache, and raw agony. Loss unrefined and unrestrained. It was there, and I could feel every bit of it. I had never thought someone one could love anyone that much and leave them. My heart was not beautiful. There is nothing beautiful about a broken heart.

Men Cry. Women Cuss

I have been morbidly afraid of posting this here. Particularly because it talks about something most people in this Motherland are uncomfortable talking about.  Many of you would witness that when we were growing up, our parents hated having "the talk". In my house, it was a non-starter.

When I was 9, engaging in sexual relations was likened to committing a crime. It was the kind of thing you needed permission for, but you could never ask. After all, no one asked permission before they committed a crime, moreover it was not like you'd get permission to "do it". Almost two decades and the only thing that has not changed is how people still think of others who engage in sexual relations. People have evolved but we are still judgmental each step of the way. Sex is a fruit; an enticing, overly sensational one. We want it, crave it; hell, we want to eat it. Until you have tasted of that fruit, you will never understand the fascination and addiction. Nothing boosts you immune system like a rigorous, invigorating sensual encounter with the opposite sex. Your immune system regains a considerable boost to hold the forefront of the war on infections.

We are also told that it’s a bonding agent, With protection (rubber socks) or not, we are told that a part of who we are is lost each time we bed another person. No wonder friends with benefits never works. Pack up all these red flags about sex, and yet it is by far the most patronized product in the entire world. Empires were build and lost because of this fruit. It should also be noted that sex in all its glory is a good gift given to mankind by God- if you are a christian. Like everything on the face of this dying planet, it serves a unique and good purpose.

Sex is a beautiful thing. Losing yourself in another whilst burning with pleasure can only be considered as the crescendo of human encounters. Men cry, women cuss. When we are caught up in that raw, sensual embrace, some squeal, other make promises they will never keep. Emotional state of mind equals priceless. Rounds after rounds, we satiate our lust with bouts of thrusts, creative positions, twists and turns as the sensation heightens.

A virgin's encounter with good pleasurable sex could shove him/her into a place of addiction, and adventure. Ideally from a worldly perspective, sex is a first class priority requirement in today’s perfect competition dating market. I may be saving myself for marriage, but once the ring is on, it is a non-stop journey to fantasy land. Where all my curiosity is met with pleasure and more adventure. Anywhere. Everywhere. The upside to all this is that sex is meant to be a place of escape, a procreation channel, and pleasure that is right. That would have been true when Adam and Eve were the only people in the world. I am sure Adam had endless home-runs the first few days after he rang that climax bell. If I had to guess, Eve must have almost burned out the first couple of nights.

 As the world has evolved from a jungle to an urban one, we are basically told who we are, or who we ought to be. Sexual needs have, over the years, been prioritized as one of the centers of human existence. Science has taught us that sex is no longer a requirement for procreation, yet everyone does it. The boys are doing the boys, the girls are doing the girls, and there are the in-betweeners. Sex sells, and people buy. They buy it however they can get it. Whether it’s the desperate unemployed graduate willing to do anything for a job, or the sex worker who has built a mansion selling her "hooha" to a different person each night, it is a product that has not lost value. No matter where you are, you are either forced to think about sex through television programming, journalism, even through this article (I apologize). In less than two decades everything we were taught has been redefined by society. The good news in all of this is that people of virtue still exist in this broken world. If there is one thing evolution taught us, it’s that people change. 

In your own interest, be sure first before you break and enter. Throw caution to the wind and you might break into a can of infections, that will ruin the rest of your life. Now would be a good time to reevaluate who you are and the kind of life you want to live. When you use a good thing to satiate your lust, someone always ends up on the broken side of that encounter and usually, it’s as much emotional as it is physical. Some women end up depressed after sex- some men as well.

Sex is good but not all sex is. Think about the last time you had unprotected sex, and think about all the effects of such stupidity, and just pick one. That one is reason enough. Whether its HIV or other STIs or even the same old teenage pregnancy, that same society will stigmatize and rape your sanity. If you live for their approval. you die by their rejection. No one does rejection better than society.

That is enough

I have been on writing hiatus for sometime and for my come back, I wanted to write something sweet which started like this :   I drove through the cold night only to find you sitting on the sidewalk of my driveway sobbing because you thought I was leaving. To the questions I asked, your pithy responses strummed my pain. Pain from your inability to see how much love I secret in my feeble heart. Maybe you would be better of waiting for something that is already here. Parked in the middle of the driveway, dashing to cuddle you in my arms, and dry your tears. I could never undo your heart because it would mean undoing mine. And I am entirely unsure of what will remain. But halfway through this, I realized my mind can not create, imagine or accommodate thoughts of love right now. See, years ago, my entire life revolved around being and feeling loved. I was battling with depression, mood swings, and I always mistook attention for love. Back then I still had not understood that love was beyond that. I have learned some tough guy lessons in the past years. And  it has all led me to this. All the broken parts of my life have made me. As far as this post is concerned, I want to say is that before you put anyone on a pedestal, you must know that they are people just as you. They breathe the same air, drink water (maybe bottled) but they are still human. So when you freak out over some absolute nonsense, do not expect them to keep calm over some real deal that deserves freaking out. We have an idiotic tendency of judging people who we have put on pedestal when they just act human. Life is hard and real human beings get angry, they cry, weep, mourn, they break promises. They will promise you that they will come to your wedding and then disappoint you with excuses. You need to let it go when it happens. They are not Artificial Intelligence. Neither are they in your life to please you. Everyone has their bad day. Stop writing the wrong people do on rocks. They are people not a product on the counter you stop using because it set your house on fire. Moreover if your house caught fire, you won't even have the luxury of going to the store. You'd be homeless.

No matter what happens life will get to you, and you will be overwhelmed with commitments. When that happens to people in your life, bear with them and understand that they are not God. Even God doesn't come through always. Sometimes, He is trying to teach you something and you are too busy judging Him. If you can disappoint someone, every other person can disappoint you. Everything you are, someone else can be; maybe better, maybe worse, but understand that to the world, that is enough

Be You.

We are halfway into the new month and some of us have already defaulted on our pledges and new year resolutions. For the past three years, I have thrown the whole new year resolutions idea out through the window. Change is not by force. Unless it is necessary. In other words: If it ain't broke don't fix it. Make it better. Each year we take a diary, sheet of paper, or a card, and scribble resolutions that we will most likely forget by the end of the first month. Such a terrible way to enslave ourselves. Is it not bad enough that we live in a world that is constantly trying to reshape us? To live free, you must live as an outsider- outside the clutches of normalcy. Because normal life in this world is shit. To hell with normal life!  Personally, 2014 was a growing up year for me, and I did a lot of that. It was the year I finally decided to grow a pair and live free. Free of approval addiction, of public opinion, and free of anything that burdened me. By far and large, I succeeded and I am continuing with the movement this year. I made it a point to strive for progress, and not perfection. I have so much to live for. My life is about dancing in the rain not running away because of the normalcy that I'll get wet. The rain falls on everyone. Last year I severed some friendships and I never looked back. 

My advice is drop the pen. dump the paper if you are not ready to change. Change is a phenomenal part of our existence. In actual sense your existence thrives on change. You are here because change occurred somewhere, so stop pretending because you are only hurting yourself. Salvage the rest of you that still reasons like a free man and remove the leash. Chances are you will burn from the withdrawal but more importantly, like a phoenix you will rise from the ashes a free man.