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.