THE WORLD NEVER STOPPED

I once thought myself stable

Upon world’s back sat comfortable

But the illusion never lasted long

Before I was subtly proved wrong.

The world does not ride steady

nor mind if the rider is ready

it sticks to its tenacious gallop

and for no one does it ever stop.

During a moment of weak grip

from our hands does it slip;

riding on to the dreams ahead

which else we might’ve had.

If the world did stop for a week

I’d have buried my dead

and moved on with you.

But it never did stop for a week.

If the world did stop for a day

I’d have explained everything

then ask you to wait, a while,

But it never did stop for a day

If the world did stop for an hour

I’d have told you of all my pain

hope pity would make you stay

But it never did stop for an hour

If the world did stop for a minute.

Oh dear, a last kiss? A final hug?

As alone I go to face a bitter world

But it never did stop for a minute

If the world did stop for a second

I already had enough memories of you

to last me this miserable lifetime 

But it never did stop for a second

Fate sent us on different ways,

and condemned me to lonely days.

I WILL CHANGE

After I end my cry
and my eyes again dry,

no longer blinded by pain
nor burdened with regret;
I will move on
to a new life:
a life without you
or any memory of you.
But I'll keep this promise
which I made to myself,
that before I forget you
I will change,
make myself better
than you ever wanted me.

I remember your words,
some true, others false,
but all hateful, hurtful.
Saying the same thing,
I never was your friend,
even though you were mine.
I erred like any man
but thought little of it
since friends easily forgive.
But not you, you don't,
even then you didn't.
I'll call you friend no more -
my love was washed away
by the very same tears
you made me shed.

I wish you'd been gentler,
like a true friend ought to be-
speaking to correct, not hurt,
aiming to change, not revenge.
I promise I will change,
all the bad things
you pointed out in me,
but once I am better,
once I am perfect for you;
I won't seek your company 

'cos I am no masochist,
and I cherish not
being hurt by friends.

HAVE YOU LIVED?

You've not lived
until you've met life
and seen all its beauty;
known its joys and pains.
Have you been
to the highest point,
had the world's
splendor beneath you?
Have you been
to the ocean's depth,
felt the weight
of all problems on you?
Has your brain
ever been frozen cold,
or your heart
melted to jelly

by desire and liking?
Ever ran until you
could stand no more?
Or slept until there
was no more to dream?
Have you been honest
with yourself,
known all your
dreams and desires;
only to meet,
at yet another turn,
a stranger
who is still you?
If out of all above
you've done none,
woe unto you,
unless you are a child,
for you've not yet
even started living.

HIGHWAY TO MY HEART

Look behind the walls guarding my heart,

see the vastness of the love therein.

Look behind the timidity of my trust,

and study the scars from my past.

Look deeper at the lonely soul within. 

Did you see all that, was that the clue?

Or how did you know I thirsted for you?

How'd you find the highway to my heart? 

How'd you know what I needed to hear

to down my guards and let you get near?

Thanks for whispering your gentle persuasion,

convincing me to again push myself out to sea,

to continue my sail but with a new start.

In your arms I was made a man again,

given the strength to let go of past pain.

 Your commitment I'll never fully understand

but in the light of your love let me ever stand.

Girl you saw and sated the needs within me

and this, this verse, is part of my appreciation.

PERFECT, WE STILL ARE

Look ye at God's creation,
notice all the imperfection.
Behold the struggle under the sun,
contrast it to the abundance in Eden
which was to be the eternal fate of man,
had the very first not fallen
by the allure of the original sin,
and the subtle evil therein.
But the Supreme Being above,
whose essence is pure love,
knows no measure of evil,
for it all belongs to the devil
in that punitive, fiery pit,
which will be Satan's final defeat.
Why this sermon on a weekday?
Because it's a heavy price we pay
chasing after the mirage of perfection,
unaware we hold an ill-conceived notion,
'cause in the finitude of our wisdom
we can't entirely fathom his kingdom
nor the vicissitudes of his constant nature.
Hence, I only aver what's in Scripture:
In his own image, he made them;
male and female, he created them;
and all was perfect in his sight.
If you believe the Good Book is right,
you and I are perfect in every respect
because we descend from a place sans defect
and, knowing that light cannot birth darkness,
we surely never lost the original perfectness.
.
.
.
Footnote:
[The fall of man was not in eating the fruit, it was in being tricked into deciding to eat it. How does one trick a perfect human being? Either they weren't as perfect as the bible says or our conception of "perfect" is heavily flawed. I stand by the latter.]

FALLING FOR HER

In the land I first saw her
the wind blew softly
caressing the beauty of the leafy trees
gently rocking the flowers in bloom
wafting the fresh air from forests around
it was a serene land I met her
because nature was at peace with itself.
The trees swayed with the wind,
mimicking a slow, romantic ballroom dance
as the birds whispered their loyalty and love.
That breeze was the satisfied sigh
of nature from the perfect fondling of its maker;
it was the muffled, orgasmic moan
of a tamed and civilized landscape,
which dared not squeal with delight and pleasure,
but the delight and pleasure were there
within the cheer and playful laughter
of trees tickled by moths and butterflies.
Such was the land in which I knew her,
a land as beautiful and perfect as she,
it was a perfect place to fall in love.

FOR A MOMENT

For a moment

all the lights went out

and the melodies stopped.

Life lost its rhythm

as hearts took another tune,

pumping to a different beat –

the beat of loving you,

missing you,

and the pain,

the pain of losing you.

For a moment

all the lights went out,

and my breath failed

as I could not imagine

a life without you.

Even breathing labored me

by remind of life

Life? The very you lost.

For a moment

all the lights went out.

I could not see ahead

and I wished to turn,

run back into your arms

and the comfort therein.

Oh…. I miss your love

For a moment

all the lights went out

and in ensuing darkness

life lost its luster.

colour faded

from all things beautiful

tinting the gloom of my misery.

For a moment

all the lights went out

but only for so long

before you became a light

that shines down on me

ever watching out for me.

$$Margaret, I may have said it once or twice that I love you. I may have shown it a few more times than that. I wish you could see me now, since the extent of my sorrow at your departure may as yet be the best proof of how much I loved you. I said it, even showed it; I hope you heard and believed me.

Mon souer, requiescat in pace (RIP).$$

LOSE NOT YOUR COURAGE

In whichever dangerous place
you haplessly end up today,
whatever enemy you face,
tremble a little you may
but lose not your courage.
Remember in you is a refuge,
Almighty and his peace within,
hence doubt not you'll win.
In self you should always trust
even when things seem worst,
since some help you'll receive,
from the God in whom believe.

DRY BONES

I am a fighter,
a scarred warrior
in battles unnamed
and wars unknown,
but in which all must fight
else in oblivion vanish.
I fight the grave
with word and deed,
planting a small seed
while I am still wet.
Soon I'll be dead,
rotting in flesh,
fading from living memory,
all the while germinating,
growing forth from the grave
to have my final say
right on death's face,
"You can't handle me, loser!"
Dry bones will speak,
in a tiny graveside whisper,
of the legacy I now seek.
Dry bones will sing,
and in some literary corner
my praises will ring.
Dry bones will testify,
my dedication to purpose
'til the inevitable last sigh.
Dry bones will lay content,
in peace wait on eternity,
so their reward they can collect.
Dry bones will be dry,
but not so their essence
for I watered 'em while I lived.

DESTINY HAD ITS WAY

I had a poem to write,
an idea suddenly bright,
but on paper it cast no light.
Thus black never crossed white

I had a song to sing
in my moment of rejoicing
but tune ever a foreign thing
flew on my croaky breath's wing.

I had a ready smile
to befriend the world awhile,
but it wouldn't walk me the aisle;
deliver me to death in style.

I had dreams to chase,
which'd help me gain face
but I woke to another race,
a race to survive the days.

I had this great desire
to rise ever higher;
but that was a life prior,
whilst I was my own liar.

I wanted to have my way,
never thought it led astray,
but destiny had the last say,
and on right path had my feet stay.

FINALLY, I LOVE NO MORE

Once upon a youthful impulse,

pen and paper had a brief romance.

And this story I repeat was told,

of a valorous heart, in love bold.

Taught to always give his all,

he loved with heart and soul.

Believed until eternity passed

love had their hearts laced.

But an ill wind blew his way

and took her love away.

She spoke of seeing again

and severing the yoking rein

which had had her trapped

(Oh yes, trapped she called it).

And blamed her subdued wit

for time lost, in my arms wrapped. 

So, in a common tergiversation of fate,

I watched love bitterly change to hate

for the storyteller and I were one.

Only difference: he observed, and I loved.

Later, in peace he wrote while I contrived

to repair a broken heart, only when done,

my soul whole, would I too finally be free.

Free to sail again upon the treacherous sea,

whence joys of love are likely met.

Free to seek freedom from regret,

with my sole and last item of leverage,

which is why there’s joy in this message:  

I’ll not love you from the grave, in death,

I will not love you with my dying breath.

I’ll reserve that for my final repentance,

seeking absolution for my sins against me,

And with that one last chance

I’ll have no more love for thee.

BELIEVE AND LET BELIEVE

Dogma is similar to folly in so many ways that it is quite difficult, if not impossible, to draw a clear boundary. There are times I am fully convinced there is none; that dogma is merely an aspect of the other multifaceted mind-numbing monster. We all know that any a fool worth their salt has a manifold ways of expressing their foolishness. It is thus only natural that they stumbled upon dogma and integrated it into their art, if it is politically correct to call it art. Nevertheless, an art it is. It takes such finesse to resist logic and thwart all attempts to change one’s opinion. Interestingly, Solomon gave up on only two intellectual matters. His mind was boggled trying to understand the divine. Similarly, arguments with fools proved too frustrating and he decided to abandon all attempts to affect a fool’s opinions. But in his wisdom he saw it fit to speak against foolishness with the vehemence and veracity of a street preacher.

I share those sentiments and believe it to be my divine duty to speak out against folly. However, I refrain from taking myself too seriously and would advise you do the same. Remember I warned that foolishness is diverse. This article is not immune to folly; in fact it might be pure nonsense camouflaged as thoughtful writing. Further, by merely reading this, you run the risk of being misled by my reasoning wherever it may be erroneous. So do not run around quoting me as if I were the oracle at Delphi, but if you must, please do so at your own discretion.

The most common dogmas in mainstream society hide behind religion. Incidentally, every religion has at least one dogma it holds as one of its core principles. Without such dogma’s most religions would collapse under their own weight. Who would want to deny themselves of pleasure without some guarantee of reward? But since no single religion can offer valid proof of the existence of a transcendental deity (idol worshippers can of course show their gods, but like the others cannot proof the metaphysical abilities of said gods), such rewards for piety and righteousness are only guaranteed by reinforcing dogmas. So I’ll not steal, lie, fornicate or kill because I want to spend eternity in heaven. Further, I will endeavour to avoid any small mistake imaginable because I don’t want any such tiny slip to send me hell’s way. Of course not all religions believe in hell per se, but they all have equivalents, similar in that they are all punitive.

By now you have seen that I, like any other bloke, am not devoid of dogmatic tendencies. Some dogmas are arguably important for a society to exist, perhaps even indispensable if there is to be a semblance of order and co-existence. Ironically, it is for this very reason that some moderation is called for when we try to assert our dogmas, however noble they may seem. Intolerances based on difference of opinion are retrogressive, and only aggravate already volatile relations. What makes a Christian more foolish for believing in God and not Allah? Conversely, is belief in Allah what qualifies the Muslim as foolish? And while you are busy criticising the idol worshippers, remember they can see their god unlike you who only suspects His presence. It is important that we don’t forget that the same measure we use against others may be used against us, and that our animosity need not be directed at individuals. Many a time dogma is as a result of experience, so that experience should be considered the source of our acrimony.

It is a good dogma that is limitable to its owner. If it happens that they are other holders of a similar dogma, well and good. However, if you seem to be the only one with the dogmatic view, don’t judge others for not sharing your perspective. God forbid that you should persecute them. It is not hard to trace most civil wars to egotistical dogmas amongst at least one group. With ingrained convictions which can only be shaken by a weapon buried deep in their flesh, they’ve time and again set out to affirm their dogmas. The destruction from such wars is only matched by the folly that instigated them. Dogma or not, a fool is always a source of his own destruction. The way I see it, we can significantly distance ourselves from foolish dogmas if we can just ‘believe and let believe’.

NOTE: Pardon my use of the male gender. I’ve come to realise that some of my readership is still confused whenever ‘their’ is used to achieve gender neutrality while talking about a singular subject.

RAPED INNOCENCE

I have taken time out over the last three months to reflect on why I have only become a bully so late in life. The interesting thing is that since I began this little introspective exercise, the reasons seem to be popping up from every aspect of my early life. I’ll be reminiscing about my parents, teachers, childhood friends, Pus our pet cat, or VoK the cow and I see a habit I picked up that reinforces my bullying. The self-centred ego wants to shout, “Poetic justice! I finally get to pay back in equal measure.” But my moral upbringing and conscientious disposition make me pity those who now suffer because of my acquired vice.

The blame for all the misfortunes I suffered from bullies can go either of two ways. Whichever the case, the larger burden of the blame always will be, in my opinion, borne by the perpetrators of my sufferings. I, for purely hypocritical reasons, concede to bear the rest of the blame. So I can have a genuine proof of the nobility of my personality. How many people can blame themselves for all the ills they suffered?

I suffered the intolerance of my father, the upper handedness of my teacher, the bullying of my schoolmates, the strictness of my mother and the bossiness of my siblings. Where I do not have a physical scar to show for the pain, I have tears neither fully cried nor properly dried from my heart. My aching soul still remembers how much it craved revenge, any hitting back action. That is probably why, despite my desire to move on, I am stuck at bullying hapless innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. My senses are still numb and cannot master my faculties; cannot command them to look and move ahead. My mind is unable to forget the past and concentrate on the future. Only a rape victim would fully understand my trauma. This is not downplaying the agony of rape victims. On the contrary, I am trying to attach sufficient weight to the abuse of my personality by friends, teachers, family, all people I should’ve been able to trust, and every Dick, Jack and Harry.

The question the cynical amongst you will ask is, “What did you do to mitigate your suffering?” Nothing. That’s right; I was too innocent, too respectful, too well behaved, too much of all the things I’d been told were honourable in a man. Consequently, I had an ingrained timidity when it came to dealing with adults or anybody in a perceived higher social standing. I knew it was unfair. My harassed intellect could even then formulate viable logic against such treatment. However, I never saw myself standing up to anybody and giving them a piece of my mind. I was not cut out for such highly charged situations. My victimisers had diligently prepared me for meek acceptance of whatever they threw my way.

I suspect I cannot sit still because my behind is still sore from my father’s thrashing. Perhaps I procrastinate because chores remind me of the punishments at school. It could be that I am unforgiving because I knew no mercy from my mother. Is my overbearing attitude simply my way of having my turn? Never has the meaning of ‘the boy is father of the man’ been clearer to me. I was treated like an emotionless object. Consequently, I learned to live with repressed emotions so as to lessen the effect of all hurtful remarks or actions. Smaller wonder that I can now fail to hear the pleadings for mercy or the painful cries from my victims. Pity and mercy are just other emotions, and I learned to shut off from feeling when it suits me. At some time the on/off action was fated to become autonomous. After all, sifting through words to choose which to take seriously is just as hurtful as the words themselves.

All in all, you will most probably be bullied by me at one time or other if you have the misfortune of crossing me at a time when I am not in control of those impulses. I damn hope that you, however, will not let me get away with it. If you do, you will be reinforcing this retrogressive behaviour. Bullies draw both their strength and motivation from our cowardice and submission. Don’t feed this monster that is intent on polluting my nature and vilifying my morals. Please hit back in all ways you know how; you will not be fighting me, rather bullying as a vice.

Being Human

I am human
so I shed tears of joy
flaunt the softness of my hard body
aver the sincerity of my lies
savour the intensity of my agonies.
I follow the same path
see if I get something new.
I praise God with profanities.
My life an oxymoron, but
In my confusion I've learnt
being human is a complex simplicity.

GHETTO CHILD

I die like a lonely tear
run dry before touching the earth
to let it know the pain
of which I was borne.

I fade off like a whisper
whose secret
remains hidden
from concerned ears.

I pooh and disappear
like a genie wished away
to utopias unknown
where mistakes resides.

While on a perky tit
my cries are silenced,
so is my breath stolen
to pay for the youth
I innocently ruined.

I am an African Child,
a ghetto child
and I die
before I blossom
die without a dream
for even sleep is a luxury.

JOY OF LOVE

In the darkness of human misery
a ray of light appears
lights the way to true joy.
Twin hearts find each other
and beat to the rhythm of love,
sister souls meet and fuse
make an eternal bond, never to part.
Bodies 'twine, then merrily join
drown'n carnal desires in passion of love.
Minds indulge in their needs
'til only one thought is left:
I am ecstatically happy.
Happy 'cos of the heart that loves me,
'cos of the soul that understands
and the mind that knows me.
My heart is empty no more
no longer does my soul thirst
nor the mind at all lust.
All desires are satiated;
I've known true love.
The joy of love
is the satisfaction of being.

In rhyme and verse
I order my chaos.
Give rhythm to this life
and a lil' reason to laugh.
I cling to immortality
with tentacles of charity;
 sharing bits of my soul,
 performing the divine role.
With all my strength I'll serve
and never lose my nerve,
for service obliviates our need,
and thus, joy we find indeed.
To renew my inner resources,
 and expurgate my emotional excesses,
I've been given a pen, paper and a poem;
to always remind me of who I am.

These are not words
but tears of my soul.
Wherever they fall,
my legacy stands.

Living Dreams

With my hope beyond repair,
I give a sigh of despair
as all my dreams finally die,
and 'neath dead hope forever lie.
Though at first cherished memories,
they soon rot to repugnant stories,
recollections of what-could've-been,
if destiny and fate didn't intervene.
Dreams have beauty while alive,
while towards them we strive.
Kill not those you have;
let 'em twinkle upon your grave.

Keeps On

Oh yes!

I’ve seen worse.

This won’t break me.

A new dawn I must see.

Hungry stomachs on worn mattresses

Nightmares and unfulfilled dreams

Bugs for company, rats for security

As inside a rugged torn blanket

We hid from our miseries

To dream a new chapter to our life stories

Oh yes!

I’ve seen worse.

This won’t break me.

A new dawn I must see.

Rumbling stomachs upon shaky feet,

as its deprived worms curse it

before their hungry writhing

makes ‘em accept anything

leading man to eat like pig

three meals a day his ‘living big’.

Oh Yes!

I’ve seen worse.

This won’t break me.

A new dawn I must see.

Worn souls clinging to dying dreams

despairing hearts and doubting minds

feeding off a feeble spirit

withered by its hopelessness

scarred by countless sufferings

and the rough battles of wills:

to fight or to surrender,

to win or to lose,

to live or to die,

to dare or not to?

Of the hardships I’ve met yet,

Choosing will be the worst.