I'm a thousand miles away from home.
The orchestra is playing in the very near distance.
It's a private show.
My senses are alive as the sounds wash over my very soul.
The guitar. The melodious chords seducing my eardrums.
The bass. The drum. The rise and fall...beating to the rhythm of my heavy heart.
The harp. The instrument of angels.
Lifting me off my feet. I'm as one with wings. A celestial being.
The clang of the cymbals. Goose pimples. The hair on my back stand in ovation.
The cello. The trumpet. The violin. Each distinct sound blending into one beautiful symphony.
I'm in a gallery.
Somewhere on Despair Street
It's a private show.
But something is missing.
The canvas is empty.
The artist is set to paint but there are no brushes.
Then the unimaginable happens.
At the "twang" of the guitar, a purple streak appears.
The "bang" of the drum, a black splash.
The "hum" of the piano I see white.
There's Green. Blue. Yellow too.
Each instrument producing a colour of its own.
There's one for Joy.
One for Pain.
One for Pleasure and one for Redemption.
And as the Orchestra reaches a crescendo; As the final chord is strung, there's an explosion.
It's Hope. It's blood red.
It's everywhere.
On the walls and the floor.
On the door fame and my white tee.
Slowly I open my eyes.
I'm on my bed.
The orchestra has since stopped playing.
The gallery is but a distant memory.
The tears have since ceased.
I'm not alone.
I've got my music lifting me from the clutches of gloom;
Bringing me the sweet assurance of Hope that runs as sure as blood through my veins.
Nov 23, 2011
Oct 27, 2011
Code Name: The Carrier
The Client is Igbo.
This much I can tell of the nameless face from my elevated position. His head gives him away. Round and wide with 6 folds at the base that roll into his thick neck. I counted. Little dents trail his head reminding me of the untarred Onitsha road. His was the type, my roomate Lovette described as Otikpiri. Well balanced on his storky neck. I snicker as I remember the explanation Lovette gave when I asked her what it meant. "It means the person's food goes to his head causing the head to stretch and be enlarged", she said with the straightest of faces and I couldn't really tell if she was saying the truth.
I look down at the contorted face beneath me, a part of me hoping to see a stranger even as I know what to expect. An all too familiar face stares back at me. It is always the same. No matter the place, time, or person. The face remains the same. Papa stares back at me. He always does.
I smile.
The Client sees my smile and beams exposing his crooked gap tooth. "You like that my beautiful angel?", he asks with a lisp, as he tweaks my attentive nipple a little too hard and resumes his grunting. His fingers dig into my arched back as he viciously begins to jerk.
He's coming.
I ride faster.
He grunts one last time and suddenly the jerking stops.
The Ordeal is over.
He lets out a loud belch and out of his mouth escapes the awful stench of stale groundnut. He pushes me off his body, almost rudely. He's in a hurry to leave.
"Nna baby, you won't kill me", he says as he frantically tugs on his trousers.
He is married. I can see the pale skin on his finger where his wedding band should be.
He slaps N3000 on the bedside table and hurries out the door.
It's been another successful exercise.
A mutually beneficial one.
I've satisfied yet another horny bastard.
He's satisfied me too in a way he cannot begin to imagine.
"All of me", he wanted
"No rubbers", he insisted.
I agreed.
I let him plant his seed inside of me.
And I gave him a Seed of my own.
I smile to myself.
"But I will. I will KILL you" I say to the quiet room.
And with a heart wrenching scream comes the tears.
As I cry for the 8 year old girl that was sexually abused by her father time and again.
I cry because I hate that he makes me punish strangers who bore his face.
I cry for the family that was soon to be destroyed by the virus.
I cry for the person I've become.
An alien in my own skin.
A ticking bomb.
A Carrier.
This much I can tell of the nameless face from my elevated position. His head gives him away. Round and wide with 6 folds at the base that roll into his thick neck. I counted. Little dents trail his head reminding me of the untarred Onitsha road. His was the type, my roomate Lovette described as Otikpiri. Well balanced on his storky neck. I snicker as I remember the explanation Lovette gave when I asked her what it meant. "It means the person's food goes to his head causing the head to stretch and be enlarged", she said with the straightest of faces and I couldn't really tell if she was saying the truth.
I look down at the contorted face beneath me, a part of me hoping to see a stranger even as I know what to expect. An all too familiar face stares back at me. It is always the same. No matter the place, time, or person. The face remains the same. Papa stares back at me. He always does.
I smile.
The Client sees my smile and beams exposing his crooked gap tooth. "You like that my beautiful angel?", he asks with a lisp, as he tweaks my attentive nipple a little too hard and resumes his grunting. His fingers dig into my arched back as he viciously begins to jerk.
He's coming.
I ride faster.
He grunts one last time and suddenly the jerking stops.
The Ordeal is over.
He lets out a loud belch and out of his mouth escapes the awful stench of stale groundnut. He pushes me off his body, almost rudely. He's in a hurry to leave.
"Nna baby, you won't kill me", he says as he frantically tugs on his trousers.
He is married. I can see the pale skin on his finger where his wedding band should be.
He slaps N3000 on the bedside table and hurries out the door.
It's been another successful exercise.
A mutually beneficial one.
I've satisfied yet another horny bastard.
He's satisfied me too in a way he cannot begin to imagine.
"All of me", he wanted
"No rubbers", he insisted.
I agreed.
I let him plant his seed inside of me.
And I gave him a Seed of my own.
I smile to myself.
"But I will. I will KILL you" I say to the quiet room.
And with a heart wrenching scream comes the tears.
As I cry for the 8 year old girl that was sexually abused by her father time and again.
I cry because I hate that he makes me punish strangers who bore his face.
I cry for the family that was soon to be destroyed by the virus.
I cry for the person I've become.
An alien in my own skin.
A ticking bomb.
A Carrier.
Sep 30, 2011
Unmasked
Hi guys,
For some time now, I had been trying to get reconnected with my first love, poetry, and the talented wordsmith Tobi Bamtefa gave me an opportunity to do so. Here is a piece written by Tobi and myself. I hope you enjoy it.
xxx
With aged eyes, I see the pain behind her hooded smiles.
Hear the hurried beat of her broken heart.
Trace hurt in the lines of her fragile palms.
And nurse wings that fly...no more.
With aged eyes I reach for another
Scarred beyond recognition.
Blinded by memories of love found. And lost. And found only to be lost again.
Till love can be found...no more.
With aged eyes I watch as I am altered to suit a misconstrued mind.
As I am brutally gutted and reborn as another.
As I am labeled, classified and shut out.
Till silent I can watch...no more.
Picture a man with actions that speak as clear as day
The steps he takes, for your perfection. Reacts with no delay
With each move he makes garments torn like brittle hay
Until clothed he remains...no more.
Picture this man standing before you
Bruised, battered, completely dismayed
Package in hand, hole in his chest and love in his eyes
And with a fight, the retrospective mirage dissipates like mist in the wind.
His intentions are concealed...no more.
With aged eyes I watch as reality set in.
As the cloud that once obscured your youthful mind, fades off.
As time flies and the truth is finally revealed.
Unmasked, I remain in the shadow...no more.
For some time now, I had been trying to get reconnected with my first love, poetry, and the talented wordsmith Tobi Bamtefa gave me an opportunity to do so. Here is a piece written by Tobi and myself. I hope you enjoy it.
xxx
With aged eyes, I see the pain behind her hooded smiles.
Hear the hurried beat of her broken heart.
Trace hurt in the lines of her fragile palms.
And nurse wings that fly...no more.
With aged eyes I reach for another
Scarred beyond recognition.
Blinded by memories of love found. And lost. And found only to be lost again.
Till love can be found...no more.
With aged eyes I watch as I am altered to suit a misconstrued mind.
As I am brutally gutted and reborn as another.
As I am labeled, classified and shut out.
Till silent I can watch...no more.
Picture a man with actions that speak as clear as day
The steps he takes, for your perfection. Reacts with no delay
With each move he makes garments torn like brittle hay
Until clothed he remains...no more.
Picture this man standing before you
Bruised, battered, completely dismayed
Package in hand, hole in his chest and love in his eyes
And with a fight, the retrospective mirage dissipates like mist in the wind.
His intentions are concealed...no more.
With aged eyes I watch as reality set in.
As the cloud that once obscured your youthful mind, fades off.
As time flies and the truth is finally revealed.
Unmasked, I remain in the shadow...no more.
Sep 27, 2011
NURSERY RYHMES (Uncensored Version)
Mary had a little lamb its fleece was white as snow;
But what the nursery rhyme left out is that the lamb was slow.
It followed her to school one day which was against the rules;
The poor lil Mary missed the bus and so was late for school.
And so the teacher turned it out but still it lingered near;
It plugged in its Beats by Dre till Mary did appear.
"Why does the lamb love Mary so?” the eager children cry!;
"Why, that's Jamb question, number one", the teacher did reply.
(While the children were busy trying to answer that last question, it did attract 50marks you know, Jack and Jill snuck out the class, the teacher close at their heel...*inserts nollywood sound track here*)
So Jack and Jill went up the hill to "fetch a pail of water" (*wink wink*)
When Jack "went down", he hurt his neck,
That's where the teacher's cane landed.
"Baa baa black sheep, are you not in school??!" (The teacher shouted)
"Yee pa, yee pa; I'm in soup!" (Jill cried)
"One for the master", the dirty teacher leered.
"And one for the little boy (Jack), to shut his mouth!"
(You see Jill was so good, the teacher just had to ask.)
Teacher: Pussycat Pussycat where have you been?
Jill: I've been up to London, to be with Chief.
Teacher: Pussy cat pussy cat, what did you dare?
Jill: I frightened the little man when he saw the hair.
(Unknown to Jack, and the Teacher, coupling with Jill had given them herpes, but since they had no idea, they were busy chasing the little boy who had gotten them all on tape.)
Three blind mice, see how they run;
They run after the farmer's son,
Who put up the video on you-tube the next day,
Have you ever seen such a thing in your life? (Well apart from on Linda Ikeji's blog)
As these three blind mice.
THE END
NB: This may or may not have been written by me and in either case was purely for jokes.
Peace!
But what the nursery rhyme left out is that the lamb was slow.
It followed her to school one day which was against the rules;
The poor lil Mary missed the bus and so was late for school.
And so the teacher turned it out but still it lingered near;
It plugged in its Beats by Dre till Mary did appear.
"Why does the lamb love Mary so?” the eager children cry!;
"Why, that's Jamb question, number one", the teacher did reply.
(While the children were busy trying to answer that last question, it did attract 50marks you know, Jack and Jill snuck out the class, the teacher close at their heel...*inserts nollywood sound track here*)
So Jack and Jill went up the hill to "fetch a pail of water" (*wink wink*)
When Jack "went down", he hurt his neck,
That's where the teacher's cane landed.
"Baa baa black sheep, are you not in school??!" (The teacher shouted)
"Yee pa, yee pa; I'm in soup!" (Jill cried)
"One for the master", the dirty teacher leered.
"And one for the little boy (Jack), to shut his mouth!"
(You see Jill was so good, the teacher just had to ask.)
Teacher: Pussycat Pussycat where have you been?
Jill: I've been up to London, to be with Chief.
Teacher: Pussy cat pussy cat, what did you dare?
Jill: I frightened the little man when he saw the hair.
(Unknown to Jack, and the Teacher, coupling with Jill had given them herpes, but since they had no idea, they were busy chasing the little boy who had gotten them all on tape.)
Three blind mice, see how they run;
They run after the farmer's son,
Who put up the video on you-tube the next day,
Have you ever seen such a thing in your life? (Well apart from on Linda Ikeji's blog)
As these three blind mice.
THE END
NB: This may or may not have been written by me and in either case was purely for jokes.
Peace!
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