Tuesday, December 10, 2019

The man called alone..

Been called so many names
Been mocked many a time
My biggest critic is the dementor growing deep inside.... Me.
What some might like to call
A man's overbloated conscience
The more spiritual will call it the police of the soul
The caution, the brakes so a man does not wander off road
But I know only what it's told me
In retrospect it was never meant to leave me alone. To be less judgy and unappreciative of myself I realize I have grown. Being a work in progress and all that
In many ways it shows I AM ALONE! I keep trying to do better while I fight the demons trying to take away home. And I plod along on my own

Ramblings and a little touch of....

To love and be loved is the crave of the human spirit.
The unloved find themselves in a pit called the wretched unforgiven.
I am on a path of self discovery, love and understanding; what it means to exist and enjoy living.
I am trying to understand why human nature loves the forbidden.
We love what we should not love. We hunger for what we should not touch.
We search for fulfilment in what will bring nothing but emptiness and loss.
We forget the price paid by an innocent who hung on a cross. It sounds so easy as I say this
But it's never easy, especially when I look deep into her eyes and strength fails me.
Right and wrong become lines that are extremely blurred. Especially when wrong comes in the form of a perfume scented touch

She....

A paragon of beauty
The physical embodiment of seamless and timeless beauty; exquisite in it's uniqueness
What is this thing you might ask me?
I call it ....... SHE!
A taker of thoughts.
A controller of emotions and words.
An unparallel surge of attraction, like electricity drawn to iron
A rollercoaster of inherently subdued desires and feelings.
What is this strange and seemingly unexplainable entity?
I call it ...... SHE!!

What is the thing I see in shades of red, blue and green? Like the conglomeration of sweet textures on color defying lipstick on near perfect lips... With a body well shaped and trim. What could this be? To whom can we ascribe this?
I call it.... SHE!
Who is she?
She is her! She is here! She is there! She is one who stares!
She is also one who cares! She cares and smiles as she reads what I wrote here. She is YOU!

An unbridled passion

I write these words calm in the knowledge they could make or mar me
I speak in a tongue I hope you and I speak
I exist in a world that defies understanding
I couldn't tell you of it even if I found a way to describe what I am feeling
I have come to the realization I am one of many things
I am an imperfect individual who tries with varying degrees of success to do the right thing
I sometimes let unwholesome motions and passions to get the best of me
I am on a journey of self discovery to understand what it is that I see
To understand what makes me; me.
To finally rest in the knowledge that I am at peace and free
But you can't be free when you hunger for what is not yours to have or give
I wonder if any have ever felt like this?
You love what you should not love. You don't hate what you should hate. You spend hours fixating on a person who for all intents and purposes is far from your reach.
It's like you are floating in space while trying to catch something the earth keeps in it's wake.
Every thought of you is like a feeling akin to labor pain.
What then will be my gain? If these thoughts of love drive me insane.

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

The deepest of connections

There are many words I can say to you
There are many some may say is untrue
Voices and rhythms fade away like mountain dew
There are those that call themselves things that are not true
There are many others like me and you
Each unique in their own perspectives but with the same human spirit
There are many voices that do nothing but keep talking
There are many troubles as there are solutions
There are many world's
Cold and unforgiving
There are hard choices
Which could crush the human spirit
The earth we walk on might cease to exist tomorrow
The one constant is the strength and depth of the human spirit
The connections we make now, in this time could spill through the centuries
Even when the human stat is no longer even a memory
But our connections have the capacity to outlive us
It's these connections that determine if we fade or live on
I hold my connection to my family, my wife, my friends so dear. And YOUR connection is one I will not easily forget. It will live on beyond hate, love and even regret

Darkness and Beauty

The darkness comes first
And then the rain
It comes with such ferocity
It threatens to drive a man insane
Some claim
In moments like this... There isn't any gain
But I beg to differ... In the deepest of darkness lies the birth, the sliver of light; reborn, rekindled, destined to rise again
I have learnt to take joy in the simplest of pleasures
The warmth of a touch, a smile
Like watching the sweet waters of the nile
Flow rapidly by my side
I have learnt to joy in the brightness of a deep blue sky
Or the care and devotion in a loved ones face and eyes
I have learnt to take leaps and giant strides
I have learnt to close and then open myself wide
I have learnt to put away the sighs
Consider the positives and worry about other things but mine
And I have come to the inescapable conclusion something about you is BRIGHT, It LIGHTS! It's KIND! Whatever you do, do not let betrayal quench that beauty you hold inside. Selah

Monday, October 28, 2019

Vestige of the unspoken word

There are words that should not be spoken. Words that should not be uttered.
There are thoughts that leave a man broken
Words that crush the essence of life and existentialism.
There are people who are easily forgotten
Sexes that inspire wrath, rage or even fulfilment.
There are levels of human emotions, degrees of human feelings.
There are friends and there are enemies, destruction and building.
There is God in all perfection; Righteousness, all whiteness. A clinical absence of darkness.
Then there are people beyond description. Exuding sunlight and beauty into seemingly dark sentences.
But besides all this is one, a transcendence, fulfilment, unique in all its markings..... You!!!

Thursday, October 10, 2019

The day I saw an angel - An excerpt

Chapter One ©️
The scent of lavender hung heavy in the air. Mum decided we all had to use a new bath soap. I was still trying to decide whether I liked it. Sometimes I did and sometimes I didn’t. Today I am not sure. It was too strong.
“Darling are you ready??”
I rolled my eyes. Mum was at it again. I was too old to be called darling. Darling was for babies. And I was no longer a baby. I was almost ten years old. And besides I was angry with mum. Why did she make me leave my former school? I didn’t want to leave. She kept buying me presents. As if presents could replace my friends. I remember them so clearly.
There was Margaret, Bunmi, Lucy and Seun. We went everywhere together. Break time was the time we had the most fun. We would play ___ I got even angrier as I remembered our games.
“Darling __ you are not answering.”
“I am ready mummy __” I got out in a loud voice.
“Then come out quickly __ it’s time for me to take you to school.”
I rolled my eyes once again. And glanced around my room once more admiring its prettiness. There were pink and white colors everywhere; just the way I liked it.
I heaved a deep sigh and walked out of the room closing the door behind me.
Mum was already downstairs waiting for me in the car. I passed my dad’s room as walked to our front door. The door was open. Mummy had forgotten to close it. I could see his shirts, ties and trousers hanging neatly on the clothes hanger.
I felt sad. I missed him. He’d travelled out of town. Mum said it had something to do with business. He was going to be gone for at least a month. And it had only been a week. There was still a long time to go.
The staircase seemed to go down forever. I missed daddy. I missed my old school and most of all, I hated the fact that I had to go to a new school today. But mum said I had to __ so I had no choice. I had to go. Whenever I wanted to disobey her she always said the words ‘Honor your father and mother’. It was in the Bible. I hated that too. I loved Jesus. But I felt mum used him to make me do things I did not want to do. But I would obey her. Because I am sure it is what Jesus would want.
Chapter Two
“Did you carry your lunch bag?” Mum asked looking at me. I could see the worry in her eyes. I nodded without answering.
She looked sad all of a sudden. That made me feel bad. I leaned forward in my seat and touched her arm. She smiled. I smiled __ or at least I tried to.
“What’s wrong with you Deborah?”
I didn’t want to answer. Because I knew whatever I said was going to hurt her. And I never wanted to hurt my parents. They were very nice to me. They sent me to school, bought my clothes and even played with me sometimes. Because I did not have a younger brother or sister to play with. I didn’t mind. I had friends in school who were always there for me. I became sad again. It was past tense. I didn’t have friends anymore. They were in my old school. Not the new one I was going to. Mum always said I would make new friends. But no friend could be like my old ones.
“You don’t want to answer me?”
“No it’s not like that mummy. I do want to answer. I don’t want to go to a new school. Why can’t I keep going to my old one?”
“Deborah we have been through this __ it’s easier for daddy and I you being in this new school. Its closer to where we work so we can pick you easily.”
A few minutes passed as I thought how I was going to ask her the next question.
“Mum __ please don’t be angry with me ___ but did you remove me from the other school because the school fees are too much for you and daddy to pay?”
“No!” My mum shouted. “How can you think that? We removed you because of the distance. That is all.
I nodded, trying to smile so she wouldn’t feel bad. She kept looking at my face. As if trying to see if I was ok. She eventually started the car and we drove through the gate of the estate heading to my new school.
I like the long drive to school. I could imagine and daydream. I could remember my friends. And those who were not really my friends. I heard some of the teachers called them troublemakers. But they didn’t seem that troublesome to me. They always did well in their tests and the other children loved them. I wasn’t sure what I felt about them.
My friends and I found we were always a little jealous of them. They always seemed to have the best time in school. The most popular of them was a girl many people considered special. Her name was Jumoke Ibikunle. She lived in a small town called Eyin Ilekun. That was before her parents brought her to the city.
I’d passed them once or twice during my time playing on the playground. I remember hearing words like Tutvuu. It made no sense. There was no word like that. I’d never heard of such a word before. I spent hours dwelling on what it could mean. But the answer never came to me. I remember I even asked my mum once what it meant. She confirmed what I’d always thought.
“Deborah please __ there is no such word.”
I realized maybe I heard wrong. It couldn’t be. It was probably a nickname or something. My mind couldn’t help asking me why I felt it was a name. Who would call their son or daughter a name like Tutvuu? It made absolutely no sense.
I was brought out of my thoughts by the loud sound made by the car’s brakes. I looked up. We were in All Saints High Primary School. When I told my friends what school my mother and father were sending me to. I remember their eyes becoming so wide.
Margaret said something like __ “You are going to a rich man’s school.”
I was puzzled. I couldn’t understand what that meant. Maybe the school had been built by a very rich man. That was probably what she meant.
Mother stopped in front of a large building. The roof was so high up I had to lean backwards before I could see it. Everything looked new. As if it had been built not long ago.
The students walking around looked ___ ‘I don’t know’ different. Their clothes were shiny. Their watches looked as if they’d just been removed from a shopping mall. Like the mall dad sometimes takes me. I tried to remember the name. I couldn’t for a while. And then I remembered. Shoprite! Dad sometimes took me to Shoprite. I decided to make sure I asked him to take me there again when he came back from his business trip.
If he and mum were going to make me come to this school I was going to make sure I got something out of it. I rehearsed and planned what I would say and how I would say it.
“Daddy I want you to take me to Shoprite. I want you to buy me cake and ice-cream and I also want to watch a movie in the cinema. Mum taught me how to check the cinema’s website to know what was showing at the cinema. Toy Story 4 was in cinemas now. Dad bought me Toy Story 1-3 on a DVD. I must have watched it a hundred times. I felt excited. I always did when my parents took me to the mall.
“Come out Deborah __ let’s go and see your class teacher.”
I frowned. What I wanted did not matter. My parents had made all the arrangements. Now I had a new class teacher. I liked Mr. Busari __ my old class teacher. He knew all the stories. He knew what we liked and every time he taught us __ even the stupidest amongst us always understood. My mum called him a gifted man. Or like she sometimes said to my father when she thought I wasn’t listening. She called him ‘a man with all the gifts.’ I still did not understand what she meant by that. Maybe I never would __ especially since I only heard them as I was passing.
The inside of the school was even shinier than the outside. The smell of fresh paint was everywhere. Students; boys and girls looked at me strangely as I walked down the long hall behind my mother. Something told me they knew I was new. As if some mark on my head showed everyone this was my first day. I frowned at some of them. Some looked surprised that I was frowning, others simply frowned back. A few smiled at me. That surprised me. I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be at my old school which was all I knew. Mum and dad didn’t understand. To them I was simply a foolish little girl who had no choice or say in the matter. I felt like a fool.
Chapter Three
The class teacher was beautiful. Besides my mum I don’t think I had ever seen a woman that beautiful. She wore glasses, a good black skirt and a clean white blouse.
She rose from her desk __ bent down and shook my hand. Her hand was warm to the touch. I felt her love and her warmth. As she spoke with my mummy and I listened I found I didn’t miss my old school that much.
She and mum talked for a few more moments and then mum was gone. That was after she bent and gave me a hug which I returned. But I wasn’t too hurt by her absence because of my new class teacher who I was starting to like a great deal. I was already beginning to forget Mr. Busari. She made me want to be close to her forever.
“Everyone I want you to meet our new addition to our class. This is Deborah Akinmade. Everyone say hello to her.”
“Hello!” They all said at once. I looked at each face in turn. Some faces were friendly, some were bored and others were not so friendly. Mum had a word for it but I couldn’t remember it no matter how much I tried to. It began with an ‘h’ and sounded like hos__ I couldn’t make it out. So I didn’t bother trying again. My class teacher started talking again.
“We have a tradition in our school and class__” She began. I couldn’t stop myself from frowning. I didn’t know what the word ‘tradition’ meant. As if she could sense that, she explained further.
“What that means is __ we have a way of doing things here. Every new student tells the class something about themselves. It could be an experience that is something you went through, a story you read; anything. Is there something you could share with us Deborah??”
I thought, trying to come up with something. And then it hit me almost immediately. But it was something I had never told anyone, even my parents. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. It almost two years ago it happened. It was such a special moment for me. I wasn’t with any of my friends when it happened. And I hadn’t been able to tell anyone about it until now.
Could I share it with my new class? Something in my spirit told me I could tell everyone. I was a bit nervous. Where would I begin? And would my class teacher and my new class mates not think I am mad? The voice in my spirit spoke again. ‘Tell me Deborah __ do not be afraid __ I am with you.’ As soon as I heard that I knew I had to tell them. He had spoken and I could not disobey him. So I cleared my throat and began to speak.
“Yes madam. I have something to share.” I spoke slow and my voice was shaky.
“Is it an experience or a story Deborah?”
“It is a bit of both madam.”
She nodded and gave me permission to continue. I nodded and began.
“Good morning madam and good morning class. My name is Deborah Akimade and I am nine years old. I want to tell you about the day I saw an angel __”
As I expected the classroom exploded with gasps, shouts and shrieks. Even my class teacher looked shocked. I understood now why I never told anyone about this until now.

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Fights, crickets and birds


Dad and mum are at it again
At times like this I’d run far away until I no longer feel am the one to blame
There are days I feel lost as they fight themselves again and again
Only then do I let the magical things into my little game
The game I play when I am far away, away from strife, away from loss and what some have come to call the cross
The cross of what? I ask myself as I trudge across miles of empty space deep in thought
Then do the multicolored birds come
They sing, speaking in words I cannot comprehend0
Words that take me high and do not allow me to descend
Words that make me miss the weekend when dad and mum will shout until my skin tingles and I hear the neighbors say these people are wicked
It embarrasses me __ but what else could this be likened
To
The words ‘good grief’ never felt so apt and true.
While I navigate the heavens filled with magic and I no longer hear the fights and the abuse. I know in my heart I’ve found what the heavens know is true…. And that’s you.
Peace, tranquility and the abundance owned by little but a few.