Writing – Page 6 – SIMPLE WORLD

Valley Down

The idea of my blackness only sunk in when I landed at the Dallas International Airport. The summer humidity was first to welcome me. It was unbelievable, stepping out from the air conditioned lobby into the bare intense heat. It felt like the melting heat was tugging at my skin, reminding, sucking away any trace of bodily fluid. This was different from the northern sun of Kaduna I was used to. This was the in your face type of sin in a way mirroring much of the attitude I was to receive later on.

guava road

Sunshine like I’m back in the north

Back with you in the sun

Riding the wave of Kaduna

I want you to never let go

I remember holding onto you

You, my addiction

Tension rising when I left

Issues you never talked about

Passion flowing when we talk

Only through the phone, you say

You want that body heat intensity

I’ll give to you all I receive

Falling, tearing apart

Even bitter feelings

Still, I want you more than you know

Miles away, I still feel you close

lessons from two thousand seasons

Never getting caught by the devil

I hear the hissing

Multiple demons on my trail

Holy Ghost walking though

Never blinded by the yellow road

Free to see God when I choose

New generation, same results

Hell rings louder by the day after

Demon vibrations reaching infants now

Sad!

Lucifer frequencies catching souls before the sun rises

This fire that I live in

tells a tale of luxury and forgotten ways

Destroyers spreading barren diseases

Predators preying on sunken sun-children

This living has me turning south

Face facing east, away from the fallen cathedral

All I see: fake bleached preachers

snatching the black out from our human bodies

Old Soldier, New War

During the times that have come by, I pray for war to come. Not these new modern warfare. The old kind. Those ones stationed between battle noise and mud trenches. The zipping sounds of mortars, as empty bullet shells illuminate the blood heavy war terrain. Soldier boots marching through old places that were once called new homes.

Yes, I pray night and day. Night and day! Yes, for at night sleep refuses me and tosses me in between my past memories and a future I remain nameless.

………………………………..

These drones are empty vessels. They are transporters of bad news and death. For our souls do hunger for a reason to accept sleep, but no! Not these ones. These silent birds made with fiber like materials only look down, fall flat, and never return up.

Like thin dots silently scattered.

Only if your hands be wide as the oceans floors and you bring them together then one might see how much these dots have cost us.

…………………………………

I grow sick by the hour. Every hour eaten in silence. Every chance taken just to remain still. I grow deeper into my own anger. Madness beckons daringly close ….and I fear I will welcome it back home.

Commander Bull. ENTRY #204881

Battlefront Shagari Sector, Year 2098

Simple World: War Sight

When I open my eyes all I see is an untainted red; first a specter forms spreading into a canvass of dappled blood, all trapped around my cornea. But when my sight releases itself from its temporary bind a light blue hue explodes into my pupils fading away the once known pain. I am he. A solider who forgot the calls of death in the early rise of war-battle. Shout at me and I will keep marching forward for my name refuses to settle in my wall of thoughts. What I seek now is not redemption nor forgiveness. I only ask for the scythes of death to bring me the silence of love; an end to where I may begin knowing my woman awaits at the pearly gates of my awakening.

So I Say

Casualty, casualty

Rid me of pretense

For when my memories flood in

I am left in the green lush bush

Thick with regrets;

Regrets born from the dragon’s fire

And as the night dissipates

Burning with the fire called love

In my hand, liquor my king, reigns

My crown to hold

My own Queen’s touch gone

Her scent nowhere to be smelled

Casualty, casualty

The wars of my forgotten fathers

have brought me the cold of tomorrow

Casualty, oh casualty

My mother’s love has

Fled from my abode

Casualty, dearest you

Where do you hide my lover’s silk?

Her ivory skin lingers in my tongue

Casualty, forgotten one

Bring me home

To where my bones

May find soil

To stand on ground

For I fear my past sins

May eat away my flesh

Casualty, oh sweetest pain

Where’s my future?

For the present has me locked away

back in my war zone past

As the world spins on a pole of fire, souls light up dancing along with golden sun

At the Library

With my heart, body, and mind in this state of freedom I sat in the corner of the tram – Pramoedya Ananta Toer

Random Stories of Tom and Jerry

Tom and Jerry is still one of my favorite cartoon shows. One of the only few shows with very few words. From friendship, to societal commentary, the show hits its mark on various issues affecting our society. As a child growing up in a third world country, Tom and Jerry was all I had. I mean I had electricity, went to a good school, fed well, but as per entertainment, that show kept me well fed. From its jazz inspired music the show used sights and sounds to communicate out its message.

Right now, I am currently watching an episode in which Tom tries to eat a gold-fish, but Jerry saves the gold-fish (a girl) by bringing a shark into the situation. To be brief, Tom runs away and Jerry is left with the gold-fish and tries to hit on her. But he too runs away when the shark claims the gold-fish all to himself. It’s a shark eat, shark world. Being nice is the new vintage.

Special Light

Where is one’s mind when there is only a glass full of spring, placed on a ceramic counter ready for a ‘gulp’? I searched for the needed words, but the words where hard to find. I could write about the receding past, speak about the locked up stories, and fume about the rejected future, but the present times that I was in completely eluded me. There was a wall that I could not climb over. Even the hammer that I held in my hands had no effect when I tried breaking through that monstrosity that stood before me.

So I tried waiting in the calm evening hoping for the birds to fly down my way singing to me those words I had long sought. That did not work. I could not use love, it would have drowned and wasted my thoughts leaving me with an idle pen.

So again what must I find to revive my buried stories? The light that I had held onto for so long was dim and gradually fading even though the ‘ticked’ check on my shoes was made by a just do it company. So what more did I need. The heavens had already spoken bringing the morning to my relief and the sun had also played its part by blinding my eyes with this light, still my matters were unresolved. So what more can one do than hold onto this found light and hope to break this wall piece after piece?

Ridiculous

It really is the perfect thing. But your mind fights it relentlessly, it struggles to come with terms of what you have seen before. Our minds have been bathed with movies, ideals, fairy tales, preconceived hatred. So how can you accept what your soul longs for? when you have never listened to it. There is no picture of your soul anywhere in the world, even on those colossal billboards you pass by. A fact is a fact. It is there so people, normal people like me can dissect and try to make a meaning of it. But a soul is not a fact. I can’t say it’s something more, because I’ll only be contradicting myself (Maybe I already did). You can’t dissect or explain a soul. It’s abysmal in dark terms, and blissful in heavenly description. The concept of soul mates has been hacked and slacked into a meaningless sense of lust. How can our five senses be associated with soul when souls are neither smell nor sex? Beautiful, if you ask me. I mean the idea of having a soul locked into specific functions, when all our floating entity wants to do is move and flow with life.

Intermission; this rice will not consume itself, neither will this cherry Gatorade