I have fluttered between the lines of imported identity and every day I continue to dabble in and out of a constrained line of thought. Growing into this man, I clearly see both my weakness and the lines that should be crossed. At this point I can not boldly say I revere in the sunken state of this blue light that filters through pixelated devices. There is an arrogance I hold, unneeded at sometimes. I need to let go of the darkness that surrounds me. I need some of form of light to balance my thought…….
Around the city
The noise of celebration
Looting! some call it
I don’t care
Standing on bricks
Concocting smoke bombs
Dazy sights, throat coughed up
We are here
through the confusion
of this new age:
pilling old constricted adages
down, on and over our souls
Finding love in different eras
To be free from the within
Finally after so long
Yeah! at night like this
The moon runs into hiding
The wind, effortlessly brave
Soothing with ambition
finds the well: infinite
And the Youth will drink
To forge a new voice
bringing all out from extinction
The proud but always smiling badger stared at the yellow orange with much curiosity. His white and black fur shone as the sun stood in the sky without fear. He wondered why this particular orange was just so yellow. Every orange he had seen before were not as yellow as this one. Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog had told him that the yellow orange was a sign of doom.
“Foolish Hedge-hog, he doesn’t know anything,” the Smiling Badger thought.
Doom only came to people who wished for it. You get what you wish for. He hated people who were always negative. For example, the always drunk pink Squirrel was always having trouble because of his constant negativity.
For all this smiling Badger knew, this yellow orange was a sign of good times. The smiling badger knew he had to stop Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog from spreading more lies about the yellow orange, so he decided that he would go up to Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog’s house and confront him.
“Who is it, is that you Mr. Yellow Squirrel?” Mr. Blind Hedge-Hog asked with much curiosity.
“No! It’s Mr. Smiling Badger.”
“Oh you, I really would like if you could stop smiling”
“I can’t, I am the smiling badger.”
“I know but your smile is just borderline plain ridiculous,” shouted the hedge-hog.
“You see its hedge-hogs like you that continue to piss off the humans.”
“How do those always angry humans relate to me not liking your smile? You know Mr. Smiling Badger sometimes I don’t believe I know you”
“Typical of Mr. Blind Hedge-hog, you always keep quoting annoying irrelevant references. You watch too much of those human television shows.”
“Shut up, just shut up, you know nothing. You know nothing about anything with your sassy looking face.”
“Oh for the love of my father’s smile, are you Hedge-hogs ever serious?”
“Hmm, you know that’s a very difficult question, but be rest assured that the yellow orange will answer your question, with doom of course.”
“Stop speaking such blasphemy, the yellow orange will bring peace and harmony.”
“No, you are wrong my friend, the yellow orange will kill us, except me off course and maybe my wife.”
“Alright I can’t take this anymore, open this door at once, you spiny little mammal.”
“Oh wow, you know, all this time we both were engaging in this heated debate over a yellow orange, I honestly honestly! forgot you were still at the front of my door.”
“That’s it, I’m going home, I hope you Hedge-hogs turn into zombies and kill each other.”
“Now that’ll be cool, like I’ll just freak the living nut out of Mr. Yellow Squirrel”
“By the way please extend my greetings to Mrs. Smiling Badger for me, I miss her sassiness.”
“Mr. Smiling Badger, are you there?”
“Well well, I guess he went away”
“And I was just about to open the door.”
“Oh Life, we hedgehogs are just beautiful and misunderstood.”
The story of the hedge-hog is an ongoing series, catch up with previous episodes of the hedge-hog
He was born in the land of tall grass; a land filled with much green and much more poo. His story was born out of haste and running. His parents were die-hard adventurers who traveled through different farms lands. Their various trips always ended up with them running for their dare lives. The hedge-hog grew up brave and afraid at the same time. At night he was batman, and during the day he was superman only without the powers. And unlike this title he was not anywhere close to being called a legend. The only famous hedge-hog he knew was dead; he had been killed by those filthy humans. So, how in the world is this title related to this current living hedge-hog? Well, all this hedge-hog knew was that all the hedge-hogs who were considered legends always managed to end up dead; either by road, by those degenerate humans, or by the fearsome Mr.Snakey.
Oh Mr.Snakey, with his beautiful eyes, and magnificently carved sets of teeth.
“Oh those eyes could fool any hedge-hog” and it actually did fool hedge-hogs.
He understood why Mr. Snakey was always angry; most hedge-hogs always found new and exciting ways to always trash Mr. Snakey’s home.
What this powerless hedge-hog could not comprehend was why Mr. Snakey always gulped up any hedge-hog in plain sight.
What the hell happened to the free world?
This world was now rotten and badly needed saving.
This world needed a hero and this hedge-hog was not anywhere close to being called a legend.
The man in the world was lost in his own words. Time after time, he always looked out from the outside, but finally he decided it was right or left that he ventured inside life’s own mechanical wheel. The next phase to this episode was moving from this deep deep ditch he found himself in. This wheel made a different kind of screech and scream whenever it turned and whined. The man’s ears could not contain its crying discontent. Finally, but not soon enough, the man understood he had to drop his baggage of self loathe. To understand the journey, one must understand the beginning. Though the end is abrupt, the path was always treacherously long. All along he had not put any thought into the way he had been living his life, but after that day, he now had a clear vision of how he needed to put down his own stamp. He was his own sent messiah. His tired but inexpert hands held the answers to his many questions. To be fair, he had a reason for this journey; he wanted to find gold. Even though he already had treasures, the earthly gold was needed to preserve on his quest. Alas! The premise to this wish had already taken off.
The calabash sat on the ground empty and without point. The potter of this very traditional vase had been very wise to leave it with a face, so that whenever one looked at the calabash, a sad face was seen; it was a vessel reflecting its creator’s very own soul. The man stared hard at the mystical object, he saw something peculiar. The calabash reminded him of his earlier years, those years when he scavenged the plain roads of Kaduna looking for food for his brain. He remembered those days he was filled with a raw desire to explore all the missing explanations to human beings ability of discontent. Then, he understood the very core that made us tick or rather click, but he couldn’t grasp our ever surfacing pile of green and thirst for greed. Those days were behind and past; he was older, in a broad societal term; matured. The man lifted his drink closer to his face hoping the glass would rid him of his old memories. Those vintage memories always felt soar and a bit too rough for his guts. With much haste and distaste he closed his eyes and hoped to see the woman who hated flowers. Into nothing but void, he fell.
The man in the pale red suit sat with proper etiquette, crossing his legs, and placing his hands carefully on his dry drink. As he blazed on, amidst the smoke screen, the woman in the beautiful dress danced moved her body slowly. She danced and teased all that looked upon her. She controlled her body with such ease and delicacy. When her eyes finally met his, she set her dreamy lock on him. With her lips licked, she willingly tranced and enticed her new onlooker. The man was now in her spell, and with each gulp, he fell much harder.
“What kind of black juju was this?” he thought.
Another puff, and all this would clear.
He was trapped, bound to the beauty before him. In land not his own, he had found a Queen.
She was his hook, the beginning was clear, the middle was coming forth, and the end, well that was in the making. The woman seemed to see his mind, so she used her shape as her defense.
So was she just another good one?
Were his days of singular thinking gone?
More fog from his smoke, still she tempted and drew in for the kill. Her eyes burned into him and wrote him a new tale; one he had to discover. He was forever stuck. She was only too real, not just another dream he had closed his eyes to. Her eyes said it all. And she knew this, so with music free-flowing, she swayed her hips and smiled. Now, all he needed to do was call on her.
“Time is up sir, she is gone,” the really tall man said standing over the man in red.
“You need to leave or to be more primitive, you need to get the hell out of my premises.”
“Alright, no need to show your other ugly side.”
“I found her.”
And with that out of his open mind, the man stood, with a half-haggardly stance, he left the room holding onto his face of content.