Tag Archives: sadness

Stillborn Promise

There’s a lot of happenings in my life

That are very confusing still years after

I try to clear them up but there’s no funbacta

It’s not pain or guilt it’s not even strife


One day I met a female and she was beautiful

She had glorious eyes that I’d get lost in

I’d often find myself questioning

How much there was between us, was I a precise instrument or another tool


Two of the relationships I’ve been in were legitimately perplexing

I can’t tell if they were dates or just flirty platonic encounters

I find myself thinking about this late even after hours

It is still one of many mysteries to me and it is very confusing


Three of my university female companions were lies

Not in my telling of them or in them being untrue

We met in alleys such that the only proof that they were real is my telling that it’s true

I was either emotionally immature or they were spies


On the Fourth was the anniversary of the one that wrecked me forever

It made me afraid of the fairer sex because I’m still in the dark here after

What was the nature of our relationship and was it ever real

I went in and out of favour so I have some blame for this still


Five times I almost blurted out ‘I love you’ but I knew it wasn’t accurate

Stolen phones and missing conversations and unfollowed people

This is my love legacy, this is my still born promise of a steeple

I have no words for my past self other than those that will berate


You need to define things with six synonyms to get any meaning

To know what anything is, you need to ask

It’s not as though their identities are hidden or obscured by masks

I wish there was an ‘eternal sunshine’ mind spring cleaning


It’s hard to satirise something that has at its heart so many crazy ideas. If I tell a real story about how for most of my life I have been scared shitless of cats as they are featured prominently in the folk of my childhood and in media. The bizarre nature of the situation had puzzled me for a while because even though I have worked very hard to pull from myself every superstition I was born with, some have attached themselves like tumours that removing them would be fatal.
One way I have tried to free myself from my repressed past has been making fun of these notions, to the effect of about 3 poems of which only one is published because it seemed clear that it was contradictory in nature. I am unsure if the post was taken seriously or not but it did surprise me that there are indeed times when it is hard to distinguish a truth from a conflation as those types of statements have been made in the past by ideologues. It was interesting for me to explore those especially crazy truths I had come across in the past. I would, if I could only talk about precolonial Africa to show how the cultures had developed concurrently with the rest of the world some aspects of democracy, voting and such. But the colonial influx resulted in my ancestors being painted savage while they were offered a God to fix their problems. It is actually something that I would like to write a whole article on anytime soon as essentially Christianity was the vehicle for colonialism in at least the realm of the Royal Niger Company. Along with that came literacy and civilisation which may or may not be as great as it seems, and it retconned my past as well.
When missionaries visited my home from America, whether or not they went toward any of the more rural places in Nigeria or not is not within my range of amazing memory. It changed as now I have seen and met and sort of experienced the way my house will probably look to someone from the ‘first world’ and such. The thickest of jungles in Africa were nowhere in sight, in the LGA of Surulere where I lived for those years, there’s many things that are incongruous with that safari view. I remember how eager to please we were, as members of the choir we offered Americanised versions of songs we’d learned. It was such that my younger self had switched into his pleasing mode, desperate and frantic and trying to get the applause of the white women missionaries. Little boy danced like there was something to be gained and dinner arrived too soon, a meal of white rice with boiled chicken and tomato stew (which I call stew). There they were my parents, convincing me that these people would help whoever it was they had come to help. The following Sunday I excitedly told my friends that we had missionaries over and they would be coming over. They had Jesus based magic tricks which are more awesome than they sound, these involved colouring an image with random colours provided by the audience and ‘colouring’ with a handkerchief. The method to this magic has not been researched by myself, neither has it peaked my curiosity again since that day. I have in recent years revisited this and other such events to try to protract a positive from the event as I now view these people with such disdain and malcontent that they might as well have had a terrible thing happen to them without my concern.
Interesting though is the fact that not all missionaries are bad and maybe some of them genuinely feel like they have not been total dick holes in their history however ancient. The advantages will be noted thus, maybe they helped a kid from the brink of self harm in this unforgiving world by teaching him whatever biblical doctrine it was they subscribed to as well as offering them some actual help by way of food, water and education. That is I believe the main argument to be had about whether or not they do any good in the world, but the cynic in me looks at it and sees
“I’ll give you food and water and education if you agree to subscribe to my belief system wholeheartedly including but not exclusive to:
Leaving your home and family if Christ requires it
Giving away a tenth of your allowance because God has a credit cash back deal he has set up
Maybe cut off the foreskin of your penis
Also abandon your culture and your people’s way of making sense of the world
Strive as well to convert others to the belief you are still getting into
Eventually, hand on every word of some intangible being that has vague means of discerning his presence and don’t forget to always bring your money to pay the man who gives a live adaptation of the fiction on which your entire life is based”
I have ended my argument for the necessity or lack thereof of missionaries in my experience.
Disclaimer: I don’t speak for anyone but me at this time, future me may disagree.
148 as of 9:00

What of the world?

Who cares what the world thinks of you and your race or gender or politics? If you are happy with yourself and your happiness does not prima facie directly contribute to someone else’s detriment then you should be fine. It is not necessary for everyone to like you or care enough to hate your guts, if you are in fact an individual you do feel lukewarm about a lot of people in your life. It always surprises me when people claim that they love everyone equally because you cannot by your functioning as a human do this. The only thing you can be sure of is that you love some people and some people love you, that should be enough to warm your heart or help you succeed.
I know that words are sometimes just that and when it comes to the actions themselves, it is harder to execute a ‘don’t care’ attitude. There are people that will annoy you everyday; there’s a small space on the lift from the tube sub platform but no one wants to make space, there’s a gum piece that was flung on the sidewalk and it gets stuck under your favourite pair, there’s someone on the tube eating something that has a very powerful scent and there’s an ass hole who spilled a coffee on an empty seat on the 205 bus. It is not however worth it to wait for the world to approve your actions in every instance, is it worth it to belong to a group where you can’t grow? Is it worth it to sacrifice yourself for the good of the group? I always ask what the plight of someone who commits an atrocity in another’s name should be, when the act of the male or female was not orchestrated for their pleasure but for the good of a group or an ideology. What happens to the silent protesters who get burned to death? Will the group’s success re-spawn them? Will their failure shift into pity because they have a Martyr now and death makes people into Jesus?
What of the world? I ask myself every so often as i try to focus on my goals and my life graduation, is it worth it in the end if there is no welcome for me and no hurrah and my body just dissolves like all into nothing? Will my life have more worth if by helping myself I help the world(or at least my corner of it) rather than the other way around? What does it help to congregate into groups and watch brilliance go toward propaganda and when will the protests stop and living continue? I hope the world is better in the future but I will not sacrifice my life or my joy or my happiness or my enjoyment of things for the foolhardy hope that maybe someday my life will matter in the annals of a group. I don’t mind sitting on the empty table everyday if I can know happiness and contentment and success and hunger. If my legs be made strong from the running alone and my palms like iron from the frustrated punches and my eyes straining as I don’t pick colour glasses and my nose sniffing in air, not hate or fury and my back lay on grass blades and my bum calm as I sit alone. I may be happy for I am free of groups and thinking other people’s thoughts and I will welcome my consciousness stream.

The Shadow : A short story (Part 2)

For the last time, I don’t know where they are. They always changed locations pre-briefing and you didn’t get extract information until a job was done. That way we never changed our minds halfway through a mission. It was either complete the mission or die , Or even worse get caught by you.

Oh they’ll see you coming from so far way. They’re not your salt of the earth type , they are skilled, trained and smart with a lot of resources at their disposal not like you but more much more. They have tech that hasn’t even been featured in sci-fi yet, your bat mind can’t comprehend what you’re up against. You’ll be dead before you flap your cape to block bullets even before your boots touch the ground. The only way to find them is to leave me to finish the job you stopped me from doing. They’ll relay the message to me and you can do whatever with the information. So what’s it gonna be huh?… a little tit for tat? quid pro quo?

You’re freeing me now? But what about your code huh, due process? Do you think that will help when they see you? Are you willing to accept a people you can’t beat to submission, who will not comply or let down? Hey, it’s your funeral. Say hi to the family for me will ya?

* I saw the shadow of fear on the ground beneath me, waiting for me to do the right thing and to save myself but there I was again, saving my people. It may not seem right but this was my fate and my truth, It was my denouement in the final act.

“If ever captured, don’t forget to bite. For you won’t lose the war If you can sacrifice in the fight”