Metamorphosis

A blank slate.  I’ve hit a wall and I’m intently searching the recesses of my mind for anything worth writing, a scribble even. Really, it’s not that I’ve hit a wall. Quite the opposite actually, I am a dreamer, I hope my visions will never cease, but the block is irrefutable. Communication being a tool I am yet to master efficiently,  perhaps this block in itself is actually a call for notable change.

 

I admire bloggers that have mastered this skill I am reaching for. To turn a seemingly mundane story into something captivating. I need to be as good someday; hmm someday. A multitude of ideas is, in fact, vacant without the right prose, grammar; and that subtle finesse, the icing on the cake.

 

Looking at my week, It was chilled! felt chilled at least, but there is a turmoil. An elephant in the room of some sort. I am close to obtaining my degree and a prescient of transition tides  approaches;

what if these last steps are the hardest”

Sigh.

Nevertheless, even changes breed inspiration.  Here is a spontaneous piece;

 

 

A phantom in the room

An apparition of nightmares

I hear it wading

 

It follows me everywhere

from when I awake

in sweaty fits of night terrors

’till when my head drops

after inebriating on laudanum

 

An elusive illusion

remorseless as he is

Comes to steal

To destroy and kill.

 

Out of nowhere

A glint of light

Cherubic and luminous

Comforts me peacefully

Reminding me that this cul-de-sac

Will breed notability.

 

 

 

 

The Anthem Of Spring

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Beware the Ides of March!

An era of restoration draws nigh.

Angel dust spored by genies

Replenishing our life forces

Redemption from forbidden promises.

 

 

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Louver and lovers past.

Sow wild oats of nymphic desire

A monsoon of authentic colors

A new moon pours bourbon for the soul

Inebriating us insidiously

A tapestry of covenants we linger on.

 

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Dew spews at dawn

The daffodil revival beckons

Detritus breeds life

A fruit of understanding in a sea of idiocracy

Rhyme this mellifluous hymn with me

lest we satirize our higher self

 

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Here it is

And there it goes

For a fortnight passes

The church bell chimes

Manna will decay

The elixir flowing with milk and honey dries.

 

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One thing will remain,

“This forewarning  medley

Beware the ides of March

Prepare the anthem of spring.

 

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4/20.

The Preacher’s Daughter

Matilda sat on the first row. Clasped hands to her midriff, the holy book at her heel, listening to congregate voices, bellowing a tone she’d known since was born with all their energy, they sounded like an approaching thunderstorm.  The man she called father sat on a pulpit, glaring earnestly at the crowd who sat with their heads bowed. Not a minute later, he erupts from his place, yelling at the rolling thunderstorm to cease, the heads dare not raise. He starts;

“You  depraved unruly wantons, surely not only four people have ten shillings for the offering basket, for it is not I, but he, who commands us to give in order to see his glory.”

In unison, the congregation lurched towards the basket, including the leper who could barely move unaided, for they yearned to be worthy.

Satisfied with his deed, the preacher wore a pleasing simper. The choir continues. Matilda was deep in thought, for the family did not give, they were only benefactors of the offering, as preaching was her father’s sole profession. The church dispersed, wearing a dolorous aura after the sermon, for father had told them that they were sacrilegious and the Lord died for the righteous, like him. He told them that they were fortunate, for he served as a light, leading sinners to righteousness.

Ma would do a big cook-out after church, every Sunday, usually Matilda would be delighted, but she was older now, she felt contrition, perhaps due to insomnia and night terrors she had each night, or perhaps she was befuddled by the travesty of her family’s faith.

In the following week, Matilda stirred a ruckus at home by refusing to go to church.  In her family, there was no bigger offense. Ma pleaded and cried. The preacher reiterated;

“Listen to your mother, foolish girl. This burst of rebellion is a ploy from Satan to destroy your righteous soul, if I do not see you in that front seat, then you might as well not be home when we return”. Satisfied that he has scared her straight, he yanked on his wife’s arm and they left, for where could she run to, she had no friends.

Matilda sought this golden moment, she slung a bag over her shoulder and set off to discover life without looking back.

Over the next months, Matilda lived in a shelter, she met with all categories of people, a disgraced former militant named Joel, and Katya, a trollop and mother of three were her best friends. They had such ample life experiences that it moved her to keep a journal. One day, she would publish their stories.

In the following year, Matilda moved in with her boyfriend, Harry. His affections for her were questionable, but she figured that inviting her to live in proved them. She relied on him and soon exhibited a proclivity for debauchery, like Harry. Over the next three years, a more brusque, sullen part of him began to unfurl. He’d criticize her for everything, including what she dared to think.  Consequently, the night terrors reappeared.  She had an epiphany of why she left her family, Harry was no different from the preacher.  By morning, she was gone.

Two years after rehab, she started working in a small scale company that rented qualified potential employees to big scale companies who need employees on a short-term contract. In rehab, she had learned to focus through meditation. She got to interact with people, channeling back her hobby, journaling.

Matilda made decent money with her job, she quite enjoyed it too. It was at work that she met Paul, who became her life partner. She was content, but one night, the night terrors resurfaced. Paul woke up to see her in frantic tears, he prompted her to talk about the most dreaded topic; her past, her parents. Paul intuitively discerned the source of her panic, that weekend, he took her to his fellowship. She worshipped with believers and for the first time, a glimmer of peace like no other intruded her heart.

Over the following weeks, she studied the holy book and to her amazement, she found a deeper understanding, in contrast to what her father taught. She realized she needed to forgive her Pa, so she prayed about it daily until she became whole.

She became an Associate Manager at her company. One tumultuous day, Judit, a colleague requested for her. Judit informed her of a man seeking a menial job to make ends meet. Matilda went out to see a gaunt version of her father. His eyes leered on her,  a deep cry fell out his mouth as he fell to his knees, disdain overtook him, but she looked at him with compassion and declared;

“I forgive you, but I am not God.”

 

 

This story delineates the hypocrisy of religion, as in Africa and most nations. Most times, budding believers lose their faith because of the scrutiny. The morality of our actions doesn’t inhibit Christianity from being an individual race; Moreover, we are not our parents.

 

 

 

 

 

Between an Artist and His Art

You know me

Every coarse line and grit  on me

was borne from your mind

I evolved from squiggles, shades of you

Yet to explore dimensions of all that I am

 

But doubt  hauls into your mind

It trivializes me

Claiming that I, as a reflection of you,

We are not good enough

So you conjure these scowling faces

They befuddle  your judgment

Irrespective of your arduous attempts

We will never be good enough

My value in your heart fades

as you turn your back on me

 

 

 

My heart bleeds,

for I, as a reflection of you,

We are of  good opulence

Surely not for all,

Only for the few crazy enough to discern the mind of a creative.

 

Soon you realize these voices were a hoax

The inebriation of hypocrisy disseminates

Contrition arrests you, so you complete me

And I make you whole

I am attuned to you

For you love me undeniably

You flaunt me so all may see

An ethereal smile blooms each time

You look at me and say;

Behold the beauty I created

Judge not her imperfections

for there is no bond greater

than the one between an artist and his art.

 

This piece is originally about the struggles of an artist, but I was moved to a deeper meaning of it. We ourselves are creations of the omnipotent God, and if we could take so much pride in our poem, photographs, books or paintings, then surely we can acknowledge the depth of his steadfast love for us. God bless us!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Liebster Award Nomination

Hi there,

In 2017, I made a decision to follow through on a dream of mine, I am overjoyed that I stuck by that decision and believed in my ability as a creative writer. Blogging has not only been a platform for self-discovery, but I have come to know some talented writers and artists.

So let’s get down to business,  Memoirs Of Alexander was nominated for the Liebster awards by The Creative PTSD Gal whom I admire, she is not only a brilliant blogger but a kick-ass mum with a big personality, I would recommend you visit her blog and support her.

THE OFFICIAL RULES OF THE LIEBSTER AWARDS 2018 (as seen on The Global Aussie)

The rules are:

Acknowledge the blogger who nominated you and display the award logo.

Answer 11 questions that the blogger sets you.

Nominate blogs that you think are deserving of the award.

Create 11 questions for your nominees to answer.

Let your nominees know about their nomination!

 

And we begin…

  1. What villain character could you sympathize with and why?

I tend to sympathize with villains more than the heroes because they were once patriotic citizens until the dynamics of their life was churned — while others are just inherently evil. With that being said, I don’t watch a lot of movies so my fav villain is from the book, “blood brothers,” by J.A. Kerley. Jeremy is a psychopath who turned out to have a glint of good in him.

2.What vintage piece of clothing would you like to bring back and why?

The chiffon dresses with daunting necklines that reigned in the 1950s are due for a comeback, accessorized with a hat, gloves; and for the most regnal occasions, a fur shrug. They look panache and for my 21st birthday, I rocked a black number and although one of my friends made fun of me, it was a memorable evening and I can happily check it off my bucket list. So it wasn’t a piece of clothing but a whole look

3. You’re are playing the leading role in a major film, what is the title and who is your character?

It would be called, Jewels of a shadow chaser (that sounds like a hit, right?),  My character would be an ardent lady who wouldn’t have a lot of lines because she is slow to speak, yet analytical. She would possess an innocence and shyness that is child-like, easily mistaken for pride, however, she is bold.

4. When is the one time you trusted your instincts and they were right?

As a medical student, my life is plagued with examinations that seem more like interrogations. I have been asked questions that were neither taught nor in the study materials, at those dire times, I go with my gut feeling and often surprisingly, my examiner nods in surrender.

My instincts were also spot on when I  begin blogging

5.  What would you like to gain from your blogging experience?

For starters, more traffic. No seriously, sometimes it’s not about what you can gain but what you can offer, as it turns out, my soul urge is that Memoirs Of Alexander can encourage, uplift and impact wisdom to other bloggers by God’s grace.

6. What is your go-to comfort food?

Plantain! Plantain!! Plantain!!! with hot chocolate or pudding.

7. Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings?

Lord of the rings has a  more intricate storyline.

8. What book have you read more than once?

That would be, “A Time to Kill”, by John Grisham. It evokes certain emotions that I never knew I had. I use my minuscule platform to advocate for people of color and I have a couple of posts about that if you care to check them out under Alexandrian tales.

9.  Coffee or tea?

I love tea. It’s soothing and gives a certain peaceful vibe with pleasant flavors. I drink coffee rarely.

10. Where do you find inspiration when you are stuck?

I draw inspiration from everything, most especially, my journal, nature,  from the words of others as well as their behavior, In music.  Everything.

11. What is the one holiday you go all out for?

Unfortunately, none. Perhaps I’m boring but I really just go with the flow. It highly depends on how busy I am, and who I’m spending it with.

 

So that was it. My nominees are;

Pened in Geniuz

When the Whippoorwills Sings

Writings by Mcm

Help from Heaven

Gasping for light

Stuart Aken

Fallen Alone

The Diary of a Muslim girl 

Cinnamon Memories

I pen I write

Lunarian Thoughts

 

 

My questions for the nominated bloggers are as follows;

What country/city would you love to live in, and why?

what is the key thing blogging has taught you?

If you had a time machine, would you go to the past or future and why?

Sweet or savory?

What is your favorite book of all times? would you recommend it?

What are the top five things on your bucket list?

What is your favorite thing about your blog?

Give five facts about yourself.

Tell me something about my writing that you love, or don’t love

What question do you wish I had asked you and what is the answer?

 

Goodluck nominees and shout out to the bloggers not on the list. It’s been an honor. Thanks again to Creative PTSD gal for nominating me and thanks to my readers.

Signing out.

 

How I Spent Easter

Hello again,

Today is a special day because I’m doing something I never do, i.e blogging on a Sunday (remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy). I hope everyone is enjoying their Easter and if you’re not, never forget that every situation in life is only temporary, look upon the cross and his glory will surely shine on you.

On today’s special edition, I am going to do something I am usually very uncomfortable doing and yea, you guessed right, talking about myself with no reference to Alexander or mind games. Oh boy! Luckily, I will be using photos.

Good Friday was a public holiday but like most days, I wanted to study, work out and watch series. My ever intuitive partner, Viktor, that I may have not introduced before, suggested that we go for a walk instead with the dog to which I replied;

“But baby, we don’t own a dog”.

“We’ll take my grandparent’s dog, he will be happy”

So a grumpy me got up and threw something on and we set off to his grandparents.

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It was incredibly difficult at first to get the dog into the car because he had never been in one and he’s a fiery ball of energy but we eventually succeeded with him in the passenger seat and me at the back.

We arrived at the park, which also featured two lake.

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Between the lovely spring weather, beautiful scenery, and happy people, my grumpiness dissipated.

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This would be a perfect time to introduce Mázli, he is a Puli, a Hungarian shepherd (apparently Mark Zuckerberg has this breed). His name means luck because he was a stray Viktor’s grandparents took in after the tragic demise of their former dog. He was excited upon exiting the car and immediately got busy, marking his territory.

So we had a long stroll under the sunshine which I found to be absolutely cathartic. It reminded me of the time I consulted my friend, an astrologist a few years ago, she said to me;

” Idara, In your chart, there is a lot of water and fire, you are imaginative, intuitive and ambitious….but you lack earth”.

She says; “Reality bores you and your brain is always cooking up with adventures, but you have to stay grounded in reality sometimes or it can be toxic“. So she caveated me to take a walk as often as I can, which I do…..when I need to blow off steam (wait! I get it, water + fire).

I, however, do need to blow off steam more frequently than I would care to admit, so perhaps Viktor noted that, and planned this walk as much for me as it was for Mázli, and now I have a grateful heart because of it.

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Since I wasn’t quite interested in visiting the park in the first place. I braided my hair, wore my gym apparell and just threw on my IDGAF bf jeans. I was hoping to get a few push-ups in.

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My facial expression says it all.

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And my tormentor lightens the mood with a goofy laugh.

In the subsequent pictures, I got bored and fancied myself a pet photographer.

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So we made it one round through the park and came to the end of our walk. It took about 3 hours which for me is approximately the amount of time I like to stay grounded in a day. The ride home was also relatively easier as Mázli was exhausted.

That was how I spent good Friday and I look forward to doing it again, perhaps a jog with be more of my tempo. Till next time, show some love and let me know how you spent your Easter in the comments, also, let me know what kind of post you prefer; poetry, short stories, astrology, or illustrated posts about my daily activities like this one.

Be mindful that the real meaning of Easter is to celebrate our Lord’s crucifixion, his resurrection, and glory which we are given the grace to be a part of if we believe in our heart. Romans 10, 9& 10. Here is a picture of our bunny, Gandalf to thank you for your patience and coax you into the holiday spirit.

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Glücklichen Ostern, bis später.