You found me

There I was, folded up like a rag underneath rubbles and brimstone,

No hope for recovery. no life to live. bound by deception.

There I was in the lowest shelf in an antique shop, collecting dust

Who would want a broken, undone, ceramic doll?

the doorbell, clanged each time someone walked in

their shadow left behind them, barely noticing me.

There I was in a forest, look where my wanderlust has brought me

screaming at the top of my lungs, abandoned by woodland creatures

searching for a sign of light between the leaves of oak trees

nothing but darkness paving the way for more darkness.

There I was living in the mirror of my insecurities,

written off, never smart enough, not pageant worthy,

There goes the black sheep, trouble. Bad news. scurry!

near death, doubt, fear, addictions, witch.

They said, our first daughters never becomes anything meaningful

they must stay at home and take care of us in our golden years.

There I was crashing under the wave of the ocean,

heaven knows I can’t swim to save myself

But slowly your voice repeatedly whispered, “Be still”

from a mere whisper to a voice to a steady transient command;

“Be still, I’ve got you” and then you quickly added, ” It is well”

How could I have been so blind?

Obviously I have been detained by grace

For when I was barraged under rubbles,

when I was in a carton at the back of the antique shore,

You called for, and paid for me.

When I told you I’m no good with commitments.

when I denied you seventy times,

when I was roaming the wilderness of insecurities,

I was found by you.

God’s beautiful misfit

She carved her crown from a lion’s teeth

her hope was misplaced like Wendy in Neverland

Her rugged jeans never made it past her ankle

yet she shoots yellow roses out of a golden pistol

out of her muse, existed two pygmy monkeys

dangling from her ear lobes like fallen stars

not the only one she had, but the weirdest of all

She’d never get weary of those dangling pygmies

her laugh would caress the eardrum of listeners

it’d nourish the heart of believers in life

every breath she took drove her further into nolstagia

her name was like the snow, acquiesce and beautiful

she and her band of misfits

loitered the streets in search of quaint resort

like a dysfunctional family, a thorn on society’s heel

Stifling out insecurities, draped in magical colours

a pencil to her hand was like a samurai with a katana

every particle turned in one note and vibrated in synchrony

I know she’ll paint the dimension of her soul one day

for now she’s resorted to drawing a mirage of dreams

She said she couldn’t stand people,

their colour ran so bland and grey

I know she loves the flower hidden within

the little neon sign that reads, I’m a misfit too.

A poem for my beautiful misfit.

Bubbles & Sunshine

The yellow pages of life does not promise a forecast of  bubbles and sunshine. Many times we venture to different paths and end up toiling unsuccessfully. We take risks,  casting all including our soul into the wind, and still  it makes no substantial difference.

Being unsuccessful is a tedious lifestyle nobody chooses, rather it chooses many. Sometimes doing what you love combined with  maximal effort is not enough.  Often I’ve wondered if i’m really that bad a blogger, sure I can admit that I don’t pay attention to details and several times I was ready to abandon my journey  and cut my losses.

So why haven’t I vanished from the blogosphere?

Well if there is something that I’m even worse at than writing, it is quitting. Never done it. mmhmm, well maybe that one time.

But who am I kidding? The exhilaration I get when the nerve endings on my fingertips presses against the keyboard is beyond comparison —no pun intended—and I especially love making people wonder; “what the F is this post/poem about?”.

They say people won’t listen to you until you’re worth listening to, but no matter how good, bad or funny one is, determination always changes the rules of the game. Determination is what makes me a force to be reckoned with.

And art exists in every level of the ecosystem. One can ignore it, but surely can’t deny it, even the way people speak is art. If you’ve witnessed two individuals or clans from a region speaking the same language, then you understand it. Bottomline is, so I’m a bit of a messy frantic misfit, In the end, I’ll write what is good and pleasing to my heart, because what my ventricles forcefully eject through my Aorta to sustain me in the land of living, itself is Art.

And now I’m done writing.

Just kidding.

I love to

I love to

echo with my wading breath

like fireflies in a foggy night

it never stirs me wrong

I love to

immerse into the sensations of my body

My chest rise and falls

My hands are open to nurturing

I love to

strike my heels on dust

let my muscles grow fatigue

true strength is found within

I love to

dissect ideas and stories

to instigate unimaginable scenarios

when caressing the keys yields art

I love to

press my eyelids against each other

Only then will life reveal itself

then the world melts into something wondrous

I love to

notice the synergy of vibrating energies

It is neither created nor destroyed

it merely changes state like matter

I love to

invite love into my heart

give more than receive

Abundance is a choice after all

I love to

relish on the future

simplicity is in life and it’s questions

why worry about  the unknown?

I love to

connect with my one  true father

The keeper of my  peace

Wisdom pours through him

I love to

make fun of my spongy bunny

I look at him him and suddenly

life becomes  a lot less serious

There are too many things l love

like soaking in a bath with amazing scents,

or talking with my love

These blessings are copious and innumerable.

I’d love it if you decide to share this post to your social media circle. Love and Peace. Idara.

STRANGER LAND

My first weeks in Austria. Although Austria is quite close to Hungary, about  4 hours drive, I’ve only visited the place in my dreams. 16 days ago,  I unplastered myself entirely from one country to the other in search of…. well I really don’t know yet.

My blindsight, as I’ve realised, is that I tend to forget to stop and smell the blooming roses. Last year, while I was squirming over my finals, regret settled on me like a morning fog. Turns out I never once patted my back for making it thus far. This attitude is what I aim to change .

God has indeed been wonderful, even in my  inconsistency. It took months of preparation, prayers, and learning Deutsch to get here and I couldn’t be more satisfied with the outlook on things. I’m learning to cherish the process, no matter how slow.

The last time I resided in a country, as opposed to touring it, I learnt a lot about who I am, and now Graz presents another stepping marble stone  to experience myself in a new  culture.

Since this is my first update since the beginning of the new year, I really want to thank my fellow bloggers and readers for the support. We ended 2018 together and practically walked  arm in arm into January.

The biggest lesson 2018 taught me is on  friendship, and bonds.  A random instagram video I watched back in December went.  “2018 is the year God revealed the true motives of people in your life”.  Fortunately and unfortunately, people I cared for, either packed up and abandoned ship or grew closer to my ever troubling waters.

Now I know that it doesn’t matter how long friendship is, what will be, will be. Stay tuned and  stay warm. Love, Idara.

Seasoning with secrets

There is a something circulating downtown

The Turtledove sang a cinquain into the eagle’s ear

before the dawn, look up to the sky

and see the moon kiss the ocean while the stars watch

But you see that’s not much a secret

the moon and Ocean french every night

But when you stand out in your balcony

you’ll see shards of a broken face staring back

your mirror’s reflection sells broken dreams

to the woman you’ll never become

So now we’re casting lots, spilling beans

the boys we’ve lusted for and what not

What I love about you is like a minute diamond

and everything else reeks like death

Oh so we’re not gonna speak no more? mighty affable

Girls will be girls like boys will be boys

Is someone hurting your feelings, who me?

I’m only listening to sounds you make that I can’t hear

Words are like dust swept into a corner

spring cleaning came early, open Pandora’s box

Let it all hang like blood splatter on wet marble

Let love to argue loyalty and blame

Your secrets both entice and appals me

Such a powerful sword you wield

but an act of nobility you’ll fail to see

Not until the day you choose to let sleeping dogs lie

Unseen

You hear my voice

only through the Psithurism of these pages

My name is but an echo

that resonates in your vital heart once at mid day.

Grief is a lonely space

that wreathes me with an all too familiar scent

This realm of solitude

bathes my skin with the milk of despair

listen to my voice

even though it sounds more or less like poisonous venom

perhaps someday you’ll find me

(I imagine someday soon) In the land of angels

If I am rebuked by the ebbing waves,

or singed by the orange orb

You may leave a white rose

next to my non-existent love for the unseen

Vanity

Dear Vanity,

What a scruffy slutty one you are

you have succumbed mighty men with your armoured weapon

and ensnared kingdoms of Emperors in your grip

you rave for enmity and war

your reign stretches beyond mere eyes can see

with your succubus sisters, Sex and Power

you dominate and ruin the earth to rubbles

the illusion of sex, how clever your disguise is

Men think it is the biggest enlightenment when coming of age

women bare their chest and buttocks to be successful at success

a dab at Medusa’s quaintrelle’s fate

the art of deception, the most brilliant one there is

has wise men and demi-gods trodding down a wide lane

Enter power, what ordinary men yearn to behold

what mighty governments will never give up

’til the cunning hand of death rips it from cold decaying hand

while others wait in line to get a whiff

from a plumber to the richest man in the world

from a boy with no shoes to an accomplished business mogul in Africa

she doesn’t lie about giving it all up for the one who’d do anything for her

Giving in abundance, yet demanding much more

she strips and double-fucks the brains of men, making them immortal

tho as long as blood flows through their veins, they are still fallible.

Vanity you play a cruel game,

the ball always in your court

who is ballsy enough to stand up to you?

men have studied your approach, and understood your ways

men have slain their flesh and blood to exalt her

but it’s just dust

even more common than cotton with plaids

dust, more basic than atoms

she plays an unfair game, she does

all the same her psalms will echo

from the rotting mouths of wealthy leaders.

Sincerely,

A former lost soul.

A generation lost in space

I once met a man

His silver hair made love to the scanty black

a nose like a nobleman

weary eyes lumbering the earth

with wary smile he double clicked

an apparatus with shaky hands

reminiscing on a time he wore a younger man’s face

He spoke a forgotten tongue

yet familiar tone

He came from a forgotten time

Seems like they never existed

A ghost immature in form,

opposable thumbs, human and what not;

“Ich heiße Ronald”, he says

and I remember this fleeting touch of warmth

metamorphosing man’s sanctimonious ire

before being exiled into space

exhaling star dust and matter

a paranoma of the galaxy beyond yonder

meteors too great to ignore

a black hole reducing man’s innovation to nothing

nothing but a big hole of nothingness

sapping life from beneath

They lit the light when all around is seething in blindness

and hold the peace that Boko haram seek to quench

non conforming with the ideals of millennials

nor with the charisma of Generation Z

The generation born of resilience and silence

The ones nobody listens to

They are simply a generation lost in space