Every day

Every day I hear a melody of thespian dreams floating away

I find a thousand children smile through your eyes

and applaud every movie I see before the end credit roll

to revel with a swirly glass of Merlot, that’s dinner

and try to change the end of every day

I lay on the grass and see forms of the deceased and breathful in the stars

and if rain decides it’s too proud to stay hidden

I stay because it’s my hair’s bestie

It’s been long I had to sneak to watch late night movies

it’s been a while I had to hold onto a secret

still secrets find a way to bore a hole in my shadow

and in light they stand brave and unconfrontable

talking about secret I just remembered

it’s been long I heard your voice

in my head we’ve already made up

It was stupid. it’s stupider now

but that’s my ego whispering it verbatim to my soul’s ears

you know I love that white noise

I could let it go but I don’t want to

because it’s texture is raw and unadulterated

and I stopped having those dreams

the ones where I’m afraid to fly

I started having new ones

where I have a voice but nothing comes out

I don’t prefer the ones that I have to run from faceless beings either

I’m still trying get myself free you know

I’ve suffered a deep scar to my left shoulder

it’s ugly and bold but I’ve stopped hiding it

it has become more than a hyperkeratotic scar

it is the embers of an emotional reactor

from which I rose from

and it fuels the footsteps into tomorrow

so my everyday is better than my previous everyday

it’s like sweet strawberries soaked in coconut milk

and to top it up rainbows decorate my days

even in the non-succumbing winter freeze

I have a feeling that this more than a season

these rainbows will be drowning in my eye for longer than my era.

I’d love to not be wrong this time.

Last stop: Hope

Ms dukings hung her head outside the moving van. Eyes darting from scrub to scrub. Hill to hill. As though he would pop up. She didn’t want to miss any moment. The journey from Ibadan to Lagos central was four hours, out of which they had exhausted 2. Detective Kozak had attempted making small talks with the distressed mother earlier during their Journey despite being overwhelming bad at it himself. He eventually gave up. If psychology had taught him anything, it was that if you couldn’t distract the mind from it’s ongoing war, you would consequently excite it.

At this point of the journey everything was beginning to look like tumbleweed to Ms dukings yet she couldn’t let herself blink until she noticed Kozak slowing down at the end of the roundabout and turning into the roadside gas station on the outskirt of Kaduna island. The Automobile was coming to a halt when she started;

Wh— what are you doing?

The detective heaved, “your mind could use a break and frankly I’d like a cup of coffee myself”

“I’ll wait here”, she objected.

Knowing there was nothing he could do to convince her, the detective opened the door to elit the vehicle as Dukings held his hand and squeezed them as tight as she could. As their eyes met she confirmed her fears;

“You are my Last hope. We have to find my son”

“This is the last stop before we enter Lagos. Ms Dukings”, `Said the detective as he observed at the vast horizon.” Be prepared for what we’ll find”.

Temi’s smile

Her middle name could have been hope for she saw beauty in the strangest of phenomenas too. She’d lay side by side to monsters and infect them with her twitchy smile. Her name was Temioluwa and that was her super power

Temi,s eyes was like the sun erupting from behind forest grooves on a lusty morning breeze. When she tilted her head to say hello, I felt bubbles within my oesophagus forcing me to sing.

Her hands were the warmth of a thousand melting pots and she gave the most graceful curtseys. It wasn’t hard for her to captivate my attention and bend me into the forms that she so pleased. It wasn’t hard to always want to revel in her imperfect perfection and twitchy smile.

Thick is her bouncy mane, a new level of kinky unlocked. She’d sweep the playground with her presence like the high priestess performing Aphrodite’s sacred rites. Welcoming in sumptuous vibes.

She took to the hills like she dominated my heart. unapologetic and savage in every way. Vain and vengeful as if Venus held a mirror to her likeness. She traipses into the Aula. A tunic in one hand and a cape in the other ready to conceptualise her essence.

Her Grandmother was her favourite person. The first time they met was when her power was activated. She’d sit at her feet, climb around her neck and bounce on her back. When it’s time for grandma to go, she’d wear an uncommon upside down smile.

Grandma tugged on her chin and gazed on her with smiling eyes. “I’ll come tomorrow, before you wake up”. Temi’s teeth lighted up like a chandelier that could not be hidden. Grandma was coming back and that was all that mattered.

Two hours and counting, the lion was growing impatient. She played until her feet ached in the hot Lagos sand. By midnight she was alert. Any minute now Grandma would walk in through those doors. A minute that did not arrive.

She waited until daybreak with a hopeful smile. Sometime between the cock’s crows, Temi realised Grandma wasn’t coming. Like Pollen her smile began withered with the open space.

The courage of the lion has been mangled. It changed her in ways she never knew. Rejection became Temi’s achilles heel.

She didn’t stop smiling, in every picture it is upside down. Permanently.

Sexual Telepathy

Dear Motown Lover,

We’ve been gambling in dangerous territory for a while now. Submitting to the flirtatious hands of seduction as I throw my chin up and toss my shoulders back. Seemingly intoxicated on laudanum and each other’s high coos.

My back pressed against the counter top, as you slow grind between my fleshy thighs. Remember that one time we tried it with head stand as your hand cradling my buttocks? Explicit memories on the stairs, in the car — and really everywhere in between.

Then there are times when we play it safe —not too safe, abandoning our thoughts on another astral plane, where we sorta resonate on a wavelength. Confined to the pleasure of a telepathic game.

One thing I know is there’s no compass to measure the latitude  — no device that confirms the magnitude of these nostalgic vibes.

I especially revel in getting undressed by your lustful eyes. Almost as much as I love the sight of your naked bum. In the end, we’re clothed with each other’s skin and the night.

We share our secrets with the creatures of the night and our wobbly bed, addicted to the scent of each other skin, so that even when the sky weeps and we’re caught out in the rain, there will always be something I look forward to.

I feel fuzzy at the thought of you and my jaw softens into a beaming smile. Though I’m not one for the thespian romance, the virus spreads even to the strongest of us.

Your kiss jeopardises the core of my buttress. I’m trapped in the cervices of our bond.

Yet I’m not willing to be saved.

One thing I know is there’s no compass to measure the latitude  — no device that confirms the magnitude of these nostalgic vibes.

A religion of kindness

Let us open the first book of happiness

behold the chapters of wisdom

fulfilment is not custom made

insight is rare in our frugal kingdom

Some will lose prudence;

others may find the holy grail

Without compassion humanity wilts;

therefore breath love when you exhale

Holding on to nothing can be liberating,

even if the universe moved in retrograde,

today omen would sows gaffes of nourishment,

healing tired bones as a trade.

Many know the word grateful

meagre put it into practice

As if the bodies beneath the earth

wouldn’t bow their heads for justice.

birds in the skies know

A balance of empathy and love.

Streams of rivers speak

the language of forgiveness.

On crooked wings awareness soars;

glowing in the mind like red velvet,

peers with the likes of perception

lighting the darkest night like campfire.

banal promises of optimism

break chains of struggle

Woven oaths of grace

gains steps ahead of the huddle.

In the prayer of a human heart

kindness reveals a pattern

still free falling into extinction

remains the only currency that matters

A Lost Voyager

I remember being driven around but not wanting to go home

I remember poking high ceilings with silence, unheard

I remember breathing into my heart, separated from my abdomen

and expiring blazes of firework.

I remember anomalies mingling with the soft mosturizer on my skin

I remember being octracized for being more ebony than chocolate

more wolf than sheep. A blank river filled with myself.

Like a voyager,

My body became a fabric taking illiterate roots

I dreamt if baltic ember beads, red as rust they were

smell of butane in the air

flanked by buttercup and daised skies

I remember calling out with glassy eyes

knowing nothing, embracing everything

searching for home or the sound of familiarity

but most of all, I remember being lost in my soul.

Image credit: designyoutrust.com/poetic-haunting-illustrations

The day I almost died

Tschechische Prag, den 13. Juli 2013.

The day I jumped out of an airplane, I didn’t quite think much of it. I was having fun like young dumb girls do with their young dumb friends. It wasn’t for the blood boiling gut wrenching eye-popping gush of adrenaline. It wasn’t exactly a dare either.

Two small town girls from a small west African town daring to overcome the limitations that are stacked so high against the African woman that we needed a small helicopter several meters in the air to proof that we can stomp them. No it wasn’t because we were curious, we knew exactly what we were doing—or did we?

My thoughts swirled in a multilinear direction. From my restricted vault of childhood memories to macabrely fantasies. If my aim was to die, that would be exactly the way I’d do it—sacrificing myself to Gaia, the goddess of sustenance. Venus in her verdant embellishment of flora and fauna. Surrendering skin, blood, saliva and soul. That sounded like me.

So we signed a death contract and laughed in the face of danger. Took a 20 mins course on how not to die, and soon we were way up there, still laughing. Shit got real when the door flew open. I realised that though I like to sit across a candle-lit sycamore table eating steak and drinking chardonnay, laughing at death’s joke and poking some of my own. I like to dance to cinema paradiso with him and make him buy me cocktails, enough to make me unwind but not enough to get drunk, I NEVER want to fuck with death.

At the moment I was instructed to jump out, I gulped and resisted the urge to breakdown while the condensed air from the high atmospheric altitude slapped my already shrivelled skin. This was one thing that wasn’t going to limit me. So I yelped GERANIMO, made peace fingers and went plummeting down to uncertain doom.

I had never wished so much to be Wendy as when I was falling heart first. I NEEDED to fly. What would my mother say? I was struggling against the resisting pull of the earth’s center, quite unlike the surrender and serenity I dreamed of. Suddenly, the parachute flew out helping me defy gravity.

Ha Ha, not today death. Not today Satan.

I may never have another epic superhero moment again. I stopped free falling and started dangling like a pearl on the edge of a maple leaf, Looking down to the world stretching its arms to straddle my weightless body. It was serene, and almost angelic. This wasn’t death grappling at me with it’s dishevelled claws. This was me taking a leap to live. These were two small town girls tearing at the bricks of limitation. And it was beautiful.

We ended it that day, laughing hysterically at our reflection in the bathroom mirror. Maybe because we enjoyed splitting our sides with cackles or maybe we devoured 2 grams of marijuana for the first time. Did we do it for the thrill or was it a dare? that’s a story for a different day.

Without you

Without you the sun wouldn’t shine

the ocean couldn’t generate waves

Roses would grow bleak and wither

Without you I would not be writing this

My blood would sizzle and evaporate

Evil people would be dancing over my tombstone

Without you the birds wouldn’t sing so sweetly

the dogs wouldn’t boast with their barks

man would be wandering aimlessly

Without you I wouldn’t have my wonderful man

two weird sisters that are pretty cheeky

and my awesome brothers I love so

Without you, love wouldn’t have any meaning

Joy would just be an obvious word

and peace would sound like a fairytale in a bad dream

Without you everyday would look the same

the lights in the sky would wane

Mankind would be doomed to abysmal limbo

On Adulting and Reading

Do people still read for fun?

Even a two year old can see through my façade whenever I announce, I’m gonna read a book.

Don’t get me wrong, I love reading. Did I say love? I loved reading some eight years back. My curiosity always got the upper hand. I wanted so much to be grown. I loved Jackie Collins ( and her explicit sexual details). Even when my mum discovered some very adult contents under my bed and pillow, it was still a fun era for me.

Now that I see how adulting works, I sincerely want my teenage ignorance back thank you very much.  It’s truly gone now, and It didn’t take away my love of books with it, but rather the time.

I don’t know which is worse, not doing what you love because you’ve no time or having a general distaste for what you used to love.

In recent years, I limited myself to a book, a year. This was mostly during a two month summer break, the only long break we got from Med school if we were lucky.

Thankfully I’m done with that life.

I should be snuggling up near the fire place now, with a cup of rooibos tea and a good book, like the subtle act of not giving a  fuck – or Uglies or one of the several suggestions I’ve gathered throughout the years . Books I’ve always wanted to read, yet I hear life yelling at me, ” Get a job, loser!”.

I’m focused on laying the fundamental bricks for my career, perhaps a little too intently. Nevertheless, I believe life will happen anyways, sooner or later. In the meanwhile, why don’t I just unwind with novel? For a while,  I was romancing with the idea of getting my “must reads” in Deutsch.

So far I have the Brother Grimm and a few storybooks which actually contributed a lot in my understanding of the language’s semantics. A couple of novels and some collection of ebooks. Gar nicht schlecht.

I sincerely miss reading for fun, and I want nothing more than to improve my writing skills, and I rely a lot on visiting blogs and taking notes since I can’t finish a hard cover. unfortunately, I’ve also been slacking on that too because I have a metaphorical book that I need to close, put back in the bookshelf and torch  down the shelf and maybe  if I feel like it, light a blunt from the embers.

Yea, life’s getting too serious now. But although adulting is neither easy, nor is it backing down. I’m happy it’s happening now because this time next year, I would have hurdled over the apex of  this hard part and be feeling rather grateful.

My goal is to finish two bestsellers in German and in English before the year runs out. So I pose this questions to lovers of paperbacks and ebooks. How do you manage your time, whilst losing yourself in your casual read of choice?

Thanks for tuning into another episode of Idara Talks.

Auf Wiedersehen!