You are not okay

Alone, is what humans can’t comprehend. The first man couldn’t stand to be by himself, so he begged God to fill the empty void with a befitting silhouette. His sons mated with their sisters, what now is a horrifying taboo was then perfectly in order because man mustn’t be alone. The greeks held such frivolous parties where they inebriated on laudanum and made philanderous attempts at maidens.

Long before telegrams, people made tedious journeys on foot, or with an animal for several hours, just to connect with someone for a couple of hours, and be able to tell other about it.

Social media arrived, and it’d be false to believe it was still about the personal interactions, like Lilian in the neighbourhood, or bob at work, because the whole world is watching, at least the network of Intelligence the government uses to monitor digital blueprints is .

It’s no more about you and I.

We are part of a network that ensures that we will never be left alone. Isn’t that great?, isn’t that what we want?

No?

Then there’s something wrong with you, perhaps you’re the type who relinquishes on casual encounters with strangers, who’ll end up chopped up inside your refrigerator. Or even a stalker, whatever, I am afraid you’re not right you see. You don’t call your parents or talk with your bestie for lengths at a time.

You are not okay.

The rest of us are so perfectly well-adjusted. We crave meeting people we’ve lost contact with and catching up, especially so we can tell our normal friends and anybody with ears about it. We love to go to work and smile with our bosses and colleagues even though we’ve fantasied about slashing their throat severally. HAHA. But that’s normal you see, everybody does it but you.

As long as we don’t understand you, you are dangerous.

So here are some pills. Take them till your fingertips are numb, your pupils are dilated, and you laugh at the top of your lungs at every horrible joke. Take them until you feel liberated to talk about the colours pirouetting around your ego. Take them until you’re empathless.

And then you will be okay….like me.

F.E.A.R

With what my eyes have seen, the fields are lush. The streams are tiding from east to west. The moonlit sky migrating to a horizon. Buffalos hurdle to hide in caves. And sparrows high up the myrtle tree sings a song I fear.

A narrow window ajar, bright lights filtering through. I’ve come too far, not by my strength alone. One step heavier than the next, as though both feet were shackled to an anchor. Can’t see past my index finger. And I…

I should be very afraid.

The word FEAR keeps coming back around. Ironic how a simple four lettered word could cast so much shadow, it even holds power over identity, flashing a casted silhouette of doubt as an estranged former lover.

I am afraid

.

.

but what good would that do?

I can’t predict what’s engraved in the sands that fall through the Hourglass. I can’t speak incantations into the Wind and expect to extract a fortune. I can’t squeeze all that I am and serve to the universe on a platter. And I don’t.

I have a God that eradicates fear.

on A Myrtle Tree

And just like that

there is a man sitting on a myrtle tree

his body is feeble but his voice is loud

He sings the same song everyday;

Woe is the man who believes

in the freedom the world promises

for no such thing has ever existed

or will ever…

Sometimes he begins to fuss and wail

for no ear cares to listen

He should have given up a while ago

yet he campaigns even vigorously

Remove the scales from your eyes

so you can see in the darkness

There is only freedom

in the arms of the son of man

Days come and months pass

Sun shines and snow breaks

A child is born and a man dies

but the man’s mouth is never shut;

Open your lips and sing his praise

the LORD of lords is alive forever

drink from the living water he provides

and let peace rule your heart till death

The kids make fun of him all day

the young men think he’s drunk on spirit

the old men think he finally broken

since his family died a while back

I sometimes sit under that myrtle tree

let his voice serenade me while I rest

lately I started thinking of the possibilities

the man may be mad, but what if he’s right?

Wanted: Best Friend

It is truly scary

when thoughts develop lips

then speak,

holding real conversations

like best friends, both mentally instabil

Whirlwinds trapped in physicality

How bad I want one

even loners need friends to survive

one who will be there a decade after

no matter the race, gender or preference

One I wouldn’t try so hard to keep

or give reasons to stay

one that doesn’t care about roots of my tangled past

and the thick thorns isolating my heart

so long as my ideas dance freely

and emotions bloom with every feeling

And maybe I’ve had one or five before

At a time I couldn’t value treasures

because being open is still funny to me

but I’ll ask the man above one last time

For a treasure who will stay

and the grace to not fuck it up.

Christmas wishes

I told myself the wishes I wanted

coz no other ear was listening

I needed a wedding gown

something subtle but glistening

I want to visit my many Christmas pasts

and hug me till I’m warm inside

stay up and talk about previous wishes

kiss me when I fall asleep

Amongst other things

A brand new job

to help pay the Mortgage

and prove I’m no slob

I have so many wishes

would love to check them through

soon a new year comes straddling

and we wish the old Adieu

But a lovely evening with you

hiding from the wind outside

decorating the Christmas tree

ho ho ho with yuletide

Hot cocoa cozied in hand

selfless acts of love I adore

Cheesy movies every night

is just as good or more

respect the process

I can’t hide emotions, my face will betray

I can’t say yes when I mean No

thunder billows and the earth quakes too

still my pupils are wide and my lips shut

at every chance, I frown a smile

take care of me , is No. 1 rule

may seem selfish but have no choice

give me a chance, or do you dare?

add another one in case I fail

I cannot be seen

I cannot be heard

taciturn, to say the least

not made of stones, like I pretend

Wish I were active like my rummaging thoughts

though I could never focus on something worthwhile

I’m not heartbroken, I’m really glad

can walk around and see Christmas lights

can lie on the ground and watch my thoughts

I’ve learnt to respect the process of life unfolding

Prefer dancing with tears in my eyes

Tomorrow will explain the reasons why

Memorabilia

Love me to the bone

I am the mirage of sin

that you keep secret

See through naked eyes

goddess of love and despair

found zen in the casted storm

I am mother, daughter, Cleopatra

box of memorabilia

Spectacle of dreams

the lotus i imagined

Leaves midnight roses

for long lost soul and loved ones

found beauty in words unsaid

A path to the inside of toppled tears

liquid death sprayed at high noon

No barriers left to mould

no spirit left roaming in the wild

nothing but a smegma of dysfunction

Left the cage open

unleashed a predator of habit

the answers are in risen flames

To the wildest amongst us

Tooth sunk in righteousness cloak

the more obscure the discomfort, the better

A Bitter Pill

Easy come, easy go

what is that saying about letting go

All she had left to remember

forehead kisses and dirty wishes

heart racing with no base rhythm

What is that saying about letting go

learning to move on is weird

some days are easy, some spell trouble

sometimes it’s like visiting an old neighbourhood

no one welcomes you home

Easy come easy go

drowned herself in love and loyalty

worse still she built a map of dreams

her heart melted and gave way

into a puddle of activated coal

She let you go,

so she can moan the stories she wrote

so she could feel the wind of complete peace

Swallowed a bitter pill

she may wait till eternity for this pill to settle

for shallow waves to sweep love back to her feet.

Art has to be

Humanity believes

that art has to be beautiful

like a Hummingbird basking under the sun

and art has to be unique

like meteorites dissecting the sky in brillant shades

art has to be pure

like amethyst re-crystallised in an open furnace

art has to be in Galleries

like the cherubic oil on canvas in the louvre

art has to be worth millions of pounds

like a wedding ring made from dinosaur’s fossil

and art has be created by genius

like Yiruma on his Compose of “River flow in you”

I believe

that the source of art is most impure .

It is dirty

It is unbecoming

and it could be worth nothing

but most of all, I believe

true art is a journey to enlightenment

It summarisizes a story that is told

through the eyes of one person,

it’s creator.

Smile a little because, you’re art.

Surreal Fantasies

Look at me

strip me with your paint brush

take note of every scaffold, every root and edge

every missing piece that evaporates and dries

I’m a waste product but someone has to do it

someone has to paint me

reveal my deepest shame

separate me from the shadow I hide behind my smile

take off the mask i’ve been wearing for so long

release my woes into the fiery furnace of purity

adjust my beliefs so they vibrate into stillness

like pendulums that repel each other

create an escape tunnel for my tameless Geist

and breath into the spaces between my illusions

show me a softness that anchors my heart to this moment

this moment coated in the abyss of fantasies

It won’t be easy labor

but I trust you to make me bloom in the darkness

to pick off the thorns, one by one so my rainbow shines

counteract my anxiety with grounded voice

so I can awake again many moons later

looming in a limbo

where surreal fantasies go to be reborn