Family bonds

I don’t know when I stopped

being my father’s daughter

perhaps I was tired of grappling at expectations

of using my blood to paint someone’s incompetent ego

I don’t know when I stopped

being my mother’s friend

perhaps I was tired of accommodating excuses

of staring at an epitome of disappointments

I remember when I stopped

being my brother’s sister

We ran and played till a fuse went off

I worry that spark may never connect

I don’t know when my prudent sister transformed

she says it was during Grandma’s death

Her light went dim as if she were dead too

she could only come out a different person

all I know

For as long as I have lived

Family has been the strangest bond

It runs deep only to evaporate like butane

Therefore I am

With each fleeting moment, I am confronted by what is, and what isn’t. This is seemingly a colloquial thought, one might argue that the things we see and feel  are meant to be and that’s it. If we allow ourselves to reach beyond our psyche and tap into unprecedented knowledge,  it may become more feasible that ‘what is’ stems from what exists as much as what is felt, and the interfacing harmony of it. It is the interpretation of time, space, and soul  as the core of our existence.  It is something that is intangible and unquestionably fleeting. It is what René Descartes summed up in five words.

There was a time that I thought being imaginative was a delirious habit. I’d stare at a blanc wall and a tumultuous mind would recreate that wall in the most alluring, pristine way and even add dimensions to it. Whether I realised it then, or not, this was a form of  existing consciousness. Then along came the Ego, the imposter I assumed to be the real me, he’d coax me into believing how awful that imagination was.

Of course he’s right, it’s only a boring wall.

Except that it’s not. It’s whatever I want it to be because I could seat in the core of the soul, where distilled emptiness and silence  harmonises the wall to my creative desire. In a way, it is a knowledge that redefines artistry and philosophy, including writing. Therefore, I employ us to tap into that seat of consciousness, never-mind what the Ego thinks. It isn’t real, but you are.  Your mind can either establish or annihilate you, and I believe that in our own little world, we can be heroes.

Who am I?

“I think; therefore I am”—René Descartes

 

Who am I?

who sees when I see?

 

who hears when I hear?

who knows when I’m aware?

 

Who am I?

who watches my dreams when I am dreaming?

 

Who feels love when I feel love?

whose hair turns white when I’m gripped by fear?

 

Who are you?

whose shadow are you living behind?

 

Are you your father’s child?

are you a workaholic or alcoholic?

 

Are you still donning the frock  of guilt and despair?

are you still afraid of who you are?

 

 

 

 

sources;

Ramana Maharshi

the untethered soul—Micheal sing

 

The Age of Loneliness

A famous adage says, “True friends are like stars you don’t always see them but you know they are always there”.   Not to be a cynic but I think that quotes like this should be up for debate, and it probably has.

The truth about friendships is that it is in fact subjective.  It is based on factors such as the frequency of communication,   mutual activities shared, and most especially, the gains of the camaraderie, this could range from wanting a Yes girl/ wingman to needing company because we were in a place we thought we couldn’t escape from till we did. Eventually, that bond came tumbling down the wall of Jericho. Kinda like an endergonic reaction. Albeit, in group settings, the tension be slightly defused—Most times.

Fortunately for me, I have come across wondrous people that embodied the apparent role of love and patience. Unfortunately, I just came across them. For the most part, I have convinced myself that there is only a 7% chance that I have an antisocial disorder, but I can bet that 55% of the time, I understand people and will dissociate myself if ever I sense obscurity.  My problem is I would always rather be myself. I assume that is a fairly adequate reaction to bullshit.

However, as much as my ego-syntonic-self hates to admit, I will not be good for everyone, people could dislike me for varying reasons. The truth is that it feels like a stake is repeatedly rammed into my chest when friends leave, but my zen shouldn’t have to be sacrificed.

I  love love, and friendship quotes et cetera, but the cinematic wonder in storybooks and fairy tales is notoriously uncommon, for me at least; It may seem sad, but I’d rather reveal my truth than polish my face with deceit, after all, I’ve never been good with makeup.

 

 

Entree  nous

Viridian jewel in thine mouth

Vixen to the core

Consolidating solitude in a foyer

wishing a single prayer

 

Whom amongst us is pure enough

Confrontation being a con

Confluencing with the Ego

Trust never more  earned

A path all but one claim to walk

 

The turntable spins Cinema Paradiso

Quickening our gilded fix

Intoxicated with the age of loneliness

And all it’s fathomless wonders

An unlikely exergonic reaction.

White Noise

Don’t take this the wrong way

but who do you think you are?

You serenade me with a golden harp

yet bind my hands and feet.

You torture me,

My screams fall on deaf ears

You manipulated me in the times I trusted you.

and judge my existence with every breath I expire.

You delude yourself with illusions of control

and when I ask why,

you imagine that I’m besotted with you

I grow mundane of righteously defending my honor.

 

 

Don’t take me for a fool

I cannot be what you want me to  be

I will not cut myself  before you believe I bleed

You will not sit on your high  horse

and watch me grovel for attention

My self-esteem—

my free will must  erode your ego

and as sure as the sun shines,

nothing can hide forever.

 

 

You say we are similar

I think like charcoal and diamond.

Everyone on social media believes your facade

Today I pen the truth, the first and last time

unearthing a love story that never was

Never again will I be startled by your white noise

for what does a sociopath have in common with an alexithymic?

 

Unresolved

 

We don’t have to brave a fight to heal

Tomorrow is a new day

but today is war

we bear the heat of uncompromising terror,

press play on life

set actions into motion

our lovers become foes

Happiness is subjective

balance is trivialized

Darkness leads to a fathomless abyss of  bliss,

or disillusion

Man in his feral state concludes;

Content is happiness.

 

Scary isn’t it?

 

The unforgiving nights,

when fog rises up the hill

Our faces, whitewashed

marred by the satirical tides we are yet to discover

but must confide in.

Hence, we sip nectars of laudanum

through straws of addiction

the urn feeds attachments

we hope will never run out

 

 

we’re seated in a row

unchaste in our demeanor

half boisterous; half nonchalant

on the bus to what is an unknown change;

or to change the unknown

a sign that reads,”divergent only.”

on its bumper

Our mutual feelings, unresolved

Control.

When there’s no easier way of letting go

because the truth is only worth denying once.

 

 

The tunnel

 

We thought we could escape our troubles. We thought if we climbed the ladder fast enough, no one would stop us.

 

Across the bed from him, I sat.

“I like you, I really do.”

He blushed, licked his lips and placed a palm on my thigh. I liked that. I shut my eyes and allowed myself to dwell on this simple pleasure. His hands lingered from my thighs up to my waist before grazing my cheeks. I opened my eyes to meet his pearly hazel ones. It was the first time I permitted myself to look so closely into someone’s eyes. It was intriguing to see them dilate. He parted his lips and I listened to the words that fumbled out….

A Volcano erupted in my heart. My being was shaking; like an earthquake, like an explosion went off in my head. My ears could bleed, my voice was gone, My lips were quivering from the horror when he said, “I trust you”.

I jumped up, and for a second or five, I was patting myself as if searching for something. His face grew worrisome and he constantly asked me what was wrong.

“I have to get out of here”

“Where to? this is your house”.

“Nowhere,” I replied, “Just need a walk.”

I sprinted out the room into the night. My legs were moving, one after the next. The people I walked past were staring at me, as if in shock or sheer curiosity. Maybe I have something on my face but I’m acting as normal as I possibly can. My mind is a war zone, the more I try to focus, the more nothing seems to make sense. All I see is a tunnel of darkness that I’ve never been brave enough to walk through to the other side. But now, it beckons me and right there in the park, I could make something out of the rusty air. A tunnel.

“Idara,” I heard a voice call from within the tunnel. It sounded like a child with a thick accent, Western African perhaps, “come”.

“Why” I muttered hesitantly

“Because you will never be able to face your truth if you don’t”.

I heard the fluttering of wings, and seconds later a butterfly was in front of me, so close it could perch on my nose. In a blink of an eye, it’s wings would change from violet polka dot to black with white streaks then to brown and white with blue streaks then again, and again, each time, a unique blend of colors. I was too mesmerized that I almost didn’t notice that now there were two of them, and in a millisecond five, then twelve and they just kept multiplying. They formed a line before me and begun flying into the tunnel. I pushed some air down my lungs, took a step and then another and I was inside the tunnel.

My mind was simmering with thoughts and they were chaotic but with the light from the butterflies illuminating my path, I felt less anxious. I noticed the walls had phrases and sentences inscribed on it and there was a sense of familiarity I had when I read them, I remember them because I lived them.

At the tunnel entrance, I read:   “you were always there for me.’ I recall smiling when I wrote that. I recall feeling lonely afterward.

“when I count my friends, I count 1 person 10 times”.  I know who that was for, it came from a sincere place.

the next one read; “you’re the bitchiest bitch out there, but you’re also the only person that piggybacks me home when I’m drunk”. Actually now I just think she’s a bitch.

The farther I got into the tunnel, the more cynical the phrases were. “This may probably be the last time you see me, I’m not going anywhere but I can’t promise I won’t wander off.”

The other read: “I can’t stand the pain, it makes me cry. I want people to care, I want things to work out”.

At this point, I noticed that the butterflies were reducing, disappearing. I was feeling unsure again, anxious. In an attempt to forge on, I staggered through the never-ending corridor with my resilient companions.

The next I saw went thus; “it’s not in my nature to express myself so wouldn’t it be weird, stupid to people if I started expressing myself? wouldn’t it seem like I was impersonating someone I’m not?” 

I sidled on like a lummox drunk in a grave-yard, I refused to look at the walls any further. I tried focusing on making it to the end, but my mind wouldn’t stop buzzing and I kept on wishing I was out of there, I’ve never been more restless.

My gaze settled on one final inscription on the wall and I couldn’t help but read it through; “so once again I was alone staring at the walls as it were empty like my soul.”

I stopped. Thrusting my back against the wall, I read the phrase again as I slowly sank to the ground. The lights fluttered around me urging me to rise to my feet. I couldn’t move, I’d lost all my strength.

“I was alone…the walls…empty like my soul, alone…walls..empty, empty….

The butterflies wouldn’t stop but I ignored them whilst they continued to vanish.

“Get up,” the voice was back. “Come Idara”

“I can’t,” I yelled, my voice resounded through the walls. I watched the butterflies fade until the last resilient wings were flapping right before my nose. Its light began to flicker and went dim until it was gone. Everything went silent and cold. No insects. No buzzing. No light. Just me alone in the dark tunnel.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t”

 

Empty

I am so regular, I sleep at 7.30 pm every evening and not a minute later. I never miss my pre-scheduled siestas.

I text all my friends in the morning to ask how they slept, and every night to remind them to rest easy. In fact, a week hardly ever passes by without me seeing them. I call home every other day.

I never forget to treat myself to delicious snacks all through the day.

I wear this dress that accentuates my curves and ends 2/3rd of my ankles and a burgundy on my lips to match. I flip my voluminous hair back every half an hour because I’m going out on a date today, can’t wait, he’s perfect in everywhere.

“Nice dress,” he says

I look down at my clammy hands and manage a vague smile

“I only wear red when I’m indifferent”

“You always wear red,” he points out

My quivering lips broadened into a grin.

“It  must desaturate you to always wear a mask that reflects only what every other person wants to see”

I looked down to my glazed glass, watching my merlot swivel back and forth due to the wind drifting towards us

“You know,” I managed, “Just living”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ode to a friend

With my eyes, I saw Orion

sculpted jawline, strong chin

Intelligent & prideful

 we’d compete, and you’d make it to top three

 

I wasn’t fair to you,

 just like he wasn’t fair to her

 I’d been a bad friend

my arrogance lead me

to the point that even when you

 were at your humblest,

 I turned away from you.

                                                                               

We should talk more

 I will call you more,

 sorry, not now. Not today.

                                                                               

 Then I see it

 tears trickle down, down, down

 I called. 

only this  time,

you’re not there to pick.

 You never will.

 

 

If my heart implodes,

it would be because

I couldn’t stop it sooner

from drowning.

Lost seemingly, without you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Element

Love is when you go along with her outlandish psyche

Not because you’re gullible,

Because you like how her brown eyes lit up

So complacently

when she has her way.

 

 

Love is a fragrance so subtle and unique

It trails you,

and it rewards you

by revealing its depth to you

To love is to surrender pride.

 

 

For millennium to come

As long as the tide ebbs

Farther than the eyes can behold

Your love for me flourish.

 

 

I abide by it,

The conjectural element that eludes even the astute.

My pulse grows rapid

my dry skin dampens

my breath is foggy

my stomach tightens

An unwritten enigmatic rule

 

 

Dine with me

Let us lay in the meadow

And gaze skywards

As clouds morph

Into animation characters

Let my wandering fingers rake

Through your brown mane.

 

 

 

A grasshopper chirps

Owls hoot

Dusk dawns on us

A desert storm billows through

Queer sensations lingers in my loins

A dallying experience confronts us.

 

 

 

Love is like a flight

From Nigeria to Budapest perhaps, it’s long and uneasy.

A higher altitudes cause more wear and tension

But the journey is more bewildering

than the destination.