hOW lOVELY fLORENCE mUST bE...

By the Hudson's front she gazed,
faithfully, its reflection gave back all her loveliness:
a queen in floral flawlessness; a sight that left me
by the freshest Summer greens
green with envy....

EVEN CONSTANT

Constantly my lover, remember there's a lover
up above whose love like time is constant.

Take a chance at love, even as with
chances in the past, much hurt you've endured.

Love me as best as you can,
for this lovers love is aflame. Even constant.

nO dEATH dAY aS iNTENSE

No death day as intense, as that on
which a freeborn as I witnesses his
own death. Was it not I,
a willful soul who in death willfully engaged?

Did not I live rightfully/ steadfastly?
Treading the path of heavens one true
king: kneeling till my knees sored,
crying my eyes dry.

As today I die: die from all that since
birth was to me good.
Resigned. Ill fated: I stray into all
the world considers doom.

I am a land rusted with corruption:
what must happen… must happen.

wHO lOVES nOT tO dEATH

'Too few of us arent guilty of murder', lets
look to inward and inquire, how often it is
one that loves kills that which he loves.
Question: in lust isnt pain profound?

A young brides lingering nights subject a
loving man to torture.
The priests haunting revelations taunt/ haunt
the day dreams of the pious.

All too often young love dies before adulthood:
all that remains of it are recurring images of
lonesome nights. Mine was strangled with
lusts re-awakening.

A re-awakening that led to the realization,
'all too often, all that we love should be to death put'

oF cHRISTENDOM. oF lOVE. oF hOPE.

Over the last few days, I have had too much time to ponder on the dimensions of love and its many perplexities: the love that provokes a mother to abandon her family? The love that leads one to lose all that which he loves?

They say the love of God is the root of all knowledge. Is it possible to love God to the extent that you denounce the very children that out of your womb came?
I am filled with questions and in a short supply of answers. It’s true Jesus said we should leave our families and follow him, but to my interpretation, it doesn’t mean abandon or cast them out, it simply means God should be priority in your life; he should precede your family. Your love for him should come first.

I recently made a decision to become a Christian: to live, preach the gospel. I have made many decisions alike to this in the past, but now it’s different. I know it’s different because I no longer seek a religion, I seek a relationship. I no longer seek to see his face- though that’d be great, but I believe his truth whether I see him or not.

I haven’t magically gotten answers to all my questions/concerns as regards religion, but now, even in my confusion, I feel his peace. Even in my fear, his boldness comes upon me. In my times of need, I know he provides.

I choose to be guided aright. I’d check myself every once in a while with the slogan, ‘WHAT WOULD JESUS DO?’
For me, the love of Christ is a dark gift, one that triggers my passion for redemption. One that introduces me to the miracle that I am.

wHO lOVES nOT tO dEATH

'too few of us aren't guilty of murder', lets
look to inward and inquire, how often it is
one that loves kills that which he loves!

A young brides lingering nights subject a
loving man to torture. The priests haunting revelations
taunt the dreams of the pious.

All too often, young love dies before adulthood:
all that remains of it is recurring images of
lonesome nights.

Mine was strangled with lusts re-awakening: a
re-awakening that led to the realization,

'sadly all too often, all that we love should be
to death put'.

fOR mY mOTHER

It was mothers’ day a few days ago; I was at camp so I couldn’t upload a blog entry. It was a day of laughter. Of great memories. Of hugs. Distance phone calls.

I can with much certainty declare I have the world’s greatest mum. Even at times when I had to leave for school or go camping or visit friends, her presence was never far away: loving…. Providing…. Comforting…

Her words wouldn’t amount much to a blogger, a stranger, but to me, her words have provided a life long of warmth, inspiration and motivation. Her words have in so many ways built me. Her achievements aptly illustrate the bible when it says ‘the lord shall bless the works of thine hands’. Her works have been blest in plentifold.

During the scary years of my childhood, she was a predictable source of comfort: crushes came and went. Girlfriends came and left. But mum was there.

Even as my hobbies changed: I loved football. Then loved books. Then loved poetry. Mum was constant. I hated Maths. Hated Biology. Hated Inter Science. But she loved me not less.

For all the years I have lived, one thing has been constant, her presence. Because she is here, everything is perfect: throaty laughter fills the house. I eat till I tire. Memories are pleasantly engaged. Because of her presence, the past is a joy and the future is assured. Because of her presence, growing up has been perfect: the stuff of fairy tales laced with the mystery of this world….

She makes the major decisions at home. Breaks up the fights. Disciplines us. Pays the bills. Till this day, she doesn’t do anything unusual: She does what mothers should do…. always be there. Loving. Comforting. Praying.

tEARS

If your eyes tear ducts posess,
do not maim them in false pride,
if an urge to weep comes.

Haste, be quick to weep,
for weeping has a voice.
A voice as music upon dreaded ears:
every tempo right on time,
it's rhythm specific.

Make your eyes private though,
for tears wept in secret,
are those which wash the soul of all impurity

tHE fRIDAY bEFORE tHURSDAY....

It was 1988, in labour she gleefully engaged, but all her glee was pain. 2:30 am was the time I was birthed, a bundle of joy or pain. Grief or calm.

I was black or brown or red, in truth of all the stories I heard from my many fathers, I was a different color. I finally concluded none of them really knew, for I was covered in so much blood.

Only thing is in 1988, February 12th was a friday, in 2009, it will be a Thursday.

For all I've become, I owe much gratitude to my mom for that friday's pain. To God, for that day's divinity. To my friends, for they have helped shape my belief systems. To my nephew, for he continually makes me a better person. To my sisters, for daily they remind me of what beauty God creates. To my brother, for as life tries me, he remains my rock. To Gonzo, for when in bouts of self- righteousness I engage, he loves me not less.

.... RELIGION.... WHAT RELIGION?...

Yes, it’s totally true, I have become some sort of local champion: helping people look through their poems. Critiquing them. Correcting them. Interpreting them.

I had a friend over at my house today. We looked through a bunch of his passionate poetry together. I’d spot lapses and areas of strength.- Maybe someday, I’d make a living off being a critique. Lol!

Overcome by some sort of excitement, he hurled question after question. Just as he turned to leave, he asked a question that hit me.
‘What’s your religion?’ My reaction was totally classic: ‘What does religion have to do with poetry?’ I asked, conveniently shoving the question aside. He pondered for a quick second and left.

I have often wondered why people get fascinated at my religion. Couldn’t people just be friends, yet know some things are sacred. For me, the concept of religion is personal; however, for my poetry friend, and other friends who would like to know my religion, I would disclose all of it here.

My father is a Christian, my mother is a Muslim. I have had to most of my life deal with the duality of religion. Sometime in Middle school, I decided I would take the good parts of both religions. Just live right according to the standards of God.

However, the thing about non conformity to any one religion is though I see a bit of myself in every religion. I still feel to a large extent detached, alienated from them. Without an obligation to any one religion, I am at some level apart, free, and in some strange way, alone.

I am more a Christian though: Christianity comes as a choice not an imposition: all my questions as regards faith, spirituality, existence… have not magically been resolved/ answered by the Christian God. But in my unbelief, I feel Jesus’ and not Allah’s spirit coming upon me.

It’s a choice to submit myself to his will. Just as it’s my choice to at some point remain free. Just as it’s my choice to discover the truths of God, not within the confinement of any religion, be it Christianity or Islam. Those still with a lot of questions, I consider myself spiritual and NOT RELIGIOUS….