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The Gods of Rapists

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A beast living among the men; He dresses to be called a man, He speaks like a gentleman, He looks like a man but not a man, He looks like a father but not a father, He looks like a brother but not one. He is a grade one beast. How do you identify him? I do know is that people are dying because of this threat. That saddens me just as the death of people from air and water pollution does. I’m saddened by forced depression but not more than I am by the suicide rate that this threat has caused. I’m saddened by the threat of this victimizer, but not more saddened than I am by the threat of our trash, our judgment, and the distractions we create from each other. We’ve quarantined ourselves from ourselves, and lost touch with the very thing that makes us human (Compassion). Maybe we needed something to teach us what the real threat is and hopefully subsides this, we can put some effort into ending that threat. Perhaps that threat is us. Statistics shows that there is a report of o...

The Concealer

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In front of me again  Was she this morning.  Her hair tangled  Wet from shower I helped her comb For a minute or so Styled her hair  To perfection  But her mind remain tangled in knots Her face dry So I put on cream To moisturize her face But her hope Still running low Like a river unaware Of anything but summer I picked the concealer  Of dark shade Same with her complexion  For it to blend good Perfectly hid the bags Under her eyes The proof of fight  She had last night I applied to her face some foundation  Gave her a little color  She needed a fake glow Put on her light eyeshadow  Eyeliner and mascara To highlight again Her broken window Broken beyond repair stripped of light Devoid of life She used to paint Her lips pink But now she asked for red tint  So she could hide the bite marks She created last night While stifling her cries Then after few more adjustments  She stood up an...

The Wedding Card

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His loneliness is twenty four years, seven months and nineteen days old. It crept in the moment when he received her wedding card one night prior to her wedding which carried a note in her beautiful handwriting saying, ‘Forget me’. He lived in her neighborhood, having first met her in his childhood when she broke his nose with her racquet, having first known her in his adolescence when both passed furtive glances at each other from the edge of their balconies, having first loved her in his adulthood when she stood by him like a pillar as he lost his parent in an auto crash, and having first longed for her in his lonely night that followed after the wedding card reached his hands. He couldn’t convince her parents to allow their daughter to marry him, a struggling orphaned writer. The sounds of trumpets on her wedding night hasn’t escaped his memory till date, still waking him up in the middle of the night. Her dry cheeks that bore the scars of the tears of the previous night, perhaps...

I am Nothing from Something.

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This early morning dawn, Brings some thing out of no thing, Echoes songs of love, songs of God, Throughout limited time left eternal in the promise of tomorrow. The boundaries of the flesh, Brings some thing out of no thing, As the gift of my soul in flight, Allows my weary bones to find daylight in the darkness of night. The hand I feel in mine, Brings some thing out of no thing, The hope that springs from deep within, Fills the need for forgiveness found in the depths of sin. Lord, allow me to share What I am, No thing from some thing, Some thing from no thing, Allow me to feel the warmth inside the presence of cold, Allow me to see the light in the pits of darkness. Allow me to hear the music in Your dawn’s early light, Allow me to smell the green earth beneath my feet And allow me to taste the nectar of love from within the bitterness of hate. Lord, Never allow me to feel so much that I can no longer feel, or see so much as to blind m...

Ise Owo

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And so this is us reverting back to us, like Abiku we're reborn, Grammars have failed to fill the pots in our bellies, Degrees have left us undignified, with strange words wedded to our pedigrees, forenames circumcised. So we're back in the future with the past in our backpacks We've read our palms in the sight of the moon, Told our parents of its prophesies. So now we rise to pick pieces of dreams, Trying stitching it all to a piece. We roll the wheels with believing feet, tirelessly to sow dreams into outfits, No longer tailored to specifics, we're tailors sewing ourselves in fabrics. We've been handed needles to prick away fears, make ourselves stand tall with names, And so each evening, we no longer speak to the sun nor allow its lingering affections on our skins, but like warriors, with balanced scissors, we pierce through thickness. We dream on the edges of a scissors, fly on the axis of a needle, tread on flimsy threads, stitch the needed, ...

I'm in Love

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I am, in love. The winds are howling outside my window, their music echoing through the silent chambers where I write. The setting Sun paints its art upon the sky, as I watch the trees bend to the mercy of God. These days, these events, these moments, all so very clear, all made real in the reality of you. Yes, I am in love. In the madness of my lover’s mind, I want you close. I want to feel you in our space, touch you in this reality, and hear you in the certain songs that make our evenings what they are. I want to write with you touching my wild places, resting in those sacred spaces I have saved for you, loving those wounds that only served to brings us together. In the sanity of a man, I need you here. I need to feel you in my arms and smell your hair in our embrace. I need to feel you in my slumber, as our hands touch throughout the night. I need to sense you in my waking moment, kiss you in my morning sun, and see you embrace every space we call our home. I am blessed, an...

Heaven and Hell

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A story from Ram Dass’ “How can I Help?” A big, tough samurai once went to see a little monk. “Monk,” he said, in a voice accustomed to instant obedience; “teach me about heaven and hell!” The monk looked up at this mighty warrior and replied with utter disdain, “Teach you about heaven and hell? I couldn’t teach you about anything. You’re dirty. You smell. Your blade is rusty. You’re a disgrace, and embarrassment to the samurai class. Get out of my sight. I can’t stand you.” The samurai was furious. He shook, got all red in the face, was speechless with rage. He pulled out his sword and raised it above him, preparing to slay the monk. “That’s hell,” said the monk softly. The samurai was overwhelmed. The compassion and surrender of this little man who had offered his life to give this teaching to show him hell! He slowly put down his sword, filled with gratitude, and suddenly peaceful. “And that’s heaven,” said the monk softly. Peace.