Welcome To Sule's Blog

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...

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 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...

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.

Sho’ mo’ age mi, A 58 year old still crawling, Sho mo age mi, After 19years of democracy, All we get is a demo and a government that is crazy. Sho mo age mi, 104 years of amalgamation Sho mo age mi, Yet all we have is a divided nation. I am in touch with the crying mourning of this nation coming across as a helpless presidential vote, hoping to create a fantastic place, of peace, acceptance and love. I am in touch with the sadness rage of this nation, as fights among us disrupts our souls, feeling others’ blatant ideologies, as betrayals to the human soul. I am in touch with the helplessness of this nation, the walking with uncertainty, the looking at the other with suspiciousness, the not knowing, the “and now what?” , the blaming foreigners for our misery, the oppressing and labeling the neighbor, and not calling it hate, the thinking that my well-being, should walk along minorities’ disgrace, because you deserve it, because you are lower than soi...

A mind strays in the garden of love, Having memories that ought to be forgotten, Even when I think I have those feelings in cuffs, An ardent unrequited love is begotten. Oh!! She is as beautiful as a patch of daffodils, Stopping my breath, as I forget I need to breathe, Soft, like the snow brushed softly on my winter’s canvas, She’s there, in my soul written through my hand. For close though she is, the distance divides us still, I can see and smell her fragrance but I cannot feel, Memories of her awesomeness follows me still, I bow to her presence, the empty place she fills. I carry these memories on my back in a backpack, Hived away in my penetralia for me to backtrack, Abandoned memories too alive to be forgotten, So I rest with loving thoughts of you. Love has tattooed you in me, and me in you, Forever etched upon the annals of my eternal memory, Intertwined with a solemn vow, nothing to be the same again, This long lost love is implanted in my brain. I...

"There are times when she is beautiful" I said to myself as I browse through her picture on her friends phone. Then I get to meet her and I can't help but admire her beauty. When she drops her veils and you can hear the strength and weakness in her voice, she is beautiful. When she loses her inhibitions and her strength pours out all over her, she is beautiful. When she smiles as the skies rain tears of misery, she is beautiful. When the Sun glimmers off the lonely trail of her tears, she is beautiful. When the sweat pours from her brow as she tills the fields that sustain her, she is beautiful. When the thought of her touch punches through the smoke-filled visions of my mind, she is beautiful. When she thinks she is at her worst; when her hair is not kept, when her clothing is at its most casual, she is beautiful. When she lets you see her as no one else does, she is beautiful. There are no rules nor standards to her beauty. Her eyes light up...

If there is no struggle, there is no progress ~ Fredrick Douglas This situation was dragging the life out of me, and I just wanted to live. We all have those repeated scenarios that somehow lead us on the path to regret. Was I too quick to judge? Did I act impulsively? Could I have tried other ways? Should I have stayed? Did I walk away too soon? Questioning our past choices just to make peace with it. Stemming from different scenarios either in the workplace, in personal relationships, or important life moves, the shadow of doubt seems to find a way as fast as a few days later or even if it’s just a few years after. In Portuguese language, they have a nice term for this state: saudade. The word itself represents a nostalgic state, and it implies reminiscing, retrieving feelings from the past and longing for someone or something that is not there at the moment (person, environment, lifestyle or place). I am personally fonder of the use of this word, instead of your full-blo...

Alone I’m meant to face the world, In life, and death, the same, Yet in the end an utterance, I will whisper out your name; Olori Ade.... There are no fairy tales in life it seems, No storied, joyful ends, It’s just the way we see the world, As the hourglass descends. We both dance under the same blue sky, You and I, We walk the same roadways, Though on different lands, We swim the same seas, Though on different worlds, Yet when we rise from the depths, And our feet feel the sand, We are together in the spirit for which we were born. We sing the same songs, You and I, We hum the same tunes, Though in different keys, We sway to the same rhythm, Though in different directions, Yet when we move in our own intention, And the purpose of our hearts is revealed, We are united in the singular force that we have uncovered. Love is like that, for those who see, Like you and I, The grammar is not always perfect, The words are not always spoken, But the tru...

Welcome to Febuary: The Month of Love. “I love you,” she texted, her words glaring at me on the lighted screen. She is nowhere near, yet somehow she is never far away. I have heard you. I feel you. I know you are telling me the truth. It just isn’t enough. Sometimes being loved through technology can be as painful as breaking up there. Sometimes her presence, seen only in the electrons of our cyber selves, feels hollow and empty. Sometimes, you have to pony up or let go. Sometimes the greatest challenge for a lover is walking away from a love. Distance sucks. In the vastness of our divide, we live our lives through the ether, and we die a little bit in every moment split apart. Loving from the horizon is hard, but it is also easy. Too easy. When emotions become just words on a screen, we lose contact with each other. When prayers for the afflicted are typed on a keyboard, they become billboards for apathy. When love is shown in words, and not a kiss or a tight embrace, w...

Loving you is like having a left hand only Aimlessly pursuing balance in my being. You're spread on my lips spoken fluently like a prophecy, Stammers broken to syllables Gratifyingly belched in mystery. I tithe you in the treasury of my tent, Put you to sleep silently in my larynx, With my lips bolted for you not to be spoken through the gap in my teeth Yet you escape in my breath, Assaulting the the walls of my nose. Your smile confiscates my reasoning My mind imprisoned for treason. I roam around your length Stopping at the oasis of your smiles Sipping from the fullness of your lips Yet I'm spurned like a phlegm from your gut, A secret not to be kept. I roam in your belly but you call me an ache Driven out by your endless 'sorrys'. I hinged on the walls of your nose To learn to live, breathe, release Only to be broken away from the anus of your thoughts, a malodorous fragrance. Haven't I slept outside your gated thoughts Out in the co...

I love her. I can’t help myself, and in the whimsical way I see her I dance and twirl in this love I have discovered. I’m like a lost boy, and I frantically search for calmness within the chaos that calls her name. Try as I might to escape her gravity, I feel like a wayward star that cannot help but orbit her entirely. I’m not a boy. I’m not a sapling cowering in a pinewood forest, hiding from the storm among the giants. I stand tall within the winds, and hold my own against the ravages of a wild, wild world. I growl harshly at the malcontents, while purring softly in the arms of the truest love. I fight fiercely the demons that once wreaked havoc on my mind, and smile a radiance unfiltered when I hear her softly call my name. I am a warrior in this world, and surrender only to the notion that one day, soon, my lips will be what she searches for in the darkness. I am not lonely, even in the deepest silences of my aloneness. I thrive in the miracle of my own sunrise, never lost...