Dear…Dear, John

   I met you again. You must be my curse, wearing so many different faces, to haunt the castle of my soul, a phantom, making your home in the secret rooms of my heart…doomed I am, always to forget old feuds and grudges, to wear my heart on my sleeve and take the plunge. Again and again. Everytime. Because with every incarnation, it is different, it is more, this love changes, deepens strengthens, otherworldly bonds that grasp my hands and pull me beneath the waves of hapless sanity to the stygian depths of painful perfection.

I am tired of these letters…this careful scripting of the fragmentation of my soul, I hoped this time it would be different, that I wouldn’t have to write you anymore…even when the questions came, when out of the corner of my eye I would see you John, I would see you in a man I loved once again…even when the fear came, I hoped, I denied…sinner that I am…once I prayed, got on my knees and spoke the words “please…not again…please” but it was and even happiness couldn’t hide the shadows that surrounded us, icy licks on my spine that left me cold in the warmth of your arms.

I don’t know if you care, I don’t know if I matter to you, but this time it was worse, or it was better…I don’t even know…whatever it was it was more of the old yet all anew… I danced completely naked in bright moonlight with a fully clothed stranger I’d given my heart…till my heels and toes bled on the stony field and the thorny grass. pricked my calves, warm sweat running down my skin while my hair tangled in the damp summer air…I didn’t want to stop…because it was only then I’d have to see your eyes in repose and claim knowledge of your answers to the burning questions that always showed me beauty in ashes.

“Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? Will you still, love me?”

Its been months, since you left me standing alone with naught but my broken dreams for company, months since I found a taste for wine and a distaste for seeing the bottom of the bottle…months of waiting for relief, for the least respite from pain, a ray of sunlight on the rubbles of my heart after your merciless reign, but there’s nothing, but me, still open, still raw, my emotions sensitized to painfulness…everything is about me, life has become a satire with one purpose, to make a caricature of my foolishness playing a never ending loop, and I’m afraid John, I’m afraid this time the hurting won’t heal.

You have affected me, and I’ve forgotten what it is to not be affected, don’t know how to be happy without you there to make me sad, I can’t cry…God knows I’ve tried but I can’t because it seems too much like mourning and if I mourn this it means I admit its over…that I made a mistake, you’ve taken it all from me John, my love, my dreams, my vulnerabilities, my sanity, my securities… I refuse to surrender my mask its all I have….this face I wear to tell the world I still have it together. My pretense is all I have after you…do you see how you’ve destroyed me John?

I hope it warms your frigid heart, if you have a heart, I hope it warms you,I hope the spirit of my pain kindles a fire that burns with ferocity and disregard for the acceptable…a blazing fire, red hot…filling your senses with the scent of sulphur…and just when it seems like you would choke on your own fear and efforts to breath, I hope it stops. I hope you are happy. That you find someone to love you almost as much as I do at least…maybe you don’t deserve it but I love you to much to hurt you…even in my thoughts; this love was always my cross to bear, I know that now, I hope when you find what it is that you’re looking for…when you find my tragic flaw…that your treasure doesn’t elude you.
Affectedly Yours,
Hope.

May 29 2015

It’s exactly one year since the day I wrote this piece, I never understood the motivation behind it, or the emotions that led to it but one fact remains never had it been so relevant…Change is what we have chosen, may it be the right choice. 

Today they will give speeches, reiterating once more the importance of our belief in the grandiose yarn of deception they weave and call our millennium development goals. They will play the anthem that our fathers believed in and their offspring barely remember like a snake charmers flute hoping that by staring into sheets of paper typed by faceless aides, and flashing us furtive looks from the TV screen they can hypnotize us into complacency but alas even the hypnotists knows that for the spell to hold you must look into the eyes-and lie

Their bag of tricks must be running out or maybe like the old coin trick or loaded die we now know their secrets but unfortunately the truth lies in the shameful realization that even they, can no longer believe in their own magic, the audience is not captivated anymore as the power of all magic lies in belief.
Today they would stand on the dais decked in faux dignity and solemnity before our the green white green, the shield, the white horses, the eagle, before Unity and Faith, Peace and Progress and talk down at us, their faces filling the TV screen, their voices echoing from our tiny battery powered radios, invading our living rooms. Alas, it remains more than symbolic that they are all we see, all we hear, they are the symbols of our nation, subconsciously we do not see the the representation of our nation in the flag whose meaning escapes us, in the coat of arms we barely recognize…Coctus Spectabilis “what does that mean?” My 11year old nephew asks me but he can tell the name of all key members of government because they have become our symbols…they have filled our minds so we do not realize that the black shield is stained with crude oil, the silver bands are empty, shrinking and turning black, the horses are missing, our eagle- no longer proud- is weak and emaciated and the wreath on which it stands is badly stained, the white turning grey while the green fades to a malignant brown, and there are no flowering buds where Coctus Spectabilis should have thrived.
They have dared so much, self appointed Pied Pipers, secure in the knowledge that their tunes are what we will dance to, but every verse has it’s ending and this is the screaming pause before the next verse…our eyes open and we see:
How they dare us, how their monsters reign terror drowning in the blood of innocents, mothers, children, men- young and old labeled with one damning tag- The Unbelievers, the best have refused to speak, not for lack of knowledge but rather the abundance of so much to loose.
How they dare us, turning our lives into key points for political moves and counter moves, how our futures, education, security becomes mere pawns to be played with and taken away at their whims and caprices.
How they dare us, bargaining with what is ours making a caricature of all we are on the international theatre, a parody of weakness and vulnerability, screaming: “Free for all! We are ripe for the taking!”

How they dare us, highlighting for all the world, that we are nothing but undereducated religious fanatics whose circumscribed verbal literacy barely scratches the surface- Chai! There is God oh! Taking the woman and throwing her back to the age of the Neanderthal, Father speaks best! Cry and beat your breasts, Husband knows best! Do not try to be meaningful.

They have dared us.
We have accepted.

Now they should be afraid.

They should be afraid, their falcons have rebelled, like Frankenstein their own monsters sound their funeral calls, the prophesy of Yeats is once again recalled…the centre WILL not hold! Things WILL fall apart…there is no turning back, we have nothing left to loose, we see nothing to gain by hoping so we wait not for D-Day but by the prophesy of Fela, Dem All Crazy day…when finally we WILL shed the last vestiges of our sanity and take back what is ours…they have driven us mad with pain, stolen out minds with PTSD in the absence of war but now someone should tell them that in the heartbeat of the nation a war drums are beating, in the triangle a storm is brewing, that will not succumb to calm. The desert storm simulating strength in the north must be called to order by it’s creators else it will be drowned by southern tsunami…

War paint. War drums. War dances. Strategy. Prayer. Sacrifice. This is how we celebrate today because we are reminded that the broken idea of this democracy still enslaves…Give me liberty or give me death, for the labour of our heroes past shall never be in vain, be shall resound the war cry and beat the drums… Beat them and beat them loud.

…Beat them, Beat them hard…The blood boils, the mouth foams. We leave our food untasted, our farms untended, our new wives unattended when we wield the drumsticks… (Isiburu -Elechi Amadi)

Aluta Continua. Victoria Acerta

It.

She felt the chill run up her spine, a shudder racked her sweaty body, ‘it’s like someone walked on my grave’ her mum used to say…

She ran along this beach every morning of d 3 years she’d been in the university, and always at this time she was alone…except today…

The sea was quiet, the crickets too, the unusual hush seemed potent;like a captivated audience expectant…waiting…for something

It was cold. Too cold…her breath vapored from her mouth, her lungs constricted around a cloying kind of coldness…a dead chill

She ran faster her heart pounding in her chest, there was the light of the sea-view lounge up ahead if she could get there, she could escape, be safe…

Something brushed her exposed shoulder…a sinister caress, she whipped around on a small cry, nearly loosing her footing in the loose sand…

Behind her was darkness… blackness, it felt alive, like it was moving…like it was hungry, starving for her…

She shook her head and continued running toward the light, faster now…she’d drank too much yesterday, her mind was playing tricks…then it laughed

It laughed…she turned and saw it, saw evil, in it’s true form and knew she’d die at 22, with all her dreams within reach; forever untouchable.

Detective Damilare had never seen anything like this, 23 years as police officer on homicides so he’d seen a lot, but nothing close to this…

The body was nude, spread eagled her wrists and ankles pinned to the beach floor with inch wide stakes…
All her relevant arteries had been cut and bled…

Literarily torn apart, her abdomen was empty, like something had sliced her flesh into ribbons then scooped out her innards…spreading some as far as 5 feet away

Her face was a mess…her eye sockets empty, nose smashed in, her neck sliced in macabre grin that touched spine, prelim exam said her heart was missing…

He knew man did this, for whatever reason, a man did this, but even in his cops mind he knew that whoever did this, was pure evil on the inside

It walked amongst the crowd, touching, brushing, even sharing minds with those it could…how death and pain and evil drew admiration

They strained the police line, pushing to see a little more of its handiwork, to share on their networks. There was a little of it in all of them- a little of evil

He listened to them, most pretended they cared, that they pitied but mostly they where glad, that it was her not them, yet scared that it could still be…

And it could, power…it had it now and wanted more, it had followed it’s calling and it’s hunger had found satisfaction but satisfaction begat greater hunger…

It began to move again, choosing it’s prey carefully, it’s master had liked the girls heart…maybe a male heart this time, the master would like that.

As it carefully chose its next victim, maybe the boy in the blue shirt trying to take a better shot would like a more personal experience…even as it began to smile…

It felt the ice, the eternal coldness before it heard a whisper…Dagon… It was known by many names, called by many names but only few dared to use it’s true name, and even fewer wielded such eternal power…

Sama’el the Angel of Death, half angel half demon, prodigal son of the Most High, the only being that had power in every realm from the high heavens to the lowest rings of Hell but belonged to none.

Sama’el was neither good not bad, he was a fanatic of the Most High, his love for the Supreme Being was perfect, popular misconception labeled him as a malevolent spirit but in truth he was was one of the most beautiful supernatural beings created…

“Dagon…the soul of the girl belongs to Him” His beautiful lips unmoving as he spoke his pure aura, neither black or white but both, cloaking him

“No. She’s fallen from grace, He won’t take her…” Dagon threw back, his voice shaking, his power, that soul was his power he wasn’t giving it back, he’d been asleep for centuries too long…

As rebellion swam in his mind, Sama’el pulled his sword from the scabbard at his waist, and cut him down before the demon took two steps freeing the trapped soul, Dagon gave a keening wail…Sama’el stood silent leaving it to mourn and curse…

The Most High hadn’t given him leave to kill the accursed one or send it back…he was one of the few beings who had such power, let it curse, the girl was free and even it’s master wouldn’t dare him.

The people gathered around the emptiness of death felt nothing except the most clairvoyant of them who merely noticed the chill despite the hot 9am West African sun…

As he disappeared -taking Dagon away and dumping him in the Sahara to run mad till its master forgave him-, having done one more act in his millennia old penance, he pitied these pampered fools his Father loved so much, if only they knew…

“…There are more things in Heaven and Earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy… ” Hamlet – William Shakespeare

I Wish

I WISH
I wish, somewhere so deep in my heart you wouldn’t believe
In a place so deep, no light could reach, where it echoes, a Stygian sarcophagus where my monsters hide,chained to stones, my personal Tartarus ,I wish for things possible yet so far from my reach, I wish for things I shouldn’t, things forbidden, things cold…I wish…

I wish I was different, that I didn’t see their eyes-evil to their souls, that I didn’t feel, didn’t love, didn’t want…when all they seek is to steal, all they see is prey to hunt…and it haunts…hurts to know if asked I would freely give. I wish if they asked I wouldn’t forgive.

I wish what they see isn’t truth, I wish I didn’t wear this heart on my sleeve, beating bleeding begging forever aggrieved, I wish my dysfunction wouldn’t accept the hug that makes the stab easy,the smile, fangs in place of teeth, mr beastly.

I wish I didn’t love her, she too. I wish I didn’t give my trust their ready tool, I wish I’d been smart, not naive, my words like theirs designed to receive. to deceive. I wish I had the foresight, then to read between the lines, the bright of trust to see the lies. I wish I hadn’t died a little when she spoke to them, took my truths and lied to them…I wish I had died when they laughed at my face, maybe I would have found a better place…

I wish he never touched my body, I wish he hadn’t awakened me to all thats heaven, I wish I had heeded Eden, the serpent? But I was woman, and he was mortal, here for a little then gone to another, I wish I never fell, that I held my heart in its protective shell. But naive I gave it away, again, to true sounding lies, I’d met the devil himself, the only truth was pain…I wish I could forget now…I wish I no longer break in cold sweat.

I wish I didn’t wait with bated breath, for the fall of the next hatchet, I wish I was weak, that I could stop, that I would break, but I’m strong and I will love again and hurt, feel that pain. Again. I wish I wasn’t cursed to search for the office pin of truth in the haystack of needles,I wish I didn’t shiver and shudder at every voice, scared and feeble, thinking is this the one? who’s faster and smarter? I wish I wasn’t waiting for the next con, but I am hoping against all, maybe like in a fairy tale the con would take the fall…I wish…

I wish for good things for those that love me, wherever they are, I hope they find me, I wish for dark things for those that have hurt me, I pray they love and suffer and hope beyond it, their hearts are not just broken but like mine cut wide open to bleed, steeped in pain so much that they can’t breathe, I wish they cry and cry and cry through their nights and never sleep, and when they do shadows haunt their dreams till they scream…I wish

I wish, somewhere so deep in my heart you wouldn’t believe
In a place so deep, no light could reach, where it echoes, a Stygian sarcophagus where my monsters hide,chained to stones, my personal Tartarus ,I wish for things possible yet so far from my reach, I wish for things I shouldn’t, things forbidden, things cold…I wish…

Salt In Rain

Salt in rain: The pursuit of beauty
The pursuit of things that are fleeting
I fear to look forward to the future
After tick tock steals pride from features

A masquerade of fantastic reality
Outside my pink framed window-all is vanity
Cloaking all- fragile hearts to abject depravity
My jeans and T-shirt?shield eye from normality

Under a facade of perfected executed artifice
It’s a competition; survival of the fakest
Padded. Concealed. Covered. All a wondrous farce
A pantomime of lies. Veiled purely to expose

Now trending, the chaos seeking the new create
Obsession over matters of pulchritude and rate
Boodylicious, informal. That a dictionary did state
Not even skin deep anymore, worth in gold it’s weight

Salt in rain: The pursuit of beauty
Fleeting though it may be today
Anti-aging, anti-fade soon beauty will be
Permanent. And realness at its face will flee