Let us warm our legs by the fire and listen to the warm voice of a friend. A worthy friend – @JadenTM – writer of The Third Decade from the Decades II project.
The deep bass of afro’s gong and betty’s beats ring out before me.
I drum and I drum and I try to match the sounds I hear, but all that comes out is a
hollow throb that I have filled with words. Listen…
BLUE
brown, or red) hair blowing about in the breeze, and I cannot feel the sharp sting of the
insolent wind against my blue, stiff, brown hands. I cannot hear anyone; there is no
need to filter sounds through my mind before regurgitating words in similar taste: there
is nothing outside of the skin in front of my eyes, and I can breathe.
I can breathe in the texture of the quilt that covers me, the fresh paint from the newly
re-painted bathroom ceiling; but beyond the added scent of olive oil and lavender
wafting up from my bedside table there is also the permanent smell of alone.
except their faces fade and their names don’t match. My dad is smiling at me, but when
I smile back it’s not him I see, and when I look again there’s nobody there.
It’s dark as night when I open my eyes but on the clock it’s just six, and all I want is
stew.
breast of a cow, but not how to make pepper – the real stuff, ata rodo style. Or am I
looking in the wrong aisle?
And here, I learn it is once again acceptable to call chips chips. Humph.
outside, and then I get to class to find that everybody is wearing shorts. It seems they
turn red and green and white, but not blue. I keep my coat on.
Pictures of my friends are pinned to the wall. They are stiff and frozen, like the smile I
wear when I ask for directions. My bed sheet from home is on my bed. From home!
I tweet, ‘a slice of home, yay!’ but it is too big. It doesn’t fit.
thaw my toes, and so I burrow into my bed and close my eyes.
There are no tears, I am not sad, I do not feel. I am only tired from walking everywhere,
and I am glad to be alone, again.
This is the most beautiful and heart-wrenching body of art I’ve read all month. Thank you for sharing this. The sweet comfort and awareness of being alone, so beautiful the description, so real. Lovely.
“My dreams paint pictures of eba and efo riro.” Amazing. The sweet taste of family captured in food. I just can’t get enough. I loved what you did there.
Well don.
Thanks so much. so much.
*done.
Whoa! Spoken word at its finest. You are a Troubadour. It is so colourful and disjointed and yet somehow cohesive. I especially loved the simplicity of the language.
I didn’t think about it as spoken word, but of course it is, in a way. Thanks so much.
Wonderful….I see she travelled to strange land and misses home like crazy!!! Sometimes we miss home and all we want to do is go back. But u cannot go back, home will never be home. Its like crossing a river, u can’t cross thesame water twice, that ambivalent feeling gets u everytime. Well written jadem
Really love this…. Awesome!
Glad you like it!
Breathtaking.
Humbling! Thank you
its kinda sad cuz she’s homesick yet so comfortable….. she is so comfy with her silence.
there are days when that’s all we need……………silence
nice write up
…And there are days when the silence is so loud you drown in it, and there’s no way out. 🙂
I’d famz and and say “Omotayo’s my friend…” but I’ve already chopped that ela once. Mek I just maintain my side for hia jeje… for now… ( ._.)
I like how the piece straddles the fence between simplicity and near-incoherrence and still manages to pass the message acrossh Homesickness as well as the sometimes-comfort of one’s own company.
Looking forward to more gong-beating from the sexy robot assassin. Slay me again, evil droid…
-_-
Hahaha! Famz away 😛
“They are stiff and frozen, like the smile I
wear when I ask for directions.”… loveet.
cool writing. I didn’t understand it (I swear this makes me sad) until I read the comments. I like ya use of words :*
we should set P soon -_________-
I’m glad you understood it in the end. Thanks.
An English Winter.
This is how I feel right now.
Excellently expressed. Words woven beautifully.
Bien.
Exactly. Merci.
“I cannot hear anyone; there is no
need to filter sounds through my mind before regurgitating words in similar taste”:
I think that was my favorite line from the post. It made me laugh. I absolutely do love the simplicity and apparent sincerity of the piece. Very nicely written. I wanna write like this when I grow up. Lol
Haha, we’re all infants in this thing called life 😛
I like the part where she says everyone’s wearing shorts while she wraps herself in clothes. Nice.
Thanks Uche-Anne!! 🙂
Deep
All I want to do is famz my friend and say I miss u too!!! 😀
Ok I came back to say I really love the last paragraph… “I am not sad… I am only tired from walking everywhere…” Haha!
My sweerie. Thank you. X
“My fingers turn red when I get back to my room, my cave.
Pictures of my friends are pinned to the wall. They are stiff and frozen, like the smile I
wear when I ask for directions. My bed sheet from home is on my bed. From home!
I tweet, ‘a slice of home, yay!’ but it is too big. It doesn’t fit.”
Particularly, “..but it is too big. It doesn’t fit”. This little detail makes me guess the writer probably resides on campus. The beds are usually tiny. Everything, well almost everything that can depress an international student is captured in this poem.
The writing is flawless. I like this a lot.
I wonder what I thought about your writing in the Decades II project. Let me check.
‘Flawless!’
Thanks for this.
Just checked. Ironically, I thought your story in Decades II was completely bland and your friends had me for breakfast. Weird.
Awww mehn! This is kinda sad. But i so so feel this write up. Love the writing too
Beautifully sad!
One word.. Puuurrfect!! everyone in obodo oyibz should be able to relate to this somehow.
i think you should write more poems.
This is d most amazing writeup iv read ds year…takes me to different places&nowhere at d same time.
♡ eeet. U have a beautiful mind- writer&writee…
My first time but i have to say really good work… i help the loneliness from here