Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

You want? So what? July 9, 2010

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 5:30 pm
Tags: , , , ,
The time wanderer

Onigba...

The muse lent me to Onigba, the inconspicuous time-wanderer of indigenous origins; I beat an ancient ring-tone with a mellow tempo on my gong, Afrosays:

She smiles in the bus, the grayed lady, taking a leisurely stroll, basking in the sunny moments of times past. I look at her and smile in agreement and I’m on to the next one
I’m on a journey for the good old; I’m feeling grand, and clement weather assures me that nature’s feeling likewise. I’m on a journey for the good old days.
I’m the time-wanderer, call me ‘Onigba’.
I guess we’ve had our moments, you and I. Did you recognize me?
No! I’m not that weirdo you noticed under the bridge happily calculating 9D mathematics on the sand in Latin and I’m not his buddy either. I don’t have a fancy wand or carry a moribund hour-glass (although I popularized that look in Nebuchadnezzar’s times). I’ve been around since loin-cloths and cave-cribs, when your kind measured how old they were by how many Yam planting seasons they’d participated in. I saw Socrates make up stuff he couldn’t quite figure out and Shakespeare conduct his low-budget plays. I saw Hitler, Rockefeller and I’m still seeing Babangida. I’m the Rolex and the Omega!
You did not recognize me because I’m one with time. I’m quite the conformist. I wore a suit the day we met at your office, I’ve worn all the cuts of Jeans you’ve worn and I’m still figuring out how to get out of my most recent denim adventure without employing the use of a pair of scissors. Don’t bother trying to look out for me; I look too much like you.
I’ve lived with your kind since the big bang or the big apple, I really don’t care which. I was born the same day as Adam or Australopithecus, and you’ve all come a long way… to vanity. You’ve missed the point. SMH!
Live!
Like him, he’s smiling too, smiling at the irony of it all. He’s not sure how he’s come this far on so little. He’s not sure how he’s going to make it through but he’s sure he will. He’s hanging out with the boys tonight; he knows he’s got major issues but he’d take the little joys he demands from life.
Maybe He’d pay the rent, maybe not; maybe he’d get the job, maybe not; maybe he’d love again, maybe not; but tonight, we drink to life, Guy and I.
Like her, she’s smiling too, and then she laughs at the irony of love. He’s home early today and she’s glad. He told her he was sorry for the third time and she took him in knowing his weakness would lead him on yet another tryst. She was just glad to have him for now. She hoped to have him forever.
She deserves forever, so what? Tonight, we celebrate love and life.
Who cares what you want? There’s no Persia or Babylon or King Solomon! There’s just two glasses… what’s our toast?


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The Sundance June 26, 2010

Filed under: Poetry — afrosays @ 5:44 am
Tags: , , , ,

I woke up this morning to her aura. The room was a beautiful blend of  gentle wild flowers, all subtly blended into the essence of something by Coco Chanel. She was here, yes boss!

Her fingers traced the lines of stress on my back that the ‘executive’ chairs at the office had blessed me with. Oh! the travails of modern Sapiens. I was tickling and pringling, enjoying the flirtations of my ethereal companion.

The indulgence ended as quickly as it had started; She berated my inadequacies as an effective town crier. She insulted all the tools of my trade – my Facebook gong needed tuning, my text-message forwarder could only cry as far as my pitiful pocket. She was jealous of all the girls i adapted her dispatches for and was mad that I had left some messages undelivered altogether.

She threatened to leave me!

I begged and promised to buy a waaaaaay sexier gong with autotune.

The bi-polar witch smiled and gave me ‘Sundance’ (and some money too) but you can trust me to enrich my pitiful pocket, and come up with a cheap ass scheme.

Enjoy the first note to be played on my sexy, auto-tuned, blogging gong with a blackberry app to match

SUNDANCE

the sun dance

The African sun dance

Don’t we dance all day?

dance to the music of pain?

bending our backs in obedience to the sun

and lifting our faces to it again

chanting morbid choruses

with our spirits low

spinning in assigned locuses

with our baggage on tow

Don’t we search for better music?

better than the jockey spins?

knowing we can only dance happy

to our own rythm

Don’t we learn new moves?

hoping to get better?

but logic is disproved

with our name on a letter

Ballet bureaucrats,

Mambo managers,

Contemporary contract staff,

Chacha civil servants,

Hip Hop hirelings,

Atilogwu artisans,

All Sundance participants

We’re all sun-dancers, you and I

entertainers from 9-5

dancing in the yellow light

till the day we die!

Do you dance?

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