You want? So what? July 9, 2010

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?

Swinging along June 29, 2010

Today, she met me brooding in low spirits. She’d come at better times.

I was going through the he-motions of a young adult, sailing in tune to the topsy turvy throes of soul weather. Everything had been fine for a minute and then my hormones decided to darken my barely blue skies.

I wasn’t sure why I feeling well but I could make an educated guess; the epic battle of soul and spirit was beginning to unfold and chei! My body was in the centre of it all

The goddess sat by me, looking gloom herself. The day hadn’t been so good.

Distant memories of our discussions reminded me of her own battles for self-identity. She had been through several social rites and only seemed to lose a little bit more of herself everytime she found another paradigm to explore. The tunnels of erudition were gradually losing their appeal.

She looked at me, smiled from the depths of her misery and she was gone.

I picked up what she left beside me, and beat a yellow tune on my gong,

AfroSays:

SWINGING ALONG

Hands tossed carelessly, we’re swinging along
Never really caring where we truly belong
In search of everything that’s nothing,
Singing “viva the country”

Every man for himself, each to his devices
Each to his tent, a home for his vices

But he’s lost his voice to the echo
He’s masked for roles
Clothed in clothes
His human is not good enough to show

Evolving back to zero, part of a lost herd
Who chooses from among them a lost head
To lead lost people further into oblivion
Masquerades totalling six billion

The eccentric are wise enough to stay on tangent,
Else, they become the target
Give us barney, we’d kill Jesus
Give us Luther, we kill zealots
Give us anything but freedom
We’re loving the war on wisdom

I’m searching for me, society took my compass
I can’t read maps and there are no batteries in my flashlight
But I’d trust the milestones of greatness, I’d follow where these blodied pavements lead

I’m tired of swinging along!