which end of tree to shake lightly. Maybe even throw some rocks up into unseen corners of the tree. The result always bears fruit and he'll catch every one, never letting his fruit hit the ground first.
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At the time we met, angels and devils looked alike to me. My most dirty little secret, you made the hall of fame.
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Barefoot and trusting, I crossed the threshold
Respecting holy lines drawn between Moses, the burning bush and the scorching heat of an early Ibadan Sunday afternoon
His eyes crinkle in delight I step into his outstretched arms. Even though it’s a crisp chilly morning, I only feel the warmth of him and that delicious manly smell of him.
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I saw my father in his chair; rocking back and forth as he absent mindedly rubbed at his knuckles.
That familiar view of the after effects of a tough-love exchange. You’ve got to go there to come back is what my grandmother said
We are fresh free leaves springing through summer vines
Lively with colours of the inevitable
We are travelling histories branching out
You see it, don't you?
You see it? Don't you?
You see it. Don't you!
Yesterday, my attention was brought to the Symphonica 7 website and I fell in love with The Twilight Orchestra's first movement, Found.
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They walk in here, eyes filled with promise, feet heavy with responsibility and their hearts, carrying the future. Regardless the wedding vows, it’s all the same thing…
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Sticky on me like grimey sweat made dry after a long walk through Balogun market. Clingy like the gung at the bottom of my dunlop that I can never get off. If only I could take you off and…
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In consecutive fleeting moments, you made me feel like I am
You'd hold me and I would be an extension of your arm
You’d look at me fixated, I help you focus
The cobwebs of deceit hang carelessly off the walls. Voices of disparage echo through the hallways, bedroom doors heaving with sighs and tears for what could have been…
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We played games with our nights and slept through our strongest moments. We aligned ourselves with herds and allowed our transportation across counties.
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I am a lady-in-waiting, waiting. And you, the Father Abraham of out time, have left me without a forwarding address or manual on how to raise your children.
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On the most judgmental stage of them all, we performed around the rules, shifted expectations and redefined the purpose of illusionists. We made magic, and fooled us all.
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The journey from where I was when I wanted to be where I am now has been long. I shall not mourn the things I left behind…
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The irony of it though, of all the things you gave me this - inhumed us you left behind is all that’s lasted. The us that we were eats me up inside like a parasitic plant growing…
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Bedroom exploding with random knickknacks that you only seem to find when you are looking for the one thing you cant have – like your youth, your sanity, your perfect ‘look at me now!’ body…
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I never did work out if there was a sewer nearby or an invisible ghost with a flatulence problem in the flat.
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