POEMS

Blues

In a world of chaos

Some are choosing their blues

The big ones, the little ones

And they ponder in recluse

So be wary and considerate

That you know not their fate

For some have slept

Only to wake and walk

Walking, but not existing

For some have dreamt

A thousand dreams, yet still sulk

Moping in misery

And for some, they are hoping

For a glimpse of a miracle

Hands clasped tightly

As they mumble prayers of petition

And as for the writer,

She cries out for reassurance

Tonight, feeling weighted more

By the littlest of blues

He held her close…

He held her close and she lay her head on his chest. The silence competing with the tension, till the latter could no longer bear it. Counting three breaths, she mouthed, “Are you sure we’re not lost in ourselves?”

He held her close and she cuddled up to him, like a koala baby and its mother. In that moment, nothing could shift attention from a bond, formed over distance, over texts, over a forged, genuine love. A bond, now released to temperaments and the intricacies of the human connection

He held her close and they experienced a feeling so familiar, previously emanating in waves, now static. This was home, their home. This love had traveled and finally arrived at its final destination. Sunflowers had always been her favourite. Today in full fictitious bloom, they gave their approval. Joy has cometh

Tower

Tower of refuge

They say You are

But to get to You,

Is going to take some effort

Lord be my helper

As I find my way to You

Tower of restoration

I’ve heard You are

But I’m deceived,

By the people so few

Lord quench the lying voices

That stay manipulating my thoughts

Tower of Purpose

Stay right where You are

Because I’m not losing You this time

Be it bend or bump on the way

I’m coming to You Lord

Sometime between sunset and sunrise

Night of…

Night of laments

So why do I see the stars?

For every mistake, a choice I made

Night so contoured

Why do I sense hope?

The haze, slowly fading into the horizon

Night, of…restoration

Certainly must be

Regrets are in the distant

Someday

Someday, worried one

You’ll find the light

Someday, wretched one

You’ll be on the other side

Through the swampy marsh

Over the land mines

Past the naysayers

Beyond any obstacle

Someday, somehow

You’ll rejoice, where the light resides

How many more sighs

Gone are the hours of yesterday

And dawn, knocks behind the window pane

Before we let her in,

There are some matters to resolve

A worrisome heart and a pondering mind

Loud is the silence

But louder is The Voice

Beseeching and reassuring,

That we worry not about the morrow

And spare some minutes to rest

But stubborn as we are,

Owing to our human nature

We toss, turn and fret

And try to reconcile with hope,

With one question taunting, “How many more sighs, Lord ?”

While Minding My Business

A fortnight later

And he’s gifted me

A glimmer of hope

This, while simply minding my business

He could be the one

But he often disappears

Then I’m left to ponder

My only warning, being a moment’s notice

Then he reappears

As if to make amends

My heart jumping with joy

As if to tell me, “Didn’t I say so?”

Who does he think he is?

Leaving me in disarray

Telling me about his day

Then gone in a whiff

I better stay calm

Guard this heart of mine

Lest she warms up to him

For the grandest of falls

A fortnight to come

I may be left morose

And so maybe it’s time

To dish out my trusty detachment

The Best

The best is yet to come

It wasn’t today

Nor was it yesterday

Perhaps, a morrow sooner

The best is yet to come

I tell myself every day

Someday, one day

The waiting time, shortening

The best is yet to come

Said gleefully, because…

Who knows, it may very well be

Right after this utterance

Doubt

Babies, pure till they meet the world

But what is and isn’t doubt, before it’s stripped ?

We only then will know

When the medium that bears it

Is cast away

Drumroll, drumroll please…

I give you, present to you, the benefit of doubt

Let the innocence of the white snow

Make all seem without flaw

Let their footsteps

Reveal a sense of direction

But in reality

There is a story to every footstep

There is no doubt, but this, you do not see

Till the snow melts away

Till the footsteps no longer tread one way

Till the footsteps of a stripped innocence

Come knocking at your door

In an unexpected cold winter

To serve you back

Leaving no doubt, whatsoever

ANEW

From what was a hushed night

We have now, morning

The silence remnants,

Still enveloping creek and corner

Soon it will have competition

When with sunrise, comes the bustle

And with the bustle, comes the hustle

The hustle, bringing forth a new chapter

The living are readying

To attack the day

Such zeal, such motivation

Pot scoops of such, invaluable

A brand new day

For the lonesome, the nurturers

For the caretakers, the peacemakers

Even more brilliant of a day, for a dreamer

My black sunglasses

Legon Botanical Gardens. Circa 2018

There are so many eyes on me

So many stares, so many labels

There’s something about black

Black sunglasses

Boosted confidence?

Possibly

Black to go with everything?

Definitely

Protection from harmful sun rays?

Guaranteed

But none of these is the reason

For my copping of a pair

For as timeless as they may have made me out to be

There was something that I didn’t want the world to see

Broken Wells

I know a thing or two

About broken wells

Consequence

Of a broken heart

Quenching their thirst

I know a thing or two

About the broken-hearted

Drawing and drawing,

The well, almost bare.

And when broken, none seems to care

I know a thing or two

About these two, broken well, broken heart

But I wish I had earlier known

That one would leave

Right after the mend and quench

Detour

There at the tunnel’s end

They say, there’s light

But a wall of consequence

Awaits me

You see

There’s a freeing release

About crossing the finish line

But with release, comes vulnerability

So just maybe,

Shall we prolong this race?

Seconds, minutes, hours

Before being fully consumed

Sometimes

We don’t need the end

Because we already know.

Sometimes, almost is truly enough