Inspired By Thaxted

Dawn sweep away the perils

That chided me in sleep

Praying and crying out, though nasal

My Saviour, He hears me weep


Turned on side, pillowing my fears

The stillness, so loud, envelops

Reminded of a hymn to repress the tears

Gathering courage, to never give up hope


The day is bursting through

And the remnants of night, they fade

Flee away you woe, perhaps one or two

For today we choose joy, and will not trade

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 ?”

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

Calm

It’s as hard to explain

As it is to watch

Because today, Calm won’t even as much

Meet my eyes, or break into embrace


Two or three gather

There’s a crowd

Involuntarily losing control

I must prepare myself


A breath in, a breath out

What am I inviting in?

What am I letting out?

I’m held back suddenly


Silence, as I try to articulate

It’s like I have no voice

And something keeps pulling at my nape

Ten fingers, seemingly turned dozen


I tell you, Calm is out for me

She steals my voice

Latches onto my neck

And casts me into the springs of anxiety

Haze Art

The wretched awake

From nights of despair

The elixir bottle down to drops

There is the haze

To remind of pressing affairs

That life has seized our props

Heavy are the sighs we make

Pleading to our avengers, helpless whispers of ‘Sirs’

And by eve, the fallen tears must see the mop

Still

Be still,

But this is a different kind of stillness

I am still, but restless

At night, a laying place for my worries

A morning, just a morning

Lonesome obstacles placed in my way

I am tense and life seemingly grey

Rowing a boat in uncertain tides

Night falls, time to be still

But where is peace to be bestowed on me?

A bonfire night, an angry sea

That is how the day ends, still, but not that STILL

I(am)mposter

And what I have been dreading,

Has come to pass.

Cornered and tormented,

Today is that day.

I face the music, I am found out.

Confronted by the voices,

After a myriad of disguises.

And which of them was best?

I say to you…

Imagine trying to see colour

In a world of darkness

Today, unfortunately,

I can no longer comfort

The imposter in me

Anxiety

Two breaths to the finish line

And he is nowhere to be found

I am free

My senses, glad to be back in unison

As if they all had returned from a distant journey

We are relieved that he is gone

But before two breaths

Was an almost breathless marathon

He almost makes me think he’ll go easy on me

Till seconds after an utterance or two

He starts to choke me

I struggle to let out my voice

But they all can hear

A voice that resembles nervous notes

Of a woodwind instrument

My fingers at the slightest touch, turn vibrating strings

My guts, a wrung cloth

And my feet, they aren’t sure if they rest on ground

This marathon, he’s there every step

But I see the finish line

He sees it too

We both have a fear

He is my fear, and the finish line, his

Because freedom awaits on the other side.

He is my anxiety.

ANXIETY

Anxiety, sudden rain to my drought
To hear my name, and be plunged into deep thought

My gullet resembles a spiky chain
See my iris, a dark, rainy cloud

Drop by drop
My energy seeps via the invisible openings

My brain is flooded
The rain has been troublesome

And post its thunderous display
I stand in the mud of my vulnerability