Exactly three years to the day, I opened a blogger account and designed my first blog(http://mypoetrycrib.blogspot.com). This one you're reading is its sister that was borne much later.
Below is the poem that kicked off my poetic expedition. Reading it now still gives me goose-bumps all over again. It is titled "forever yours", dedicated to one woman I know not.
"You moved slowly,
Patiently watching and waiting,
Never rushing,
never insisting,
Held my hands and walked by my side,
True commitment in every step,
A pillar of strength at bleary times,
Inspiration in the forlorn days,
Extra shoulders to carry life’s wonted burdens,
The pool that dammed my every tear…
That’s why, I’m forever yours…"
Sadly, three years on and I am still searching for that nameless, blameless, faceless woman who was the source inspiration for this piece... I sincerely hope I do not have to wait another three or more!
July 19, 2012
June 29, 2012
Finally, I understand...
How many times have we said “I understand how you feel” to someone who is going through some torrid trying
times in their lives without fully grasping the person’s plight. So often we assume we can identify with other
people’s pain, even without walking as much
as a meter in their shoes, talk less of a mile. Oh, how so wrong we are!
About half a year ago, I was
tentatively diagnosed of having high Intraocular Pressure (IOP) – which basically means the pressure inside my eyes is
higher than normal.
Yesterday, I got substantive
confirmation that I had, what is known in the realm of ocular medicine as, “the silent thief of sight” and it has been playing on my mind like a broken
record player ever-since.
You know how it is when you are oblivious
to a cut or wound on some part of your body, suddenly you notice it and that’s when it starts to sting, when all the while it didn’t!!!? Exactly how I feel now, but much more!
Naturally, ever since I discovered I had
bad eye-sight, I’ve always been
protective of my eyes. Nothing provokes me to action more than someone making a
move towards that region no matter how innocuous. My response is usually swift,
instinctive and sometimes unsavoury to the recipient. After hearing this news,
I am even more conscious, sensitive about my eyes than ever before.
At the present, there’s an irremovable nagging fear in my mind; every little
twitch or itch is greeted with grave concern. Every five minutes I am looking
in the mirror. I despair at the thought that one day; I will wake up to pitch
blackness (or whiteness) and so it’d be
till my last breath.
Now, I gaze at everything I see with
re-invigorated reverence as would a new-born whose eyes have just been opened
to the marvels of this world. I take it all in, sumptuously guttling all the
sights around me – the straight,
crooked, tiny, grandiose, pure, tainted, detailed, sketchy, beautiful, ugly… I devour them as would a hungry monster. These ailing
eyes committing all to memory as much as I possibly can for all I know, there
might yet come a time when the impressions in my head will be all there is left
to see beneath the imposing sheet of cecity.
Maybe I now understand how it feels to be living on
the edge… fearing the unknown, the unseen. So just maybe; when
I say, “I understand how you feel”, I
really do!
April 19, 2012
T.A.S.K and Me…
We spent a short period together but somehow still spoke to great depths or so it seemed. I thought we had struck a chord; reached an understanding, familiarity of the rare breed, far beyond mere acquaintanceship and independent of time. I saw in her a difference; different, removed from the rest. An individual far more ambitious than the narrow minded females floating about, who seemed so intent on hooking a life-partner so much that little else mattered.
She spoke of her aspirations, passion and drive; where, other than there, she would rather have preferred to be and listening to her was refreshingly stirring, heart-warming even. She spoke as though she’d known me for decades; no inhibitions, no holds barred, no demands of reciprocation and it felt divine to listen without being made to feel guilt as though I was hoarding.
She said above all, more than anything else this world could offer, what she wanted the most was love - pure, true and unbridled. Finally, she said she was satisfied; not completely happy and fulfilled but sufficiently gratified enough not to be consumed by the race to beat the biological clock. My heart fluttered.
When she looked at me, her eyes seemed to beckon and in my heart I harboured hope, desire of a future together. I thought I had finally found a real woman. One patient enough to work and wait for what she wanted, yearning for the best yet making the most of her life in its absence. In that instant, I dared to dream; dared even to think that she loved me as much as I did her. For there were many who desired her attention, who would give arm and limb to be her man but she turned my way with rapt admiration. How wrong I was.
Looking back now, I cannot help but feel crestfallen. It dawns that she probably never really shared her true self, true feelings or story. Perhaps, I was just a means to an end, the proverbial “Guinea Pig”…just one in a long line of “eligibles”; drawn from the hat and eliminated when not deemed viable an option to meet that dreaded deadline only a woman at cusp of her prime knows too well. I will never know for sure but I am left with the feeling of being fed dirt in return for handing out chocolate-coated candy bars.
It is possible I come to this conclusion in ire, hence sound a tad unfair. Maybe like in the fairy-tales and happy-ending romance flicks, cupid did in fact manage to find her the true love she yearned for, a very worthy suitor - her very own 'Knight in shining armour' - and the feeling of love and respect between them is mutual. After all, I am only on the outside looking in, but from where I stand, it is so extremely hard to discard objectivity and go along with the heart's fancy inclinations. The photo of she and her man together didn’t look very good; I could not see the sun, her smile or love’s warmth, I only sensed convenience and it gnawed at heart every time I saw it…that guy there should be me!
She spoke of her aspirations, passion and drive; where, other than there, she would rather have preferred to be and listening to her was refreshingly stirring, heart-warming even. She spoke as though she’d known me for decades; no inhibitions, no holds barred, no demands of reciprocation and it felt divine to listen without being made to feel guilt as though I was hoarding.
She said above all, more than anything else this world could offer, what she wanted the most was love - pure, true and unbridled. Finally, she said she was satisfied; not completely happy and fulfilled but sufficiently gratified enough not to be consumed by the race to beat the biological clock. My heart fluttered.
When she looked at me, her eyes seemed to beckon and in my heart I harboured hope, desire of a future together. I thought I had finally found a real woman. One patient enough to work and wait for what she wanted, yearning for the best yet making the most of her life in its absence. In that instant, I dared to dream; dared even to think that she loved me as much as I did her. For there were many who desired her attention, who would give arm and limb to be her man but she turned my way with rapt admiration. How wrong I was.
Looking back now, I cannot help but feel crestfallen. It dawns that she probably never really shared her true self, true feelings or story. Perhaps, I was just a means to an end, the proverbial “Guinea Pig”…just one in a long line of “eligibles”; drawn from the hat and eliminated when not deemed viable an option to meet that dreaded deadline only a woman at cusp of her prime knows too well. I will never know for sure but I am left with the feeling of being fed dirt in return for handing out chocolate-coated candy bars.
It is possible I come to this conclusion in ire, hence sound a tad unfair. Maybe like in the fairy-tales and happy-ending romance flicks, cupid did in fact manage to find her the true love she yearned for, a very worthy suitor - her very own 'Knight in shining armour' - and the feeling of love and respect between them is mutual. After all, I am only on the outside looking in, but from where I stand, it is so extremely hard to discard objectivity and go along with the heart's fancy inclinations. The photo of she and her man together didn’t look very good; I could not see the sun, her smile or love’s warmth, I only sensed convenience and it gnawed at heart every time I saw it…that guy there should be me!
February 02, 2012
Love strikes again...
It is said to be a proven fact that lightening doesn't strike twice in the same place...but what if 'place' was a person and 'lightening', heartbreak; surely it can strike as many times as possible any given where. Love has struck again and I find myself on the wrong end of the blow.
So again, it is the same sad story. Again, it is explicable but yet defies logic...again question marks all round me...again!This time its eerie, sometimes even bordering on the edges of comic...but I can't laugh, instead a 'hard' tear rolls down my cheek.
Besides the barest hints of regret, its just numbness...nothing but a vast empty hollow with the words echoing up and down, caught in pendulum of never ending reverberation. There is no inquest this time...there is no need for one; my hands are not soiled but they are just not deemed firm enough - it's my gift, also my curse - innocence unbelievably sincere that can only be seen as guilt in disguise!
For what it is worth, I still live to love another day...so, with this new scar and fresh purple heart, I trudge on in good faith, praying that tomorrow holds better for me and you!
So again, it is the same sad story. Again, it is explicable but yet defies logic...again question marks all round me...again!This time its eerie, sometimes even bordering on the edges of comic...but I can't laugh, instead a 'hard' tear rolls down my cheek.
Besides the barest hints of regret, its just numbness...nothing but a vast empty hollow with the words echoing up and down, caught in pendulum of never ending reverberation. There is no inquest this time...there is no need for one; my hands are not soiled but they are just not deemed firm enough - it's my gift, also my curse - innocence unbelievably sincere that can only be seen as guilt in disguise!
For what it is worth, I still live to love another day...so, with this new scar and fresh purple heart, I trudge on in good faith, praying that tomorrow holds better for me and you!
January 29, 2012
Stranger on my FB page...
Fair lady, wherein hath thou materialized from and what is it you seek of me, I cannot help but wonder aloud! I did not recognize the face but accepted the 'request' all the same. Now I had a bit more access to whatever information she had put on her profile.
First, I browse through her photos, the majority of them taken while she is alone and perched, a tad uncomfortably, in front of an archaic-looking IBM notebook, in what appears to be a small-scale business office of some sorts.She was far from drop-dead gorgeous but the long fluffy hair that ran all the way down to her shoulders, I suspect did a lot to cover any flaws and enhance the finer features of the face, making it passably attractive. From the sitting position, I can tell
her figure is just about right, nothing like Beyonce but enough to receive its fair share of considerable ogling from guys wherever she goes.
Onwards I move, onto the brief 'bio' - did not find much there to suggest the kind of personality I was dealing with. At best just the bland, regular everyday kind of girl.
Undeterred, I plow on looking for a 'chink', anything that would throw some light on the identity and (or) intentions of this young lady who has somehow materialized out of the blue and thrust herself unceremoniously into my 'cyber-life".
Still bemused, I take my eyes off the page and mentally scroll through my head for any clues to remind me if I may have met this person somewhere in the course of my daily sojourns but none is forthcoming. Thankfully I have the smallest imagineable memory bank on such matters, this due to the fact that I don't get to meet that many females and hardly make any impression of note on the very few I do meet. So mercifully, this isn't a particularly tedious task. Search result returns a null.
So back to the computer screen I turn, her profile gives her location as Abuja...hmmm Abuja, I've only ever been there once in my entire life and in the three days spent, I only spoke to guys - cab drivers and office workers. Jev comes to mind, she could be somehow related to Jev...dude resides in ABJ not so!? So I check again for any mutual relationships...no, not Jev but Ehis. Now this is super odd. Ehis doesn't know anywhere beyond the Warri-Benin express road. Not that he can't know or have folks in ABJ, but trying to imagine that guy anywhere else but the Edo-Delta axis is like taking a fish out of water...I can just see him in a fit gasping for breath!
All options exhausted, I see she is available on chat and send her a brief, chirpy message to try establish some form of camaraderie and get none in reply. After several tries and flustering hours of watching her chat status change from 'online' to 'offline' and back again like batting eyelids, I throw in the towel for the day.
Invariably the curiosity wanes with time like old make-up...and she becomes another 'friend', albeit familiar only on the pages of FB!
First, I browse through her photos, the majority of them taken while she is alone and perched, a tad uncomfortably, in front of an archaic-looking IBM notebook, in what appears to be a small-scale business office of some sorts.She was far from drop-dead gorgeous but the long fluffy hair that ran all the way down to her shoulders, I suspect did a lot to cover any flaws and enhance the finer features of the face, making it passably attractive. From the sitting position, I can tell
her figure is just about right, nothing like Beyonce but enough to receive its fair share of considerable ogling from guys wherever she goes.
Onwards I move, onto the brief 'bio' - did not find much there to suggest the kind of personality I was dealing with. At best just the bland, regular everyday kind of girl.
Undeterred, I plow on looking for a 'chink', anything that would throw some light on the identity and (or) intentions of this young lady who has somehow materialized out of the blue and thrust herself unceremoniously into my 'cyber-life".
Still bemused, I take my eyes off the page and mentally scroll through my head for any clues to remind me if I may have met this person somewhere in the course of my daily sojourns but none is forthcoming. Thankfully I have the smallest imagineable memory bank on such matters, this due to the fact that I don't get to meet that many females and hardly make any impression of note on the very few I do meet. So mercifully, this isn't a particularly tedious task. Search result returns a null.
So back to the computer screen I turn, her profile gives her location as Abuja...hmmm Abuja, I've only ever been there once in my entire life and in the three days spent, I only spoke to guys - cab drivers and office workers. Jev comes to mind, she could be somehow related to Jev...dude resides in ABJ not so!? So I check again for any mutual relationships...no, not Jev but Ehis. Now this is super odd. Ehis doesn't know anywhere beyond the Warri-Benin express road. Not that he can't know or have folks in ABJ, but trying to imagine that guy anywhere else but the Edo-Delta axis is like taking a fish out of water...I can just see him in a fit gasping for breath!
All options exhausted, I see she is available on chat and send her a brief, chirpy message to try establish some form of camaraderie and get none in reply. After several tries and flustering hours of watching her chat status change from 'online' to 'offline' and back again like batting eyelids, I throw in the towel for the day.
Invariably the curiosity wanes with time like old make-up...and she becomes another 'friend', albeit familiar only on the pages of FB!
January 12, 2012
In the everyday hustle...
Standing in line at the ticket sales point of aero contractors in MM2, amidst the constant hum, buzz and chatter prevalent in this environment, I overhear fragments of a conversation...the reasonably appreciable voice of a female marketing agent trying to sell some sort of product or service to an adult male, who just happened to have the gruffest of grunts as voice and didn't sound like a nice or easy to deal with person at all.
"Sir, please let me just show you some of our..."
"I do not have that kind of time...My business determines my location at any time."
"Where do you have...?" The airport noises made it difficult to hear as much as I would have loved to, especially the saleswoman’s pitch…the scene had an odd ring about it; like a madly driven, love-stricken woman trying to win the attentions of a man. For a moment, I’d gone off-beat, the gruff voice broke me out of the reverie.
"Dubai, UK, America, France, Germany, India, China..." Seemingly showboating now.
"Sir, if we were to give you seven days at any location of your choice where would that be? We have facilities in Asia, Europe..."
"I have told you before; business determines my location at any time."
"Sir, where are you based, I can..." At this point, the marketer is rather rudely and abruptly cut-off by the increasingly impatient and totally unpleasant gruff voice.
"Look young lady, I am a very busy man; you have my card...call me to find out where I am." With that and a quick shuffling of feet, this signalled the end to a conversation even I found as disturbing and discomfiting as perhaps the lady did.
At this juncture, I couldn’t help but turn around to catch a glimpse of the actors.
The ghoul of a man (and I mean it literally), clad in a white, simply cut native attire; neck, wrists and fingers, bejewelled extravagantly, carrying a laptop bag and an array of handheld electronic devices that make SLOT look like an antique shop; just about dragged his considerable mass over to one of the ticketing cubicles of another air carrier and proceeded to deliver a harangue to the unfortunate occupant.
The marketer, a pretty, black, petite lady spotting jeans and a brown tee-shirt with the insignia of some kind of travel agency, tourism group or leisure resort stood alone a feet or two behind me. She was bent over a file folder, rapidly scribbling away on a notepad, more in a bid to avoid embarrassing stares than anything else I suspected. She caught my stare and just for an instant I can sense a bit of dejection and frustration in her eyes. I smile and offer what I hoped to be an assuring nod. She smiles back and returns to her jotting.
It’s crazy…the things we have to go through, all the B.S we have to take, dues we have to pay just to make this money!
"Sir, please let me just show you some of our..."
"I do not have that kind of time...My business determines my location at any time."
"Where do you have...?" The airport noises made it difficult to hear as much as I would have loved to, especially the saleswoman’s pitch…the scene had an odd ring about it; like a madly driven, love-stricken woman trying to win the attentions of a man. For a moment, I’d gone off-beat, the gruff voice broke me out of the reverie.
"Dubai, UK, America, France, Germany, India, China..." Seemingly showboating now.
"Sir, if we were to give you seven days at any location of your choice where would that be? We have facilities in Asia, Europe..."
"I have told you before; business determines my location at any time."
"Sir, where are you based, I can..." At this point, the marketer is rather rudely and abruptly cut-off by the increasingly impatient and totally unpleasant gruff voice.
"Look young lady, I am a very busy man; you have my card...call me to find out where I am." With that and a quick shuffling of feet, this signalled the end to a conversation even I found as disturbing and discomfiting as perhaps the lady did.
At this juncture, I couldn’t help but turn around to catch a glimpse of the actors.
The ghoul of a man (and I mean it literally), clad in a white, simply cut native attire; neck, wrists and fingers, bejewelled extravagantly, carrying a laptop bag and an array of handheld electronic devices that make SLOT look like an antique shop; just about dragged his considerable mass over to one of the ticketing cubicles of another air carrier and proceeded to deliver a harangue to the unfortunate occupant.
The marketer, a pretty, black, petite lady spotting jeans and a brown tee-shirt with the insignia of some kind of travel agency, tourism group or leisure resort stood alone a feet or two behind me. She was bent over a file folder, rapidly scribbling away on a notepad, more in a bid to avoid embarrassing stares than anything else I suspected. She caught my stare and just for an instant I can sense a bit of dejection and frustration in her eyes. I smile and offer what I hoped to be an assuring nod. She smiles back and returns to her jotting.
It’s crazy…the things we have to go through, all the B.S we have to take, dues we have to pay just to make this money!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)