I ask myself could this be it. Is this what I have always been waiting for? The sensation I feel inside, would it be the man from the sky would it be the one to take away the pain in my heart, to operate on these scars that they left when all was done. Would it give me all that it has got would it be patient when I feel insecure if it is true, would it understand if I say “ I am not sure you do and I just want to take my time cos they have left these scars that breaks me anytime I remember. What would it do, would it stay? Would it? Would it tell me how beautiful I am would it caress me when am in pains would it hold my hands when we walk through the park would it kiss me in between alleys when no one watches. would it say “I will never let you go no matter what you say or do cos that is the reason I fell in love with you and besides the sun you are the brightest thing ever to shine on me, you are true and I would love nobody else but you. So close your eyes let us sit in this twilight as I watch the golden sky caress your hair, you are beautiful and i love you.”… So I would ask, what might this be, could it be, would it be or could it might have been love.
Merry Christmas ! Merry Christmas! ! To you, you and you. A son is born his grace has shone. How benevolent is he, what did he ever see in me? I wouldn’t have done that yes am that selfish, I tell a lie if I said I would do otherwise…
he said, with a grin I have never been able to write about Christmas. For poets we normally write what we feel the emotions we conceal deep inside the belly of our soul.
I have lived it long enough? I think, I have had experiences of how it really feels, the nostalgic moments the meals, the women the drinks I think.
His eyes gleamed and glowed intermittently, was he about to lie I asked myself? Many a times people tend to lie immediately after that.
It is the time christ was born, debatable true, relatable thats also true. But if christ is love what is this all about looking at the facts each side present. The lost ones,thoes who belong , and the we just want to celebrate ones they all have it, they all are believable and thats not true.
but today is not the time for explanations lets keep our religions to ourselves for now and for the fairytale they end when we grow up. It’s Christmas and it is love we share when it comes. If the whole world is watching let’s make it beautiful.
do you wish to tell her how much you care about her , the words you never got to say the first time you met, I sing this song for you out of the blues with cool sounds and the lovely harmonic arrangement that makes the music. Pick up the phone call her and if she ask why tell her ” I just called to say I love.”
throw the love around don’t be selfish its not yours to own. His love gave us this opportunity, and that sacrifice we should uphold. Merry Christmas from Nyameye sky.
A boy on a sick bed with the mother beside him, she was making funny faces just to cheer him up.
It did work and with every face she made she got a laughter and a big smile at the end.
But suddenly the boy kept mute for a while and asked, mom do clowns cry? Just then tears droped down her cheeks and her answer was yes son clowns do cry.
They paint their face so you wouldn’t see the tear marks, they wear that big colourful dress so you wouldn’t see the scars on them and the big red ball they wear on their nose so to make them sound funny hidding their saddened voices.
But you see anytime they see that spark in your eyes it dries their tears and they smile also. Clowns do cry.
is this how a royal should look?
you can speak can’t you speak to me ?
how convincing can you be, can you tell me i haven’t tried all the tricks in the book?
i have walked all path the broad the narrow and the rocky. i have met many faces with different intentions the good, the bad , and the ugly. i have than the illogical i have seen obscure sight which are mostly not optical. i have cried all my tears, i have ventured all the spheres but up to no avail.
so i ask is this the royal life you promised ? a life not of gold but with riches untold a life with my naked eye i cant behold. they are in the book you gave which i read from sunset till i become cooled in the midnight breeze. would you say i haven’t tried harder ? i have with my bare hands built houses more huger than the tower of babel i have conjured up paths which are mostly complicated than the red sea exodus.
i have cried and is that not enough? i thought life was hand to mouth never new there was more i thought i would always win but the more thought me i could loose or draw. like a dead plankton all i do is follow the current of the ocean, with this motion i don’t even know were i stand, is this your plan? a trick life question with no answers.
up on the deck, cool breeze fills my lungs. happy? no. Home sick? yes. Rolling deep on the ocean with the ship dancing to its rhythm up and down , to and fro, the highs and the lows.
the stench is up, got to seal my nostrils. Those rotten ocean dwellers , how careless can they be , don’t they know what to do with the dead? That even said where are those sagacious delphinus capensis? Are they not sane no more ?
This journey on water, my favourite adventure why do i complain anyways, why do I sometimes sound the jerk? is it the hole in it? Is it the false pretence of it never existing? Is that the reason for the rage, Or the tragedies that fills my pages in this epic exodus?
the fear of pirates those stinking meaners with a hook of an arm. Begging for arms in arms, robbing Peter just to feed his rotten soul. I bearly sleep, I lazely slumber so not to be caught of guard. Is that the reason for this rage?
deeper I go , how less did I know, when tears flow down my cheek. Is that the reason for these? The rage the fall of stage of the mighty and the great their heads are the same. Sometimes I ask if the world is sane but when I realise my position I know that it is I who is “in-sane”.
a walk on the sea, the reliefs I yearn to see , why am I on this ship. It goes deeper , it sinks hesitantly but very fast. I knew it would so I had my boat which I rolled to the shores.
Everyone knows I love trotros. They bring me too much joy. It also means I am a veteran when it comes to trotros and their seating. The best seats in the trotro are window seats. Not only do you not have to move until you get to your destination, you also have an escape route […]
Have you got to the point where you think you don’t know who you are? Were your line of questions are: where am I? Who am I? What do I do? Who would I be? Well these questions are legit. But aren’t you just seeking answers to questions you know already? But just needed an assurance or let’s say an excuse, so you can say someone said?
Someone said this, someone said that. Someone said you can achieve that. Someone said, you can’t let go unless you let in. someone said, life is ridiculous so you have to be the clown. Someone said, life is too short so don’t grow any taller than you are now. Wow! These are deadly times, sorry if you think I intended that rhyme.
Have you ever been at that point before, have you ever counted and left out the number four? Are you waiting to be on all fours before you do something? That one thing you think would be a clue that would lead you to answer all those questions?
Do you sometimes cry about it? Do you fall right on your face and whisper to yourself how a disgrace you have been to your name? Where you wish they would be washed away with those tears of yours. Am I talking too much? Or should I say am typing too many words which are not making any sense?
Now allow me to pep talk you into that space that would make you see life in two ways, like the artist and the empty blank canvas. Now the clue: imagine your life as the canvas. is it blank? Yes, is it useless no? Its emptiness is its strength, like a magician his greatest trick lies within his clinched fist. Now you see me. On that emptiness you draw from your imagination. And in that world anything is possible. So I ask are you lost. Do you feel your world is way worse than the Wild West? Now tell me, were do you want to be? Draw it. What do you want to see? Imagine it.
You are the artist you are the inspiration. You are the one to draw, you are the one. Pick up the brush start painting something. Be that space that makes way for that change give yourself that chance, Like “Rango” no man leaves his story. Now let all saints say Amen.
I am a woman and I am proud to say that I am sex-positive. For individuals who are new to this term, as I was not so long ago, sex-positive simply means an individual who is positive about sex, consent, sexual education, sexual exploration, sexual pleasure and sexual health. Basically, sex-positive means don’t be a […]