NO SIZE FITS ALL

PC: ourlifeisbeautiful.com

A one-size-fits-all never fits all.
You were created to be somebody's perfect size
And many people's good fit,
So don't fret,  don't cry
When many hands push you aside on the rack,
Think of the perfect body
That you were made for,
Because you'll hug it tight,
You'll hide its nakedness,
You'll give it warmth.
Dear person,
Be your own size.

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LETTERS TO ME

How many ideas lay asleep on the pages of my book? 
When will they be given bodies and made alive? 
Where is their breath of life? 
Is their maker struggling for life too? 
If so,  would they ever be put to bed?

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SHOOT YOUR SHOT

My friend,
Shoot your shot,
And I will shoot mine.
Then, we will both stand
And see whose arrow pierces which heart.
Tell your stories
And let me tell mine.
Let us live and let live.
In the end,
Time will examine history's luggage
And tell us which is wrong or right.
Let us row this boat in peace,
Let us sit quietly at the ends of the boat,
Let us not fight the foolish fight of goats.

My friend,
I see you do not agree with my words,
With the expressions of my thoughts,
With the components of my being.
Will you now slay me?
Has the earth not given the atmosphere as a playground for all?
Shoot your shots,
Voice your thoughts,
If another heart is pierced,
Pat your new win,
Teach them to shoot their own shots.
Now, stay at your end,
Watch me do as you do.
This should be the one rule we should all be bound to.

My friend,
Life is fickle,
Death is no foreigner,
This we know,
These we know.
Stereotype is bad,
Or not.
How would we know
If we are tied to its apron strings?

This is the end of my banter.
My friend,
Be.
Be all you want.
Express it and let others join if they want.
I'll be.
I'll be all I want
Even if it's everything you're not.
Just don't fight me for it.
This is the end of my banter.
Shoot your shot,
And I will shoot mine,
Then we can throw greetings across the line.
Just don't cross that line.
This is the end,  my friend.

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SOUNDS OF YON: My companion by Ada Thelma

Photocredit: colourbox.com

MY COMPANION
I need a companion, 
Someone with whom to share my opinion, 
If the enemies send their minions, 
I'll chop their heads in bits like onions.
If they try to break my union with my companion, 
I'll send them to oblivion, 
See,  I'll set their minds in pandemonium. 

I need a companion, 
Someone I could rely on,
A caring shoulder to lean on, 
Someone I could bond with like mother and son, 
One in whose arms I feel reborn, 
One in whose presence sorrow will be gone, 
One who would make me feel no sadness,  indeed none.

Help me find a companion,
find one with the heart of a Lion.
Find one with convictions as strong as Zion
find one fairer than a dandelion.
Find me a friend. 

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Voice of gods

Photo credit : orishaimage.com.

Voice of gods

So you began to believe, 
You were foolish,  worthless, 
You never did anything right, 
Never could. 
You believed because your father said so,
Your faith gave him his voice. 

That day Nnanna smiled at you, 
Even the next day you greeted him, 
And he replied "what's up? "
That day you told Esther about a bespectacled boy,
The one who caught butterflies, 
And set them free in the pit of your stomach, 
That day She told you he liked you too, 
You believed because she said so,
Your faith made her a god. 

That day too you heard,  
That day you saw Esther's round belly-bulge,
When they said 'Nnanna' and 'father' in one sentence,
That day the workers in your head screamed 'betrayal', 
A voice spoke inside, 
"Life never gives anything good,
Goodness is mined"
You believed because you told yourself to. 

That other day too, 
8years had rolled by, 
A young man sat in your office, 
That day you told him his sight was bad, 
The same day you convinced him, 
You told him bad was the new best, 
You told him he could live in paradise even with the worst vision, 
And he nodded in faith: "yes doctor"
because you were the god before him, 
Infusing pints of belief into him. 

And so it is,
That many be the voices we hear. 
Some said you were worthless, 
Some spewed lies like lines of fine linen, 
Some said you could not rise, 
That "we are cursed"
They told tales of woe, 
"Life is a bucket of dirty water'
They coaxed you to have faith
They made you want to believe 
But you couldn't, 
Because you had lost your faith. 

Note the voice of gods. 
The earth is for gods 
Voices that persuade us to do,  to believe, 
The hands with the wands, 
Directing the course of our thoughts, 
Like the music director of an orchestra.

Voice of gods, 
Human gods, 
The ones we crown with our faith, 
The ones that brew bitterness and despair, 
The ones with the loudest voices. 
But we can dethrone these gods, 
And they would lose their voices. 
Because even we are gods. 

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HUMANS

Humans!
A race of weak people,
With a tendency to be possessed,
By demons as little as stupidity,
With a tendency to be controlled
By spirits of thievery.
Theft masters of the peace.

Humans!
Are animals now more noble?
They fight fairly for what they want.
They do not tiptoe like shadows
In search of the unknown
With the thickest blanket of carefulness.
How can a person be careful about doing wrong,
But be careless about the smallest things
Like listening to reason.
Are there variants of what is right and what is not?

Humans!
How can we kneel and bow to gods of oppression?
How can we wield weapons like rape, thievery, murder and slavery?
Have we no shame?
I thought we were gods?
Apparently,  gods of foolishness,
the ones who wield the mighty weapon of madness.
Different types of madness.

Humans!
Listen to my song of pity,
Come attend the pity-party I'm throwing.
Let's see if the booze of depression will make you drunk,  knackered
So much that a steaming  cup of sensible reason will sober you up.
Maybe you can be saved.
Maybe.
Only Hope knows.
Let's feed Hope.
The same one,
the fugitive that lives with you,
The same that keeps us standing agains
gravity's disapproval.
Let's feed her.

Humans!
Live,  love, give,  love,  move.

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CALL ME OLIVER TWIST by Ada Thelma

Folks enjoy stories,
Be it sweet or gory.
They love to watch a person mad enough to wriggle out of mediocrity's embrace.
They watched,  read
as Oliver Twist dared,
As he did what others feared.
They hummed songs of pity in their hearts,
As he stood up from where he sat,
As he made for the door,
To ask for more.
The attention they paid this time,
Was greater than the first time.
So he changed the narrative.
Okay,  he challenged the narrative.
Familiarity clothes us as regards the story.
He didn't get what he asked for.
But he is known as the boy who asked for more.

So call me Oliver Twist.
Because we learn from the experiences of others
Because I'm not letting go till I get more.
Many get comfortable in mediocrity's hands.
Many live with an insatiable hunger.
A hunger they suppress.
Well I want more.
I want more money.
I want more happiness.
I certainly want more friends.
I want deeper friendships.
I want more knowledge.
Greater insight.
I want a man that refuses to live on the meagre crumbs life gives us.
I want a woman that would make me see the good things hidden in life's stores.
Yes,  those things life reserves for those who would be foolish enough to ask for more.
Those who would be brave enough to fight for more.
Because life doesn't give you what you ask for.
Only the violent taketh it by force.

I want more.
Call me Oliver's improvement.
Because even when I get slapped,
I'll keep my palms outstretched and supinated.
Even when I'm flung to the wall,
I'll rise up and give it my all.
My resistance

Call me Oliver Twist.
Because I always want more.
Because it's not always bad to want more.

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BLACK ALBINO by Ada Thelma

Skin of colour,
Eyes that shame the pendulum's dance.
So they call you that paradox that was never destined to be understood.

Black albino;
Skin the colour of rich brown earth,
Eyes that move to and fro
Like demons on patrol.
They see your colour and wonder if it's paint.
They call you albino;colourless
And they put a black robe on it.

They say the eyes are the window of the soul
And maybe they've seen a dichotomy difficult to understand
Because they've decided to drink the sweet mead of ignorance.
So you smile and let them exist with volatile  understanding.
While you exist in a nature that defies natural

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A Hundred Lessons by Ada Thelma Iyke

I've learnt the hard way.
I've learnt the simple things.
I've learnt that you do not gulp down hot tea,
That careful sips prevent singed tongues.
I've learnt that you do not carry a hot pot with your bare hands,
That such foolish boldness leaves you with scorched palms.

I've learnt.
I've learnt you do not mount a Bike with a straight-cut skirt.
I've learnt that such ventures leave you with a funny person; shame.
I've learnt that you do not soak bread in tea in public.
Because such careless comfort is akin to an abased public image.
I've learnt that you do not eat ewedu soup without water close by.
Because doing that is the same as squeezing your fathers ear when the door is locked.

I've learnt random things.
That you should not drink water after eating pineapple.
That you should not attempt to fry banana the same way you fry plantains.
I've learnt that you must bend down when eating cashew fruits.

I've learnt.
I've learnt the hard things too.
I've learnt that you do not put your trust in a man.
I've learnt that you should not attach extreme importance to any thing or anyone. Because moderation is bliss.
I've learnt that disappointment is inevitable,
That human emotions are fickle.
I've learnt that you do not cause tears of pain and regret stream down the face of your mother,
Because it is a painful sight.
I've learnt that two wrongs were never destined to make a right,
That it is like waiting to see fuel and fire cause rainfall.
I've learnt that nothing matters more than family and friends,
Because no matter how distant they become,
They'll pay their respects the day you die.

I've learnt that love is supreme,
That it is the creative force of the universe.
I've learnt.
I've learnt that simple things are the most beautiful.
I've learnt that family is wonderful.

I've learnt that food is good,
That music is paramount for identity and harmony.
I've learnt too that words are important.
So mull over these ones.,
Because everything begins as a word.
Whether it be ink on the walls of your heart,
Or sounds with meaning on your lips.
I've learnt that it is good to learn.
I've learnt that we are life's students.
We graduate when we die.
Have you learnt this?

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PANACEA by Ada Thelma Iyke

 Dear broken spirit,
 I bring you soft whispers and small kisses like a mother's touch to a bruised knee.
 As you lie crushed and downcast in solitude, I bring you words of comfort.
 I bring you oil to grease the rusted parts of your heart.
 I bring you ointments and bandages, salve for your wounds.
 Let my arms wrap you, leaving your pain engulfed by the poisonous elixir of love that pours out from my being; poisonous to the very pain that so nibbles at your essence. Let my shoulders be the pillow that gets soaked with your tears,
 never getting too wet to take more.
 Let my eyes be a beacon that emblazes your soul.

 Let my words relax the throbbing muscles of your mind.
 Let them, these words I speak, like water to a fire, quench the rage in your soul
So that the smoke rises with ash, ashes that settle and become fertilizers for other hurting souls.
 Let me be your panacea.


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8 Days

On Monday, we said hello. That day, I wrote about the rain that drenched my new gown on my way to work and about a certain stranger that stood up in the bus for me to sit.
On Tuesday, we ran into each other again. That day,fate pushed you to the market and made me linger at that meat seller's stand where we said hello the 2nd time. That day, I wrote in my diary about how expensive meat was and how I couldn't buy enough carrots for the salad I wanted to make. That day, I gave you my number.
On Wednesday, I laughed at your dry jokes. That day, I wrote about life and the little things that make us happy. I told my diary about you and how dry your jokes were. That day, I thought about how we wore the same lenses in our outlooks on life.
 On Thursday, we went out for dinner. That day, I sat across the table from you and watched as you ate your Egusi soup and garri without spilling a drop on the table. That day, I told my diary that a man who can eat Egusi soup and garri with such carefulness must be a good shepherd. I thought you would make a good manager- Of my heart and a home.
 On Friday, my heart hypothetically fell down from my chest and got stuck in my jeans. Because you went on your knees. Because you put a silver ring on my finger. Because you promised to give me a life that diamond owners would envy.
 On Saturday, the priest announced "you may kiss the bride" That day, you released the passion you had kept prisoner for long. That day, my father knew I had found another husband, the real one. That day, I told my diary that I had found my compliment.
 On Sunday, we were late to church. That day, we held a mini Thanksgiving service in our room. That day, some angels were late to church because we hosted them in our room.
 On Monday, I woke up alone on my bed. It wasn't because you had left but because you hadn't come. That day, I told my diary about a dream that lasted for 8 days. "Must be prophecy" I said to myself. That day, a stranger said hello to me on the bus and I smiled to myself.

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