Life...

Life...

where you are giving;
or being given
just to make things even

strife...

times you hit the road and everything's steep
make a detour home to bed but can't sleep
tick-tock and nothing is worth the keep

Rife...

Tills all day only to find empty, your fills
chagrined and livid 'cos you can't pay the bills
then you stride away from it all hoping for auto-fills;
 
providence!

The writer tweets @vilejah

The Regressives

I see a melee of regressives
hurrying back into the future
boasting and priding in adhoc features
with no direction nor perfect pictures
A cue signifying their illusion is real

The simple and good; their last resorts
The bad and the complex; their ideal slots
Reverence for the superficial; their delight
Their purpose; fizzled, blurred and hazy
With no desire to nurture their sixth senses

A legion of leaders without willing followers
Goons who only wage war for the sake of peace
From their gated abodes, they protest with ease
Terrified, as they stare at the petrified rebels
heckling free men in shackles...

I am not leaving because i stopped living
Neither will i stop because i stopped moving
I am rewriting the scenes to avert the common sins
To bring to the fore, the damage and the carnage
Until everyone is freed from their raged anger

For their respite, they will need expressive love
To break their silence in the face of freedom of speech
To make the simple and good; their ideal slots
The complex and bad; their last resorts
And Get back to the basics to become progressives

The Storyteller

Things have never really been the same again. He went up North and she went down South. According to her, he has lost it. He has lost what she wants; the very thing that energizes her and brings her alive. She doesn't remember when they last had any quality time in a world where everything was quantified.

He was jarred and getting lost in his world; dealing with his devils. He was up against everything, except himself. He hasn't lost the magic that fixates her and hasn't lost the charm befitting a Prince, only, no one had told her that reality is harsh. She has shut her eyes to the occurrences around her and given up on life. However, she clung and became friends with hope; an attribute she needed so badly in that dire moment.

Hope will come around anytime, even uninvited. Hope tells her it was going to be alright. It also tells her to take it easy and hang in there. Lastly, hope assured her that, her man has not lost the magic of loving her the way she wanted, neither has he lost the art of telling her stories. Even though, she didn't believe, she smiled at the insight.

The insight energized her and brought back fond memories, so she reached out for her backpack and stuffed it with a Walkman, a pen and a paper, a couple of assorted fruit bonbons from the dining table  and her phone she had switched off all day. She was headed for their favorite spot at the beach to have a quiet time. For a change, she was going to do what she hasn't done before. She wants her man, and she is going to do everything, maybe, just something to have him.

She is going to try her hands at penning down her feelings in simple terms. She is no award winning writer. She is just a lover who wants things better than they were.

Just before she set out to write a sestet for him, she felt some eyes boring into her. She frantically looked around, but saw nothing, so she began writing.

My bony ebony
If only I could see u 
I would not be this blue
And we might just sail through 
just as wishes will not be horses 
I can never get over your kisses

As soon as she dotted the last sentence, the apparent feeling manifested. He has come looking for her, after calling her phone all day. He hugged her from behind and a combination of fear and a clout of mixed feelings of whether to be indifferent or hug back came to the fore. But before she could actually think, her body, spirit and soul has taken over reasoning, and she hugged back. He then pulled a mail envelope from the back pocket of his branded Akademiks denim Jeans, while the moment was still tensed up and he gently shoved it into her already opened hand.  "Here", and he started to walk away.

She quickly opened the envelope and shakily removed the pad  but it was tightly folded. She unfold,ed the first one and it was blank. Second one, and it was the same. These, coupled with the fact that the distance between them was widening was not amusing, she was becoming apprehensive. The suspense heightened till the fifth, which was coincidentally the last one and this had something scribbled on it.

I haven't lost my story telling abilities to u and I'm still your man. i will forever be your Prince Charming, and I want you to now and always be mine. Call me when you are ready and let's make up. Come see me and let's change the world!

And now, with her lit eyes, she didn't even know if she should just jolly after him or sit back and refine her poem for him.

Saints and Sinners!

I don’t know if this rhetoric will fit to be a good prose,

Neither am I sure if it will be laden with any literary devices.

Not to talk about poetic quality to adorn it like thorns on a rose;

But I pray the questions inherent provokes your thought

And set your mind and heart on a soul searching spree.

It might even help your spirit soar and set your conscience free.

But firstly, show me two things and let’s proceed; a saint and a sinner.

And the difference between a righteous and a self-righteous spinner.

Yes, I binge drink and you occasionally gulp in a couple of spirits.

I wear condoms and aid in abortions while you literally kill people.

Just like my liking for the color green and you, purple!

You also point fingers at me for smoking while you safely harbor in lust;

Avariciousness is what you wake up to yet you call me a thief;

You spit on my existence and what I stand for, like a dustbin;

While calling me names because I don’t indulge in your kind of sin;

You call me a sinner while you live your illusive life as a saint.

Forgetting that you cannot see through any object with a taint.

How about removing the log in your eyes first – objectivity.

Before proceeding to quenching my thirst – positivity.

You sex two or more people yet call me a prostitute – subjectivity.

We both engage in different and varied degrees of vices – relativity.

So just allow your good self to live and let’s live – adaptivity.

I want to be free; devoid of your labeling theories.

To be referred to, as an individual and not this or that

Hence my resolve to be true, thorough and tough,

A force to reckon with and not to be written off,

Accept my flaws for it is not your call to judge.

Just do your bidding and wait for the clarion call,

The only moment to know the true saints and sinners.

My Society

Taking a stroll through the neighborhood, it reveals

A society that is continually shutting it doors,

 A society where liberated minds make you look on with awe,

 A society that only devalues and devour,

 A society that knows you more than you do know yourself,

A society that loves you when you satisfy their ego,

 A society that only gives you things you can never have,

A society that looks at you rather than look through you,

A society where many rulers abound with no clue,

 A society that detests members with a mind of their own,

A society that thrives on conflicts and animosity,

 A society trying to clone us without a prototype,

 A society that condemns you before trial,

 A society that can shut down at the push of a knob,

A society that is on the brink of an abyss,

A society that is hanging frail in its structure,

A society where peace has been broken into pieces,

A society where cause and effect has no correlation,

A society that always takes more than it gives,

 A society that uses, abuses and refuses,

My society; that society, is where I come from.