Friday, October 20, 2017

COULD BE



There’s something in us that was made for glory
It seeks, desperately craves attention
An insatiable abyss
Potholes on Eko streets
Never-ending…
No matter how famous we get,
it keeps us thirsting, yearning, begging
for more
panting, salivating even when
our lips are sealed shut
mad dogs in bespoke suits
some of us mask it, others can’t afford the balaclavas
a goal to some, a ball to others
same playing field, just different boot sizes
scoring accounts and autographing with brown "lip sticks"
and when the vaults are empty
or the stubs stop smoldering
we sing Oliver Twist
to the heartbeat of wall street
and queue at the orchard for the next potter…
Clays never satisfied with their update,
shapes constantly negating their mold.
It’s a sleek strip of red rainbow,
hot multi-faceted hunger
emoji’d on screens glaring back at our void souls.
It’s perplexing how no app
has been programmed for it yet, perhaps
no angel investor has
deep enough pockets to swallow the projections...
truth like brick only rips our gullets
and cravings are profitable,
yet profits don’t lie with us
when we reminisce at the sunset of our seas
so let’s cavalry to the beach
and watch the next expendables – our reflections in the water
what we could be -
content, satisfied beings in YHWH’s glory
beautiful tapestries soiled by humus that came from dust…
contorted beyond the recognition of He who wove them

There’s something in us that was made for glory
And it is only in Him that we will find it


Image: courtesy of LionAid via google.com 


Friday, September 22, 2017

BUREAU OF LIFE [X]


Continued from Bureau of Life [IX]

Mosun stormed into the parking lot outside the complex, mumbling swear words in frustration. She got crabby anytime Gbenga’s ghost was resurrected in conversations or thought. When Gbenga had come to her with the proposition that the budding organization had offered him, she had been supportive of the ill-researched move. She had convinced Gbenga to become an executive member of the organization and to endorse it.

Unknown to her, Tiamiyu and his cronies had ulterior motives and before the wake of a year, Gbenga was spiralling down the tunnel of decadence. Gbenga started getting materialistic, toned down the amount of biblical references he made in his songs, transitioned into inspirational singing and kept late nights.

“Sorry ma,” Benjay said and kicked Mosun out of her reverie. Mosun stared at the shabbily-dressed being leaning on her Prius.

“Listen, I don’t have any change on me right now.” Mosun pressed the unlock button on the remote in her hand and the car beeped.

“I would be insulted if I wasn’t here by instruction.” Benjay said, catching Mosun off-guard. She didn’t expect such polished English from him.

“What do you want?”

“You convinced him to join the organization and now you feel responsible for his fall and eventual demise.”

“What?” Mosun looked round her to be sure the tout was talking to her.

“That’s what you were just thinking.” Benjay said

Now Mosun was scared but she tried to act valiant.

“Take your cheap clairvoyance somewhere else.” She opened her car, slid in, slammed the door behind her, and pinned the central lock.

Benjay figured he’d slammed his one chance of getting across to the woman “The Voice” said was instrumental to the campaign. He had anticipated her reaction. He placed a sheet of paper on Mosun’s windshield as she reversed the car out of her spot. She looked up at it and saw 080-ELBENJAY scribbled on the paper.

“Elion sent me to you.” She heard Benjay’s muted voice. She spun her wheels, engaged the drive gear and sped off.

Benjay watched her drive off like a demented being.

“This is really getting frustrating,” he muttered. “Did you really ask me to do this or do I need psychological help?”

***
The nine heads of departments in the Bureau were seated in the golden room – the only one in the entire complex. Nobody had any idea why Mackel had summoned all of them here, but their guts agreed that this was an emergency. Mackel hadn’t called for an assembly of the heads in the last twelve Zion years. He was seated at the head of the glass-paneled table, his brooch of authority placed by his arm as was the custom during emergencies.

“I have summoned this assembly for the preliminary hearing of an act that is ruled in the edicts as treason.”

The last word got heads turning, except Amaziel and Luciel’s.

“That’s not a light word to use sir,” Remuel, Tephillah Department’s boss, noted. Tephillah Department received and processed prayers.

“Reports garnered from code 234 suggest that Luciel has violated the 7th edict of the Zionic Codex.”

Silence rocked the golden room. Several faces turned to question Luciel but he maintained a poker face. He knew he had finally been caught in his game and the time had come to activate Luciff’s plan.

Yadiel, Yaddah Department’s boss, was the first to split the silence. “My department hasn’t received any information in that regard.”

“I know. I have no idea why Elion’s Spirit has kept mute on this but Luciel within the last five earth-years has been usurping Elion’s glory and I suspect he is in cahoots with Luciff.”

Another wave of shock rocked the room. It was difficult for the departmental heads to swallow the fact that one of them was dealing with Luciff. Luciff was the father of traitors, cast to earth a million Zionic years ago. Before his exile, Luciff was the chief amongst Elion’s creature, higher in rank than even the elders. In his prime, he led Zion in the worship of Elion. Then he assumed too much authority and argued with Elion that creating humanity was a mistake.

At the height of his foolishness and mutiny, Elion derobed him and cast him out of Zion along with his cohorts – a third of angels in Zion. From that day, his sole ambition became the disruption of Elion’s love for humanity. His existence now evolved around his quest to prove that he had been right all along. He was despised in Zion and the mere mention of his name brought back memories of the wars that raged when he and his minions were ostracized.

“I suspect they are planning--” Mackel continued but he was interrupted by a surge of essence that filled the room in a matter of Zionic split-seconds. One moment, Mackel was seated at the head of the golden room glass panel, the next moment he was standing by it and Jackiel, the Bureau of Life’s Overseer, was seated in his place.

All departmental heads rose in respect to their superior but no word was uttered.

“From the throne room, I have been ordered to reassign you, Mackel, Prince of the Bureau of Life, to Inventions,” Jackiel uttered with clenched teeth. “Henceforth, you are relieved of all duties and Amaziel of Shammah Department assumes all your duties.” Everyone watched in confusion but no gestures where made and no questions were asked.

“Let it be to me according to Elion’s will,” Mackel responded. Then Jackiel vanished, just as he had appeared, taking his essence with him. Mackel looked round the room at the confused faces but made no remarks. Then he picked up the golden brooch, walked over to Amaziel and pinned it on the cape of her white coat.


While everyone watched in dismay, Mackel walked out of the golden room demoted, deflated, and listless. However, he registered no complaints. He was confident in the surety of Elion’s plans. He didn’t have to understand why he was demoted, he just had to obey. 


Image courtesy of epic pew via google.com

To be continued

Monday, September 4, 2017

JONAH NO MORE


Written from the belly of the beast...
The slime my ink, the rumblings my thoughts... 
Thinking about the mission, thinking about the call 
It was crisp – Write till there’s nothing left 
Till the world hears 
Till the last arrow has been struck… 
The reward was a crown up above 
Yet I sought glitters down here 
Hunting nothing, nothing of value 
I trusted my plans over yours 
Allowed their wants swallow my needs 
I jonahed, not just myself but my home 
In my search for sparkles, I brought home thorns 
I am sorry. 
I want the mission now. I need it.
If you would have me and lead me again 
Sever the strings that make me lead 
Gold me up 
Scale my eyes to these false lights 
Drown my fears of the unknown with your UNKNOWN 
For a day in the dark with you beats 1000 years in a lit up fallacy 
I don’t wanna be a Jonah no more 
I know you sent me here to be more like Paul 
So, swallow me 
Do not vomit me till the scrolls have been written; 
my ink your blood,
my thoughts your Spirit,
my words be You 
Make me you in flesh... 
Flow Elion flow 
Flow Elion flow 
Till all that is left of this Jonah is Paul.


Image - courtesy google.com