Lemuel 2

Feelings was just Lemuel wanted. Or what he needed to drown his guilt that evening.

Come on, he told himself as he looked, lost, at the bartender but actually miles behind the cellar behind him. The evening is still young and mingle is written in the air. Breathe it and live!

Daniel sipped some brandy, gargled it, came close to him, and in some uncouth fashion, extruded the hot spirit into his ear through the gap in his front teeth.

He came to like some voltage was passed through his system. It was no use; Daniel was already nestled   across the hall between two buxom ladies:  far out of the reach of his wrath.

He helped himself to some Tangaray.

The Lenovo appeared in his hands. He pressed the search button. He pressed ‘B’ in the search box.

Her name was first on the list. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face her. He had to keep up the façade.

Suddenly, the Lenovo buzzed.

A text message.

He got up and took one last look at his friend and two other men in varying degrees of morally-depraved activity with up to five ladies slithering around them. He walked out, heavy.

Two thousand kilometers away in some cozy hospital, a pretty, fair complexioned lady was staring with trepidation at the electrocardiogram. The sinusoidal pattern that measured the heartbeat was ebbing flat. She looked on in horror.

 ‘Jesus! Save me!’

It picked up once again.

Lemuel walked in, crestfallen. When he saw her, he buckled and landed on his knees, sorrow painting his face.

He knew how she looked when he last saw her. He knew his eyes were not deceiving him, here and now.

She had drifted to sleep, a tired and uncertain one. He could not ask what happened.

Like a gymnast doing the final round of a series of backflip stunts, Sheila threw her bag to the far corner of the room, lifted her fit self, and landed square on the ten-inch spring mattress in the middle of her room,  all in one swift movement. She did not care that her throwing calculations were not so accurate:The bag had missed the second layer of the open closet by inches, fallen on its side, and spilled combs, her vanity box, sweets, an extra weave, and perfume.

She did not care. Today was hectic enough.

She savoured a good twenty minutes’ rest.

Here she was, engaged to the best man in the world, having a 4.87 grade point in her final semester, with the United Nations expository team  watching her academic progress with eagle eyes, impatient to swoop down on her upon graduation, parents to whom she meant the world, and an only brother who would give an arm for her. Could life be any more sweeter and fulfilling at this point?

A Lenovo ThinkPad materialized in her arms from wherever, instantly. She hadn’t networked in like a month, thanks to this hell, otherwise known as school.

She punched in her Facebook password.

Her long time friend, Kemona’s wall came into focus instantly. She had added six new photographs.

Characteristic of the epileptic Ogi network, the fractions of the picture began to fall into place one after the other like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It started with a head, arms, which looked like they cupped something. She watched on as the image progressed to that of a lady inside the cupped arms. The lady looked fat and white initially, until she saw it was a gown, which flowed and covered like half a metre radius around her, swallowing the lower part of the man entirely, for he was behind her.

The loading progressed.

She could see the man was tall, way taller than the woman, and he had his lips buried in her mass of Brazillian weave, and she could make out a part of his shoe which peeked out of the covering of the gown on the ground. The entire picture was completely formed, but blurred.

Then it became clearer and clearer, pixel after pixel.

Sammie. Her Sammie. She checked the date. Two days before.

With a loud crash, the Lenovo fell and bruised.

Something strong and hard tugged at her heart. She passed out.

Lemuel looked up at the electrocardiogram. There was an urgent beeping sound, and the waves were ominously flat.

‘Doctor! My sister!’

Sheila’s chest received five voltage-induced resuscitations, as well as five more manual ones. But it was useless. She had stopped breathing long ago. And had crossed the divide horribly.

‘Noooooooooooooo!’

Lemuel dashed out of the ward and stared down fifty feet below him. He climbed the balustrade.

He leapt into the air before the fastest of the doctors could reach him. With eyes shut, he waited for the inevitable.

Just as he neared the ten foot mark, an ambulance braked and parked sharply below him.

A heavy thud, as body met reinforced softness.

 'Arrrrrrrrrgh!!!!' My back!!!!'

The Last Sermon

‘The minute the man of sin takes over the Vatican, the Bride of Christ should start thinking of going up to meet the Lord in the air, and I am sorry for whoever will miss that rapture. For the Bible says there will be such a trouble as there has never been on the earth, and of course never shall be. No man will be able to eat or drink unless he has that mark pledging his allegiance to the anti Christ system, orchestrated by the Pope of Rome. Nobody should be deceived into believing that it is going to be a physical mark on the hand or forehead; it is the symbolic language of the Bible.  For the truth is that the mark on your forehead means that you gave your approving nod to any doctrine that is unbiblical, and the mark on your hand means you participated in any activity that negates the Word of God. The anti Christ is not a person, but a system.  Any form of worship, education, commerce, and every aspect of life and living will be fully in the firm grips of the Vatican, and God help anyone who refuses or goes contrary to the dictates of the system…he will surely be killed.

   ‘Remember that God is not a polygamist, and as the husband of the church that he is, he cannot have two living wives at the same time. As such he blinded the Jews in part, so He could minister to we the Gentiles. When the end of the Gentile dispensation comes, which will be marked by a sudden disappearance of every Christian that has lived true to the Word of God, the Lord Jesus will turn His attention to the Jews once more. By the instrumentality of two prophets of Revelation 11, He will show his true Self once more to His beloved. They will cry and weep, and repent, and it will culminate in the salvation of the 144,000 of Revelation 7. He who has ears, let him hear…….’

    The congregation was stone-cold and grave-sober. Each man, woman and child whose ears had been impinged  by the reflective sermon that Sunday morning was lost in deep thought, and for the two straight hours it lasted, each thought and weighed his or her options of making it. Most of them didn’t even hear when the pastor, in a voice laden with emotion, made an altar call, inviting anyone who needed grace to run the all-important race.

   Every single individual rushed to the altar, as if on cue. Most of them had misty eyes.

Some fifteen minutes later, prayers over, Pastor Nick was preparing to make the final announcements, when there came some aggressive and deep noise coming from the outside. An Armoured Personnel Carrier (APC) had torn into the compound, and had braked sharply, showing one nearby Mercedes 230E the mercy of sparing its rear bumper. The two elastic six-foot antennae on the front and rear were still oscillating from the sudden stop, when at least ten menacing soldiers jumped out, wielding sophisticated weapons. In the far corner, one soldier had just kicked the security guard in the butt, to propel him to obey his immediate orders to begin a five-metre frog jump. His offence was opening the gate five seconds late.

   Major Amu tapped on the auditorium door alright, but didn’t have the patience for any usher.  He kicked the door open, nearly shattering the hinges and locks, and advanced towards the altar. He snatched the microphone from Brother Emmanuel who was asking a question relating to the service.

‘Who is in charge of this place?’

Pastor Nick stepped forward, fearlessly. There was the bark of a Russian assault rifle somewhere deep in the compound, twice and short.

   ‘Can I see your license of operation and incorporation from the Christian Association of Nigeria?’

‘We do not belong to such associations, Major’, Pastor Nick replied coolly, assessing correctly his rank from his decorations. ‘Besides, I am not aware they have started issuing licenses of operation….’his voice trailed off, distributing a knowing look round to his congregation, as the import of that question dawned on all of them. Home going time!

‘May I ask why?’

‘We do not believe that what we are seeing as the church body today is a body of Christians, in the first place. We cannot afford to be in league with churches who conspire to push God out of His place by errantly disobeying His Word. For example, the Bible forbids a woman to teach in the church of the saints. Can you give me a church that is a member of that association that does not flout this commandment?  Most of the churches that gather there are masquerading occultisms with Christianity. We are a different breed here, Major. We take God for His Word.’

Despite himself, the Major could not help listening raptly as the pastor dished out a near sermon to him, but in between, he came to and had to cut the man of God short. ‘We have authorization to shut down any church that does not show us the proof we need! Every body down!’ he boomed, and a flurry of activity marked the people’s hurriedness to comply. The pastor was the last to obey, going down on his belly, but not until the American bazooka in the hands of the soldier communicated how serious he was. The bullets ate up a large chunk of the ceiling, and indeed the roof.

  ‘Throw your Bibles on the altar!’ he cried, like he was barking to some young recruits in training. Obedience was immediate, and his colleagues gathered them.

‘The offering box…where is it?’ an officer who looked younger asked Pastor Nick, and was told what he needed to hear, but when he looked up to Major Amu for approval, the menacing glare he got was all he needed to check himself. They quietly gathered the Bibles, and they ended up in the boot of the jeep.

  ‘The new directive is that no religious building has the right to operate without permission. I do not want to hurt God’s people. You had better confer with the Christian organization to get yours, or I wont have this conversation with you any more, when I return and you don’t produce it. That is if you are alive to tell the story.’

  He barged out.

   The minute the last soldier closed the oak door of the church, over one hundred and fifty members of Spoken Truth Assembly, including the pastor, vanished thinly into oblivion, seamlessly, soundlessly and immediately. Other personal effects were left behind. The remaining thirty lifted their voices, and wept bitterly.

When they prepared to drive out, two hours later, after growing bored of weeping, there was a pool of blood near the gate, and the body to which it belonged was nowhere to be found. Beside the pool stood a pair of old Cortina sandals.

More weeping and wailing.

The disappearance of people all over Omi town took residents by surprise, though the ‘victims’ were so insignificant and infinitesimally small. At most police stations, scores of pictures were pasted, while relatives and associates besieged the stations by the day, inquiring after their loved ones.

     Brother Damien sat staring into space that morning, knowing it was all over for him. He knew exactly what to expect within the next few months, even days. With this new directive, he knew everything would fall in place quickly and perfectly, and he knew life would be a living hell for him and his five-strong family. He was due to resume at the Federal Ministry of Works the following week, and he had nearly run out of supplies. O God gracious! All the while he had been progressing in fatal assumption, believing he had a spiritual claim to the Rapture. He was a minister in Spoken Truth Assembly, and had performed countless miracles that had drawn no fewer than fifty converts to the church. As he sat tear-eyed, the Technicolor image of his journey into Christianity played before him, and he was sorrowed most deeply by the part wherein his father publicly disowned him before the elders of his town, for seceding from Catholicism, his traditional family faith. The fact that he was now in the same condition with his herbalist father heightened his grief, and he felt like ending it all.

  There came two sharp beeps on his HTC Desire mobile phone.

Jolted, he picked the phone see who was texting him this early. Jasmine.

‘I know your wife is out; I have changed venue to your usual home away from home. I am waiting, you will like what you will see…..Muah’, the small lettering communicated the lewd message to him.

If only this kind of message had come just a few weeks earlier………..

  He got up, and stared out the window. Life was still carrying on like nothing had happened. The early morning street buzzed and blared, cars in the usual routine of beating traffic to get to their destinations on time.

  In the far corner of the street, he suddenly saw that soldiers were jumping down from a huge truck. One who looked like the leader had a sheet of paper, and was moving from house to house, and doing what looked like some checking. A few people were hurled from their stores and homes, and he was surprised they were neither shot nor manhandled.

He had been hearing this over and on, and he could not forgive himself. Full control was in the hands of the state now, and anything could happen from now on. He dashed to the radio, and the governor was just concluding his speech.

‘The only recognised form of Christianity is the Roman Catholic church, Islam the Ansar Ud-deen, but there is no restriction on any other form of religion. They will be in full control and determine every form of our national life, from employment, to movement, to travelling, commerce, and everything. I will call on every resident of this state to register with them for permits…….’

Damien fixed the chair, and fastened the twine to the ceiling fan.  Next, he mixed the rat poison and bleaching cream in boiling water, and filled it into an Aquadana bottle. He dropped the bottle, and climbed the chair. He inserted his neck in the noose, and dangled.

  Ten minutes, and though the grip was choking, it looked like his wind pipe was insulated from the pain and choke. This was going to be useless, as he knew and expected. He disengaged, and gulped the mixture.

The effect was two loud belches, and one long and hard fart that woke his three year old son.

‘Daddy, I’m hungry!’

The Doom of Man

Large, but seemingly virtual hands were hard at work on something that resembled an orang-utang. Moulding, kneading, shaping, and correcting. When the full form of the mammal stood before the glassy pair of hands, almost animatedly, the same hands simply sliced some strategic points, and each single whole part which belonged to the member of the baboon family thudded on the cushioned ground. There appeared a face, hands, butt, legs, bones of all shapes, sizes and fittings, nerves, tendons and ligaments, intestines, everything. As swiftly as the parts had fallen to the ground, the hand had resumed work again, gathering them into a cocooned container. It was only then Adamu spoke up, having witnessed the latter part of the work.

‘What are you doing, sir?’ he quizzed, even though he had a faint idea what was going on.

‘Oh, just spare-parting for your animals’, the Voice was still, cool, and reeked peace and friendliness. ‘I watch that Ame by the day, and I am sure he is soon to break those limbs, the way he launches from tree to tree. Do you think the spring I put in his leap is too much? I can cut it down in their next generation, you know.’

‘I think its rather okay that way, sir. Or rather, let’s watch and see how it plays out in the next generation. We can then effect the adjustments. But it actually gives me pleasure, the way these animals leap’, he added, a smirk breaking from his red, well positioned lips.

‘Okay…you are the boss on this…just wanted your opinion…so how are you finding your new mate?’

‘What is that latest nickname of yours again…..isn’t it Lord, sir? You are just too perfect for me to handle. I couldn’t have had it any better. She is so beautiful; sometimes I get lost looking at her. Though she asks too many questions, but that is small fry, compared to being alone in all this magnificence.’

The glassy hands dropped the baboon parts, and travelled five metres to rest on his shoulders. It patted him gently and reassuringly. ‘My son……all yours to enjoy.’

………………………………………………………………………………………………….........................................................

He stirred from sleep to look dreamily into eight pairs of eyes, and stares. The long mane and growl of the lion had been ineffective, so the cobra thought it was his turn to try. Meandering and slithering round his body the eighth time, he was soon to discover the futility of his effort, until the elephant had doubled up and lifted him gently by the waist a few inches high, and dropped him the same way.

‘Oh, fellas, I am so sorry, the communion was sweet. Lets go!’

He leapt up and ran some metres in the direction of the orchard, the lion following hard at his heels. Time for games.  Adamu parted the hedge of shrubs that served as the door, got in, and picked a tomato. He did not like the taste he got, and he knew the reason.

‘I need moisture for these fruits’. He looked back at them. The thought of forfeiting this hour’s games did not sit well with them, particularly the elephant who had boasted what he would do to the giraffe at the catch. They ogled at him, confused.

Suddenly and blessedly, the ground underneath them felt wetter and wetter. The seeping up of underground water threatened to cover the grasses that formed both carpet and cushion, but did justly, and spread round. In moments, the colour of fruity ripeness appeared on every fruit tree, and the glee of the animals was deafening.

‘Who’s first?’

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Her jet-black hair was of the creamiest and healthiest kind, tapering luxuriantly down to her  hour-glass waist. Her full and naked behind was carefreely flaunted, which balanced well on the most appropriate set of thighs and legs, which ran a good distance southwards at least a metre and half. The innocent, perfect, bright-skinned and rounded form of Iva had discovered the blueberry today and could not wait to take one home to Adamu, of course after tasting three of it herself. The taste was heavenly, and she would ask Adamu how it was grown. She popped two more into her mouth, and savoured contentedly. Her lush eyelashes parted open and turned sharply when a rustle in the leaves startled her.

‘Hi’. Smooth as silk was the voice.

‘Hello. I haven’t seen you before. I live here alone with Adamu. He tells me he is my husband.’

The figure behind her, which she had turned to face squarely, smiled. It was a knowing smile, one so pregnant, of his vast knowledge of this kind of species, and of a knowing of her naivety, which felt good to notice.

‘My name is Bon’.

‘You look so much like Adamu, but your voice is so different, if not more beautiful.’

Í haven’t seen you around too. You look new….and beautiful too.’ There was a strange emphasis on the last adjective.

‘So how are you finding our garden? Sweet? Enjoyable?’ He asked, as he gently settled down beside her on the grass, eyeing her intently.

‘I am enjoying every bit of it. This place is so heavenly!’

‘Speaking of heaven, you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait till you experience my heaven.’

‘What do you mean? Do you have a heaven? Show me!’

‘It depends….. I have to run along now. Be seeing you!’

Iva glared at the receding form that was Bon. He was arguably more handsome than her husband. Where Adamu was of average height, this here was at least six feet, with shoulders and a hairy chest which promised so much succour and protection. She had never seen Adamu shave, so she wondered how Bon managed to have that snaky, curly length of hair running smoothly from the side of his head to his chin. Adamu’s eyes were strong and always tired, but Bon had deep, soft, searchy eyes that bored like a drill. She needed to know him, and wanted to hear the ring of his voice again. She had decided she liked him, and it surprised her. She would look for him tomorrow……..

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Iva woke with a start. Sweet start, for looking deep into her dreamy hazel eyes was another which she could have sworn had some distant flame in it. She had seen a flame before, but the sheer hue and form of the one she was now looking at was one she needed to feel and touch. He had added tons to his handsomeness today. If it were the eyes alone, it could have been more bearable; today his face seemed to have that perfect chisel and fit that was strangely pleasing and alluring. She also thought she perceived some sweet smell around him. He radiated finery in a strange way.

‘Hi.’ His voice drew her the more. She couldn’t stop herself reaching for his face, tracing appreciatively the ‘L’shape of the curly burn of hair that ended in a large mass on his chin.

‘Your hands are unbelievably soft. Woow’.

‘How did you get here?’

‘Óh come on Iva, you are everywhere I look.’

‘Everywhere you look? Is that possible?

‘Everywhere I see.’

‘Mmmm. How do you mean?’’

‘Oh, never mind that. Its just my way of saying you are everywhere I imagine.’

‘Everywhere you imagine?’

‘I think about you all the time!’ he said it so bluntly, with some dose of emphasis, one that he felt like accentuating with a touch of her fair, soft face, and he did. His hairy hands did touch, actually, more than her face; it travelled down towards, and ended up on the mounds on her chest, which turned pink at his touch. The hand spent some seconds there.

‘That felt sweet.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes. Can you do it again?’

No.’

‘Why?’ Silence replied.

‘You were telling me about your heaven yesterday.’

‘Oh, that’, he was staring far now, face taut, yet not losing the imposing handsomeness. Suddenly he turned, facing her squarely, and pinned her with his eyes. His eyes travelled slowly but surely from her face, lips, rested a little as it reached her breasts, continued to the stomach, navel, and berthed at the dark hairy parting in the middle of her legs, and anchored. She followed his gaze till she could trace  it. She parted her legs a little further. ‘What?’

‘That. My heaven.’

‘I don’t understand.’ He smiled, knowingly, and generously.

‘You do, you just do not know.’

‘Okay, but I will die if I do. It is the tree we are not supposed to eat of.’

‘I can’t believe you have learnt to lie. How old are you in this place, and you lie that you don’t understand?’

‘I am sorry I said I didn’t understand, but my husband said we will die if we eat of the tree. I don’t know what eating of the tree means. Do you know?’

‘It depends…..’ that faraway look, taut face again.

‘It depends on you, Iva. I love you, and I can’t hide anything from you.  All my knowledge I am willing to give you. You are being deceived, Iva. I suppose the Creator told your man that. He wants to retain control over you, to keep ordering you about, to keep you depending on Him for everything. That is why He gave you those ridiculous set of rules. If you try what I am willing to show you, the world and universe will be open to you. You will have superb control over everything, and above all, you will be wise. You will not die.’

‘This sounds reasonable. No wonder. I have been asking Adamu about this tree but he refuses to say anything. Can you show me? I want control too. I hate having to ask him everything all the time.’

‘You really want it?’ A nod of accent.

‘Then lie down.’

Bon took time to fully explain the intricacies to Iva who was now feverish with desire, until he graduated smoothly from theoreticals to practicals, making sure he had her full consent at each stop. The initial pain she felt was nothing compared to the waves of heaven she knew, but little did she notice the darkening of Bon’s face, and the deep reddening of his eyes, his glee at injecting his seed into the specie inexplicable and intense.

‘Can we do this again?’

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

‘Adamu’, she cooed to him later when they were together.

‘Yes dear.’

‘I want to teach you something. A new trick.’

‘Wow, what is it about?’

Without another word, she lay on her back, parted her legs, and pointed to the limp small pipe between his muscular thighs, and showed him what to do with it, gesticulating with her hands, saying nothing. With a puzzled look, he brought it close to target, and the rest of the leading, initiation and consummation was chaired by Iva. The new trick lasted five minutes, but as soon as it was over, everything became strangely different, and became worse as the seconds ticked by.

It started with a rushing feeling of guilt, to the extent he could not face the animals, though he could not lay a finger on what it was, and why he felt so lost and alone . He called on the tortoise for the usual morning advice, but it pretended it did not hear him. When it happened with the hippo, tiger and giraffe, he knew what it was at once.

It had to do with that trick he had been taught.

Several changes had occurred on his body. He was now broad-chested, taller and muscular, and he felt used and spent most of the time. These days when he slept, he could no longer connect seamlessly to the laboratory where there was more spare-parting to do. No more word from the Creator anymore, no more interactions. When he looked at Iva these days, he felt in the place of love and admiration, a strange familiarity and contempt, and wanted less and less to do with her. She seemed to know, also, for she also kept her shamefaced distance. They talked less and less, and were hardly seen in each other’s company.

One day, Adamu could stand the atmosphere no longer, and combed the garden for his wife. When he found her, he moved towards her, and was not up to ten yards close to her when an unprecedented happened.

How she got to know she was being watched Adamu could never tell, for she spun round instinctively, using one hand to cover her bosom, and the other the dark part under her navel. She did a very bad job of it, turning her face westwards. Adamu was about to inquire after what had come over his wife, when the boom of the Creator’s voice sent the both of them scampering for cover under the shrubs, Iva hiding behind him. ‘Take, cover yourself’, he said, offering her some loosely tied fig leaves.

‘Where are you, Adamu?’ the voice was straight, formal, and expressionless. He did not answer.

The voice boomed again, laden with threat and proximity, assaulting Adamu, and he was forced to stagger and fall back, and only then did he manage a reply.

‘I cannot face you, sir.’

‘What happened? Why?’

‘I am unclothed.’

‘So you now know that? Have you eaten of that tree?’

‘It was Iva, sir, and you gave her to me.’

‘Iva, is that true?’

 ‘The serpent deceived me, I am sorry.’

A small party had gathered around the scene, and Bon, nudged on and pushed helplessly by the elephant, eyes transfixed to the ground, propelled to stand near Iva, and kept there by the numerous pairs of eyes, curious to know the next move.

‘I had my reasons for not allowing you eat of that tree’, the Voice began, and for disobeying me, all of you must suffer the consequences. Bon, for allowing yourself to be overtaken by that old evil spirit, you will crawl on your belly, and dust will be your food. There will always be war between your children and the children of light.’

‘To you, Iva, for allowing yourself to be defiled by a beast first instead of your husband, I will not spare you. Giving birth will be painful for you and may kill you, and you will begin to menstruate every month. Your husband WILL rule you, and you will cede all your glory and honour to him, since you did nothing good with yours.

‘Adamu, for choosing to identify with a woman in sin instead of obey me, nothing will be easy for you to get. You will sweat before you eat, and you will no longer live forever, as was my initial plan, but you will grow old, get sick, and die. You will pay for anything you get; nothing shall be free for  you anymore.’ like the rumble of thunder, the voice echoed far into the deep, and ended like it started.

Like he was being hypnotized, Adamu felt like he was being unskinned, spirit separated from his body and soul. The same happened to Eve before his eyes, and he could see her light VIRTUAL float around, and away. In a flash, both of them felt empty, sensual and heavy. The animals, grunting their disapproval, went their separate ways.

By the next day, all the greenery of the garden had waned considerably, and his first five steps, of the rest of his life made him cry out in sharp pain. He had stepped on  a thorn, which was the first of many to come, and he began to name them all over again. He was also greeted some mornings later with the sight of a dead and bloodied goat, mauled to death by the lion which he could see walking gingerly away.

Some months later, he came home after a long day’s hustle to find his wife in a messy pool of some whitish substance.

‘I’m pregnant, Adamu!’

Heartbeat

Kip, kip, kip

Weak as it may sound

Feeble as a baby’s hands

Tapping on a giant

Yet with each of those little hits

Comes one of the most needed supplies

A flow of life

Building blocks

Of a man’s essence

Assured of action

Function and faction

For the next two minutes.

Kip, kip, kip

Steadily though not surely

The length of a man’s system

Naturaly and graciously

Turned a long and winding ‘trunk A’

 Twisting and curving

Meandering and slithering

On which smoothly and dictatorially flows

Life in its redness and fullness

With hundreds of stops and diversions

Sometimes fast, sometimes slow

Yet enough to make grow

And feed existence to

Tiny bitties of parts ordained for greatness.

Kip, kip, kip

Lightly and pleadingly it slams

Like Christ on the heart’s door

A provider of living

A momentary surety of process

An action so being used to

Little activity so abused

Sometimes cut short

Savagely and unjustifiably

A process so commonplace

Forgetting the Engineer

The First Cause

The first Creator and student

Of physics and fluid mechanics

The first process professor

Seventy-two times a minute

He lends life

Seventy-two times He wraps little gifts of life

Every minute

Seventy-two times He turns romantic

Every minute

Indicating willingness to give and forgive

As well as forbear

Seventy-two times he attempts to woo

A bride who only reciprocates with a boo

Every minute

Seventy-two little text messages

To a phone

Deliberately beyond service’s reach

Every minute

Persistence personified

Insistence practicalized

Those seventy-two times

Accustomed to brick-wall refusal

Neglect and indifference

May the next seventy-two gifts not end

Without my assenting nod.

Ogbonna Nnaemeka Henry. 

Our Cry

Its our day

Let's spill into the streets

Our shrieks and cries

Paying rent for the air

Taking receipts

Let's shout our neglect from the rooftops

And blare our abuse from each speaker

When we march in sync

If we do

 let our feet feebly stamp

Our displeasure

And irk

At our schoollessness

And homelessness

With little Oprah hats on

Let's discuss our fate

And parcel our distrust

To the one

Who says we will lead tomorrow.

Our tender faces

Meant to flash happy teeth

Now define despair

In Shakespearean proportions.

Bodies just shaking the world welcome

Now becoming playthings

Of paedophiles and perverts.

We are now infant marketers

Feeble fenders

As despondency becomes umbilical

Defying every cut and shear.

For Me, For You

                                             

Insults. Spittle. Mockery. Taunts. His dear face.

Whips. The lash. The tear. The pain. His strong back.

The crown of thorns. His crown. The blood. His loving head.

For you, for me.

Nakedness. The essence of His manhood

Bowing humble and limp

To the shame of the sun and earth

As he hung helpless on the tree.

The cross, the weight. The journey. His tired cries.

The struggle. His efforts. The slaps. His dear bleeding mouth.

For you, for me.

For all his doubling and troubling

You are a champion at killing with your mouth

I am an expert at raping with my eyes.

For all the tears and blood

You specialize in cheating without remorse

I control the region of the unbridled stupidity

Of envy and jealousy.

While He almost regrets this sacrifice

You acquire and revel in your degree in keeping malice

While I brandish my diploma in hating without a cause.

Why?

OF FAULTS, CORRECTIONS, ESCAPISMS AND CONSEQUENCES

' Hey Sammie, why were you late to church today?'
 Abegi.... what about those who didn t come at all? Are they not human beings as well?'
  This kind of discourse has become very common place among a lot of people, so much so that it has become very acceptable and even fashionable as the latest means of watering down the import of their wrongdoings, by comparing it to the next worse possible level. At such times, the interrogator who is mostly also guilty of such at one point or the other in the rememberable past, become tongue-tied and the issue is mostly laughed over or the topic substituted almost immediately. The only exception to this postulation will be if the interrogator is someone of higher authority, and even that is subject to some degree of probability.

  The truth of the matter remains that, for every inaction or action, there is a ready and waiting consequence. That one is as true and sure as the midday sun. The Scripture and Mother Nature are sisters on this one- it is the way the cosmos has been fashioned. The timing and placing of the consequence is immaterial.
  Now, correction has basic components which include content, which is the real substance of the wrongdoing, what makes it wrong and why it is wrong, giving practical reasons. Another component of correction is the sternness of it. A correction qualifies as an effective one if it carries enough deterrent in it. this can come in form of harsh words, punishment, declarations, insults whether veiled or open.  Most times, the correction intended for the defaulter is stripped of content and bite, by this method of negative comparison which in turn gives leverage to that next worse level.

  Man is bad by default. That is why no effort ought to be spared in the bid to make a good person out of someone, and mindsets such as this are usually bad for business. With this kind of approach, corrections become ineffective and devoid of steam, the defaulter tends to carry on unabashed and unquestioned, because there is usually a next worse level of offence to compare the present to, absolve oneself, and keep sliding down the steep incline to doom. Needless to say, the grave consequences waiting somewhere down the line blooms and blossoms enough to adequately reward and repay.

   A lot of good will be achieved if we do away with this escapist theory of receiving corrections. It is bad enough that the offence was committed, it will only be wise to take every form of correction in your stride and learn from it.