TOES

The slow walk began with a step
As we tethered on to a certain future

We are uncertain

For we could turn back and still be walking in the same direction
All the love we heard mentioned are but echoes of thunder from the cloudy skies that never rain
We wonder
If the future is a path worth threading
When we barely have enough to mend what’s left of our faith

These shoes hurt on many sides
No one should be allowed to walk in our shoes

I have wondered when the colorful pictures we are painted in would stop being a shadow of itself
Seems the only shade of truth is the color of our reflections

But I’ll walk on in those shoes
No matter how tattered they be worn
This I have sworn
To keep believing past where my eyes can see
Till the day comes
When I’ll walk past my failing faith to belief
I’ll keep patching, tailor my feet on a straight path till I am dead
For an uncertain future is brighter than any certain past I’ve thread.

UcTruth
© 2019

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Darling

Darling,
You can let me see the whole you,
You can stand bare before me half dark, and still soar if you’ll just let me show you,

I know life has left you stripped of all the things you couldn’t have,
Swept you off your feet from heights you couldn’t dive,
Dared you with shocks you couldn’t nerve,
Will you let me be it’s one slave that wouldn’t serve?

I’ll defy my master and dare to die,
If you will let your hands fall by your sides,
Let not the darkness cause you lie,
Cos I’m all black and still dare to fly,

To our advantage let’s stir the light,
That years from now when we add to age,
We would look back in time a time at dusk,
When unreachable seemed the giant’s tusks,
In a moment of shame and leap at once
we shadowed the form that birthed us,
Darling.

UCtruth

© 2018

Through Love

Only true love will walk on water when you give a heart of ice
And still hold you close to its shoulders when the shatters prick your eyes
True Love is like fire, it burns
Not to hurt but to cleanse, strengthen, purify
It doesn’t make clean for the other
It does it for itself.

True love has no regrets, it’s open to hurts
Not because he loves it, but would rather take the shot
Than see her eyes dim in death
Or her nose wrinkle through sin to hell
She won’t be left with a filthy dot
True love would be spot on when it sets out to wash her dirt.

True love is beautiful, it has her nose
It has her eyes, just how he loves to see them
It gives completely it’s gifts, hoping you will make room enough for all
It walks her down the hall and calls her bride
She can be naked before it, no longer need to hide.

‘True’ love is a mirage, it’s not real
If I wonder if it’s true, it probably isn’t still

Till all I see is Love
When I see he gave his all
And as he laid his life to love me through
It remains my part to decide if it is true.

And so it is with you.

ucTRUTH

(c) 2018

Turned

I never knew I was digging my own grave when I accepted to be turned

I was later told it was suicidal to die with him

And the gallows will leave marks that thread to eternity

But foolish me!
I was tired of a skin I was forced to wear that 6 feet deep felt like a relief. 

So I caterpillared myself into the soil which felt natural to this disaster I was clad in
But three days later …

Dude decided to rise like bread with yeast

I ate the life and now my blood cloth is worn proudly

He is stingy with me in his fist clenched tightly

And every time I try to snatch me I’m reminded

That I dug my own grave when I let him turn me

Now I’ll live forever, his vampire army

-Uc Truth 

GENERATIONS

I have really wise friends
I have really smart friends
And then I have these other friends. These ones I don’t know how to classify them.

For when you hear their thought process, you will wonder if this part of the body called a brain is vestigial in some animals.
When they utter words, you automatically want an occupation with hammers for every thing they say make you want to break their head.

But then I got to thinking;
6 years,
10 years;
200 years from now and these same ‘not so senseless’, poor in making decisions, and utterly tiring friends of mine would be known as ‘the ancestors’
A status men will begin to idolize.

I see us use a whole lot of our mind’s compartment to believe things that were told to us by people who couldn’t figure out simple things, I mean, some of the very learned of them actually argued that the earth was flat, like a table.

Hollup!

I am not even talking about the unlearned ones from your villages that birthed those you now call grandpa. Just imagine it.

They told you to pour drinks on the floor for the ancestors and you agree, well it’s *Omenala, so it can’t be broken.
They said a woman should be shorn when her husband dies and well, who are we to not obey the voices of ignorance passed down to us?

We carry knowledge like tentacles on a snail’s head but still slip back into the cave of ignorance we use to shell whatever good we can make of life, just because we have been told to ‘stand on the wisdom of the elders’,
Now guess who said that? ‘THE ELDERS’

I feel this is rigged.

Then our faith, love, strength, and even humanity is subject to a broken past called tradition,
Something that might have been suggested by a ‘not so smart’ old man who was only opportune to live before us.

So I take a stand today.
I will relate with the rules of the ancestors like they were still alive now
I will weigh their wisdom based on how wise it is, NOW!
I will not waste my time in their myth, only to satisfy their dead bones long gone with the sands of time.

I will make decisions now and then advice younger generations to learn from my words, but before I go from this earth;

I will let them know I wasn’t the wisest
I wasn’t the smartest
I was as man as man can be

And most of all;
As they grow, and find better ways to do what I said couldn’t be done,

They shouldn’t be afraid to discard my letters and fly the plane of their imaginations to outer space and back.

For no matter how sacred we decide to treat the scrolls of heroes past,
And bend always to their judgments on matters, using them as the ultimate yardstick to measure life.

I dare say that many of them were also as confused as we are at some points of important decisions,
And to crown it all, some chose wrongly.

Which only goes to say that we with them were all normal humans.

And if I won’t let another man dictate what I do and decide I run my life, I’m including the great ancestors too.

 

*Omenala is the Igbo(Nigerian Language) word that means tradition

FULL FOOL

It was clear that I wasn’t full of anything
But everyone could bet that I was full of myself.

You would think I would weigh a thousand tons when the contents of me were turned into a bag and placed on a weight but I am that feather

Blown

By every wind of doctrine.

See, I had seen suits;
Seasons 1 to 5, and 6, and 7,
Yet
Nothing in the whole seasons of life could suit to cover the empty shell I hid in the well pressed excuse of the suit I wore. ME.

The real me;
Who knew nothing. Just occasional passages from the bible I could jump on, and like a frog; hip-hop on from time to time just to prove that I haven’t been listening to the ‘devil’s music’ and so I dress to kill, looking ‘smart’ on Sundays, my proof that I was scent enough. And I was worthy enough to lift up holy hands with. The cufflinks of doubts connecting my wrist to my chest.

I was unworthy! And I knew it!

I knew it, because whenever I saw people dig in the corners of new buildings around my house I saw something I would never be; WELL.

I felt alone in the world
I knew what I had wasn’t enough
I even told friends I needed space for it felt more natural to the man I was
We all did church, but when I checked how far I had come with what I called the gospel,
I knew it was useless

You are saved by him,
But you are condemned,
Unless you save yourself.

But that was before his light came
The light came
Delight came when his light came
It tasted sweet but I wept;
oxymoron like sugarcane

I got to know how good I was
I got to know who he was
And he told me who I was;

Till then I had always felt I knew so much
But the fool in me was revealed when the wise in him chose a foolish way to change the full in me.

I emptied myself and took him in
And till now,
I’m still intoxicated by the love he gave.

I can now brag about being full
And I don’t need to be full of myself to do it.

It was the first time I learnt, that the first ‘useless’ letter of him, could arrest the empty space in me and make me ‘W’hole.