Our love

Our love tale started like soaking cannabis in hot water. I took a sip. You did likewise. The sole of our feet got baptised in this fever that got our tummies beating the African drums. We looked each other in the eyes, we found dark universe surrounded by a red sea. We could see what love is all about; two heads that one is better than. We felt like screaming but the fear that the onlookers would tag us mad forced us into each other’s arm.

You could hear my heart beating. It was not the Jazz you love. My heart made music, the kind Mozart made. You said it made you dull. But that was my whole life. I tried to let my eyes speak volumes of poetry anthologies but all you heard was words poorly knitted. You smiled. Not the type of smile you decorated the sky with the first day I stood before you as a stuttering child, fearful but determined to let you know that butterflies only visits your garden.

I prayed we never recovered from this euphoria. This state of having the moon constantly using our name in the lullaby it is singing. I told of the symphonies composed by the crickets and frogs ( hiding in the near by bush) in our favour. You said I was silly. Not that kind of silly. You meant that I stole your heart with my madness. I was happy. At least, someone has finally got me in the list of men who parade the face of earth with careless abandon of what lips would say. You were the earthquake my soul yearned for.

That was when you told me of a fairy land. I was the ragged prince and you the princess living in a mansion of a castle. You told me that I was the male Cinderella. I agreed. You made me to be born again. It is no metaphor. You turned me to a suckling praying that I will forever remain at your breast…

Simeon Chidi

(c) 2018

RECRUITED

He was one we were not accustomed to
A perfect percentage of divinity
We …never measured up
In our self right-is-us-ness

We made flaws look good and any goodness seemed strange
We did not carry His burden, His fruits we did not bear
We hardly noticed Him much less His signal
Our routine was …”opposed his motion!”
Objection! Was our response to his every witness cloaked with pride

We never crossed his paths, notoriously parallel
As our fatal destinies never had any neon light
But then He, Jesus, the Christ
Bumped into us in humble majesty,
To reveal His pierced hands once again,
In the spiritual court we never attended

 

Revelations and with mouths ajar

We were paralyzed to Light, stroked by Lightening
We lacked capacity
No, the voltage was high, resistance was fairy tale
As our defense came crumbling in our faces
He portrayed victory as He dashed our hand cuffs to defeat
Change became our routine
As He penetrated our walls
Now we run through troops
Leaping over walls
We, are His sons recruited
An artillery, no rank breaking

We carry a thousand cities in our hand
Ten thousand cities at our right hand
Our bellies, filled with the rivers of the Spirit
We flood these cities
We reveal His love, His kindness, His sweetness
Through Him we can naturally do all things
I mean, He is TDH
Truthful and Divinely Holy
So we, a product of His balanced equation
Were made when the sound of victory was heard
And all we do is to show the papers with His said verdict
Saying….
You have been made free! Reveal Me!!

Azubuike Hannah Chinonso

(c) 2018

THE FUTURE

It is a place of completeness
Where pregnant ideas are being actualized
With wills being fulfilled and inheritances collected
It tells of the fears of the night, written plans of the dawn
And the actions to execute for the day ever did happen or if they were just flight of the imaginations

It is the ‘Today’ of some, the ‘morrow’ of others and the ‘yesterday’ of many fathers
What lies there are revealed potentially settled situations and secrets hidden in the past
With the emergence of ‘new’ discoveries
The reason everyone strives to be there.

This future could beam, could be dim or may not exist
And chances of arrival at ones’ destiny grows bigger or slimmer
While Mack makes it to the finish line, Joan dies trying

This impact of decades ago makes rippling effects
Dreams fulfilled, targets achieved and some wishes killed
One becomes a king with just a glimpse of it
The reason man searches for it even before it arrives

It comes with hope
But its certainty is not by mere talk or show of strength but of a diligent mind
The expectations are tentative
But could be put in the right trade
With an exchange of time and life
An archive of words limited, actions increased and explanations shortened
One would reach optimistically and look back thankfully

It is the fruits of yesterdays’ seed sown
And the tree growing from the decades’ of continuous watered ground
While some would be termed mistakes
With regrets of “Could have, would have, should have been”
This future gives birth to the man he becomes
Yet as one is begotten, another dies

But there’s nothing new hidden under the sun
Nothing comes as a surprised to the earth
A continuous cycle of fashion, fame, love and war
Only with advanced-archaic methods
And progenies of the past events are shown once again
Yet that has never been the blueprint for the future

It is the end of the script, the cast of the play, more also the fade of the song
But if spelt out, where would the suspense be?
Hope will be killed and man’s ‘curiosity gene’ will be extinct
Leaving a devastating misery behind
So let the culprit be revealed, let the suspect confess, let the case be closed with three dots to the next unknown line

The future is you embalmed with time
Cause one or more lives could be tied in there
With links, no lines knitted to each other in one way or otherwise
And this future could be ours
If only we are ready to search it with all resolve.


Azubuike Hannah Chinonso

(c) 2018

Reign

Christians clapping for the dusty
Rusty riches reaching for the hearts above, see?
Lust is the new faith, bro
So we aiming for the jet and cash flow, Abraham flow.

Now they’re saying that the ‘Amen’ did it.
Sitting in the new year; still above digits.
Woulda died broke, but am still living.
No I don’t tithe but am still given.
Wives tales wagging, nebios growing.
Up-down pastors, feature lies past us
Talk back at critics like the money is the measure

But all the riches in the world all disappear
Only the Word and those who hold him dear
Will still be here
I dont care which year
The end is a car and the world is a reindeer
I am not afraid, I am certain ’bout my reign dear.
Man’s not cold, whether or not it rain there
By faith I am sure we go reign there.

The Neil

(c) 2018

LIBERATED

All you give is free,
All you give is mine for free.

It cost me nothing,
But you gave still, holding back nothing.

Now I can boast in you,
Now I can stand boldly before you.

With no fear or guilt I stand,
On your Word forever I stand.

Your love for me can be compared to none,
In you I’ll dwell till forever is gone.

Imani Dokubo

(c) 2018

WORDS OF LIFE

With a bleeding pen we write,
No; we create.
Words so structured they can’t go unnoticed,
Words so piercing they cut through barriers.
We speak through ink and white sheet,
Our words warm every cold feet.

It’s not just a way of expression,
No; these words of ours are coined to
kick off depression,
bring liberation,
and give boldness for every affliction.

When we speak through written words, lives are transformed.
When we pen down our thoughts, minds are reformed.
We don’t just exhort,
No; we hope to give the very Life we have received.

A Life that gives joy in times of despair,
A Life that never goes stale nor needs repair,
A Life that keeps us burning bright in the dark,
A life that never gives up on us or turn it’s back.

Like a fountain our words flow unending.
Like the wind our words go forth ever flowing.
Like rain our words pour down unearthing thorns of bitterness,
planting a seed that brings forth fruitfulness.

Words unveiling the Father’s love,
Words revealing the one who exchanged His life for the sake of love.
Our words never dwindle, because they are freighted with the power of God.
We are a force and our words spread like wild fire.

We are an army
We are a Team
CHRIST is our message

Imani Dokubo

(c) 2018

C.S LEWIS: A biography

I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it but
because by it I see everything else …

C.S Lewis

 

Quick Facts
Full Name: Clive Staples Lewis
Born: November 29, 1898
Died: November 22, 1963 (aged 64)
Work: Writer, Apologist, Poet, Scholar
Most Popular Works: The Chronicles of Narnia, The Screwtape Letters.

Known by friends and family as Jack (a self given name he adopted up after his dog
Jacksie was killed by a car). You could say he was a man born before his time in many
ways or rather still a man who launched the world to new times by his rich imagination
and rigid faith.

Born in Belfast, Ireland (present day Northern Ireland) into the well positioned family of
Albert and Florence Lewis. As a young lad, his imagination ran free with a particular
fascination of anthropomorphic animals, he and his brother Warnie soon created the
world of Boxen, populated and driven by talking animals. His appetite to read was
stirred and well watered by his parents who stocked the house full of books, his dad
being a solicitor and his mom a graduate of the Royal University of Ireland (a fit quite
rare for women in those days). Lewis himself being a bit prodigy himself was reading by
age three and by five had begun writing stories, he fed extensively and voraciously on
those books, he writes in his autobiography, Suprised by Joy “endless books… There
were books in the study, books in the dinning room, books in the cloakroom, books (two
deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as
my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds” and none was off limits to him.
Life took a not so pleasant turn when his brother Warnie was sent off to boarding
school in England, leaving the young Lewis alone, he became somewhat reclusive,
spending more and more time in books and his imaginary world of dressed animal and
knights in armor. Things went even more sour when he turned 10 and his mother died
of Cancer, he became even more driven into himself and his books, his father never
really fully recovered and this led both boys to feel even more estranged from their
dad. His mom’s death planted a seed of doubt in God, he reasoned that God, if not
cruel, was at least a vague abstraction. About five years down that line around 1912 (in
the tender teen age of 15) and with the additional influence of his boarding school
(where his father had now enrolled him) and, Lewis abandoned the Christian faith and
became an avowed atheist, he later described his young self as being paradoxically
“angry with God for not existing”.

 

By September of 1914 Lewis was sent to Great Bookham, Surrey, to be privately tutored
by W.T. Kirkpatrick, this man had a tremendous effect upon the young Lewis, he
introduced him to classics in Greek, Latin and Italian literature. Being a tutor that must
see result he helped Lewis learn how to criticize and analyze, taught him how to think,
speak and write logically. After nearly three years with Kirkpatrick Lewis had grown in
bounds and leaps in his literary academic prowess, this showed in his success in the
scholarship examinations at Oxford and later in his outstanding performance at
University College, grabbing highest honours in honour moderations, greats and
English. His hardpressing mentor also helped him reinforce his atheistic beliefs, but his
admission to Oxford and the associates he would soon make would cause the budding
Lewis to rethink his God-void universe.

He entered the world of Oxford in 1917 and in a sense he never left, despite the call to
fight in World war 1 and his professorship later in life at Cambridge, he always
maintained his home and friends in Oxford. During World war 1 he and his college
roommate Paddy Moore, made promises to each other, that if either of them should
die in the war, the other would take care of the deceased’s family. Paddy Moore died,
Lewis kept his word and took care of Paddy’s mother, after completing his first degree
in 1920, Lewis decided to share the same lodging with Paddy Moore’s family so that he
could more carefully look out for their needs, this kind gesture got Lewis outside of
himself and taught him patience. Soon the books The everlasting man by G.K.
Chesterton and Phantastes by George MacDonald began to dig through his stony
atheistic heart, he would later write of the book Phantastes “what it actually did to me
was to convert, even baptize…my imagination”

 

The years went on but distress in the stony heart of Lewis only kept increasing, friends
from his student and post student life like Owen Barfield and Nevill Coghill often
pounced on the logic of Lewis’ atheism. He would later meet two more Christians with
whom he became close friends; J.R.R Tokien (author, Lord of the Rings) and Hugo
Dyson. Eventually the two paths converged in Lewis’ mind: one was reason and the
other intuition, he vigorously resisted conversion, noting that he was brought back into
Christianity like a prodigal, “kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every
direction for a chance to escape”. He painted his final struggle to come to God in his
book Suprised by Joy, “You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen[College,
Oxford], night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my
work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet.
That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity term of 1929 I gave
in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the
most dejected and reluctant convert in all England”

After his conversion to Theism in 1929, Lewis converted to Christianity in 1931, after a
lengthy talk and late night walk with his close friends Tokien and Hugo Dyson. He
became a firm member of the Church of England -somewhat to the disappointment of
Tolkien, who had hoped he would join the Catholic church.
The second world war, proved to be a set time for C.S. Lewis, he spoken on radio from
1941 to 1943 by the BBC while the city was under periodic air raids, these broadcasts
were widely received and ministered greatly to the people, also increasing the
popularity of Lewis. After the war in 1951 he declined a honour by George VI as
Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE) in order to avoid association with
political issues.

It is interesting to note that with the increase of Lewis fame came other pressures,
numerous invitations to entertain guests, grant interviews, give lectures and preach
sermons. And even though he felt called by God to write, he likewise felt it was
required of him to counsel all those who came all the way to his home. As his books
became popular he was flooded by letters, and because he believed that it was Gods
will for him to answer most of this mail himself stating that there were “no ordinary
people” he took his time to write with care to each correspondent regardless of age,
education, or place in society, needless to say this consumed many hours each week.
Joy entered his life in 1956, literally. Joy Davidman, an American writer also a convert
from Atheism to Christianity became Mrs Lewis. She and her two teenaged kids
changed C.S. Lewis’ life for the better. His happiness can be seen in a note he wrote to a
friend soon after they got married “it’s funny having at 59 the sort of happiness most
men have in their twenties… ‘Thou hast kept the good wine till now’.” She brought him
love, companionship and tow stepson with all its accompanying drama, she also
encouraged him to renew his writing of apologetics. Unfortunately his Joy was short
lived as she died of Cancer 4 years into their most blissful marriage. Lewis was quite
devastated by this loss and describes his experience of bereavement in his book A Grief
Observed, he expressed his feelings in such a raw and personal manner that he
originally released it under the pseudonym N. W Clerk to keep readers from associating
the book with him. Funny enough, many friends recommended the book to Lewis as a
method of dealing with his own grief.

 

C.S. Lewis was a reputed Scholar, prolific writer and noted Novelist who infused Biblical
themes in his story lines, his novel, The Pilgrim’s Regress following John Bunyan’s style
in The Pilgrims Progress was the first of Christian publications he would make and more
were sure to follow. The Chronicles of Narnia in particular, which has been adopted
both into feature films and programs carries the biblical theme of Christ (Aslan in this
case) who basically gives his life for the salvation of those He loves and comes back to
life again. His book, Mere Christianity was voted best book of the twentieth century by
Christianity Today in 2000, he has been called “The Apostle to the Skeptics” due to his
approach to faith, presenting a reasonable case for Christianity, other books in this class
include, The Problem of Pain and Miracles. In 2008 he was ranked by The Times as the
eleventh on their list of “the 50 greatest British writers since 1945”
Lewis died at the Kilns on November 22, 1963, buried beside his brother who passed on
10 years later, he authored more than 70 titles, including works of science fiction,
fantasy, poetry, letters, autobiography and Christian apologetics, Lewis’ book sales are
reported to be more than 2 million annually.

References
http://www.britannica.com/biography/c-s-lewis
http://www.biography.com/.amp/people/cs-lewis-9380969
http://www.explorefaith.org/lewis/bio.html
http://www.wikipedia.com/wiki/c._s._lewis
http://www.christianitytoday.com/history/issues//issue-7/cs-lewis-profile-of-hislife.
html#storystream
http://www.cslewis.org/resource/chronocsl/