The Three Abstractions

Time like air is boundless, existing independent of us
Helping us take note, employing us
To nurture after our to-do-list
Yet reminding us the risk
of not being
of not seeing
The thought of it as illusion only makes bold the impact on our vision
An endless circle
Old enough to seal life’s chronicles
Yet does nothing to change it
The only certified entity to bridge it.

Love like the sea, is deep
Accommodating everything cold
and warm-blooded
Not seeking its own way
Needs nothing external to become
Countless questions on its existence
Unending thoughts on its purpose
And like the absence of peace
Making monsters of those who go by without it
The true essence of its fragrance waiting always on those who have gone past feeling
to becoming love.

Death, what happens when you’re busy making other plans
Claiming more lives with its rude interruption
The least talked about of all three
Yet with each blow comes a string of thought on time and love
Each seized breath a trail of shadows to your canvas
With more questions than answers
How much time is left?
Is love evident?
What next after death?

Imani Dokubo
©2021

The Forested desert

Its appearance was like a desert
Burning hot and bare in projection
I was already heading that way
So I’d rather take a look at it myself

The closer I got, the clearer I could see
Little green blades spouting out of the seemingly hardened clay
Different colours, shapes and sizes of flowers were opening up
The sound of life was faint but loud enough to be heard.
And the dry air was now blessed with the fragrance of tranquillity

Each step unfolded pleasant surprises;
Suddenly, those blades had grown so tall
Held up by thick brown stands
They spread their Afros like umbrellas against the harsh rays
Colours were lifting with wings and their chirping was high pitched albeit pleasant to the ears

When I looked down, instead of a shadow I saw my reflection
Clearly staring back at me upon the flowing waters – so clear and Pure
It followed a path as though controlled by the melody from a Piper’s pipe
And out of it came cold peaceful air that filled the Forest

Oh, I just called it a ‘Forest
I could vividly remember it was a desert I saw
So dry it could crack a shadow casted on it
Right there, I couldn’t even see my shadow
For the rays of the Sun barely pierced through the thick afro leaves
And oh, what beautiful glitters it formed on the water surface.

It’s a transformation I thought only existed in Disney world
It happened so fast yet slow enough that I could have sworn I was there for hours
But it was so real
So peaceful, so cool, so fertile and so perfect as it appeared before me

“Until the spirit be poured
upon us from on high,
And the wilderness be a fruitful field,
And the fruitful field be counted for a forest.”

It wasn’t just a dream,
it is real.

PearlyThoughtz
©2021

An awful conclusion

To falter is an option to be ignored right there when spurred.

But leaves an ‘I don’t care nod‘ instead of a step.

Air has made the balloon fatter while past failures still lurks around.

Know that purpose is a deep water.

Understanding will lure the fountain within not you standing so sure you have a brain to count on, with conscious efforts of kneeling be ready to birth a mountain.

“Where was that brain of yours when comfort zone stole time and left you pained?”

“Where was your brain when the added weight kept altering every step you took to catch up with the train?”

“Where was your brain when the candle within was quenched and you were drained?”

An awful conclusion it is, one propelled by absence of Divination.

The altar needs fire not water. Farther will age read unless a retreat is called.

The altar needs consistency not a ‘once in a blue moon visitor.’

The altar needs to be mobile not cold because the author won’t speak until visiting becomes hourly even though tagged odd

The altar will draw so much and won’t tire when on fire!

– Ebubechi
(c) 2021

Mother Hen

Above the city Jesus wept. “Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Don’t turn away, Jerusalem! Come close to me,
my children.
“I am the mother hen,” he cried. “Beneath my wings
you all can hide.
There you’ll find warmth and life and love,
my little chicks, my children.
I’ve longed to gather you to me, Jerusalem! Jerusalem,
Please let me mother you! You’ll die
without my warmth, my children!”

We hear his call but turn away, for we are all
grown-up today.
We do not want a mother now. We’ll be
nobody’s children!
But as the cold world closes in, we think
about Jerusalem,
And what it’s like to walk alone, scared,
mother-love-less children.
No one lives through these dark, cold nights
without the warmth, the love, the life
That Jesus Christ, dear Mother Hen, gives gladly
to his children.

I trust we know enough of sin, to realize the bind we’re in
When even though we say we’re old, we’re acting just
like children.
And as we turn to leave the nest, convinced our choice
is for the best,
He hopes to see us come again, next time in New Jerusalem.
No one retains their innocence without the strong,
bright broody wings
That Jesus Christ, dear Mother Hen, folds softly round
his children.

Pamela Urfer
© 2021

Sleep

Let’s talk about sleep
There is a sin in sleep
The sin of drunkenness
When men are not sober and careful
When you no longer watch and pray

Let’s talk about sleep
That which you do in closed eyes
Dark nights
When your lamp is out
When your love waxes cold

So how do you not sleep?
Watch and pray
Shut up and ponder the Word
Let your words be few
For a man of many words , is a man of deep sleep

And when you don’t sleep
You become a star
A light in the dark world of heavy sleepers
And you will extinguish darkness wherever you go
Making the Kingdom come

The LORD never sleeps and never slumbers
Learn a sober and self controlled lesson
His army is a people of an alert watching and waiting
Are you in the LORD’s army?
What are you waiting for?

The LORD gives to His beloved sleep
In His presence is joy and pleasures for ever more
This is not like the fleeting pleasures of sin
This is the orgasm of resurrection
The sleep He gives is the resurrection of a living sacrifice

While men slept, the enemy sows tars
Your old men shall dream dreams
You sleep in order to dream
This is a word for the wise at heart
A promise for them who have a track record of the fear of God

Favour Omeje
© 2020

Why do You fear the stars

I do NOT fear the stars
I fear the sky’s span, its depth and breath, its embrace that swallows everything my size and yours and makes them disappear into insignificance.
Do you have the slightest idea what the sky does to you, mortal man?
That scape up there, it makes you marvel. It lifts a smile unto your face, drives awe into your heart. Your feelings twinkle with the stars. You feel fly. Fly like a firefly, a little dot of light persevering in a dark world. You feel like a peacock, strutting its gaily colored stuff. Just before it gets slaughtered.
The sky’s beauty is a stolen garb woven from a trillion diamonds, the stars that hide the cold, dark, unfeeling universe beneath its ‘skin’. The rule of that universe is selfishness, its path is self-preservation, its goal is self-elevation. And no mortal has ever won against its brutish march.
Neither will you.

Neither will the stars.
Like you, millions have tried to soar past the skies. They pierced it with towers, crossed it with rockets, coursed about it with satellites.
Like you, trillions have burned bright, over eons unfathomable. They gave light and life to worlds innumerable. They were the suns of their age, the stars that stunned our forebears.
Today, they are gone. All of them. All shredded trillion bits, devoured by the same universe. And the sky, this pretty mask of a cold dark monster, keeps its sunlight front, its fraudulent smile.
And the world keeps spinning.
I do not fear the stars. I fear the wretchedness they hide.

Ikenna Nwachukwu Alexander
© 2019

HELL IN THREE STANZAS

Hell is rebellion
Pulling plug on life source
Drifting off from Definition
Dissolving into nothingness
Like fading fragrance mocked
By the briefness of its glory days

Hell is silence, is crushing grieved cries
Of wild drunken raves, quiet robbery
And the cold indifference of a million Church pews
The stench of pious hatred
The rot of carousing infidels
And the carcass of juggling both these

Hell is bitter dead end to living sweet route mirage
Trap Disneyland, minus innocence
It’s the sick deal Christ scrapes off the table
Evil’s two faced grand joker
Swept aside by God’s deft Checkmate
Process reverse, death-to-Life card

Ikenna Nwachukwu Alexander
© 2019

A chip of ice- for mum

Your teardrops would battle fiercely
From the corners of your eyes
They would force their way through
The rigid, unyielding valley of your eyelids
And when they fell
They would stab your cheeks, twist your nose
And sting the recesses of your jaw

Yet when they fell,
They were like the sudden rain that mocked the Sahara
Like the mango tree growing in the Arctic
They were a wonder, and so were you.
For you loved me
Like icy cold, angry waters hammering on rocks
Falling

From unbelievable heights, through the distance between us
Screaming, raging and filled with the frustration
That your decades had fed you
As you crisscrossed naked open seas, flogged by the sun
And through lush green forests
With dwindling mud tracks and filthy streams
Falling

Defying boulders and meanders that had beaten you into thin ice
And kept you on your tiptoes with your back bent
Trying to meet my needs
Through cold, dark nights when you slept
With the biting in your belly
With the uncertainty of worry
Yet you flowed, silent and rapid
Falling,

Through the secrets you swallowed as you went by
And the hurts which never made you cry
And the sorrows you fought to bring forth life
With a charming smile on your face.
You shamed the hardness
That shaped your life
And you crashed against my rocky heart
With the weight of ages of ice
You flogged me, you tore me, you tested me
In my blindness, you were my foe
But I have received the warmth sparked
By the slap of your coldness
And I have melted in love
Your love is hidden in my heart of ice

Ndubuisi Chioma J
© 2019