Hello Friends!
Welcome to another Freestyle Friday recap. It’s my honour to serve as your guide today. My name is Miracle, and let’s go!
So Friday was a special day for one of our team members, Chiamama The Mindsmith. It was his birthday, and as we were wont to do, we celebrated this brillaint artist by celebrating his words. This session was led by our host Niel, and it was titled A Man’s Way.
As expected, Niel started with this wonderful piece;
Just one day in a lifetime
Overthinking the answers
Haven been saved and taught and studied
Never saw the drip not coming
Melt your heart with the heat of my passion
I get cold when I see the deception
Need no hugs, I am Brook with the ‘Frozen’
Dose of Madness, Niels’s ‘too-department’
Seep sips simply but as no Simp
Made of God and Biafra
I have used his wrapper
True, he has also played ‘rapper’
Halt the versus, none more Chiamaama
So low morns, but the nights are high
Owe the wake to Sapa and cane
Lots of PTSD
Only One turns it to good for me
More! I scream at Antagonists
Ònye gá asi na adịghịm bad
Nigga still ripped like Simbad
Then the birthday boy didn’t disappoint. He told a beautiful story with this;
A man’s wayward wiles was once wisdom in a man’s eyes.
It took a man time, like forming himself from clay, a lack of knowledge his foremost delay.
A man thought fire and brimstone a bed hot enough to lay his complaints
A man thought iron and whetstone a blade sharp enough to engrave his first name.
A man thought flowers and tombstone a lane quiet enough to live in solitude.
But a man reached out, amidst the untoward movement of of violence where it was boldly en scripted ‘no piece here’
A man taught him to fight on black and white squares till his hand spelled a signature move ‘no piece here’
A man sang tunes all night, forcing the man to hum a beatbox along the ‘we won’t’ mantra.
A man lived, a man died, but a man was not alone… his only one wish as it had seemed.
But he did not know that a wish for solitude was a wish of folly… a man was rescued from himself.
Almost a defendant of Odin the way the battle field of his mind screamed Valhalla
A man knew how to tear things down… spell hazard backwards and you have wahala.
And it continued till a man grew, and understood what growing could feel like.
A man learnt that ‘head first’ did not translate to intelligence. And though he still went head first, he learnt to delay gratification and appreciate thirst.
A man is born… a man will be great. A man has a brother a man didn’t regret.
A man’s secrets laid bare, but the other man auto tuned it like the pied piper.
A man saw a singer and a bad rapper… a man saw a user and a sly tapper. And a man loved it!
A man has found family in the lives in his head, but only because there are voices outside to help him differentiate.
A man is unworthy, yet a man is called. A man was angry, now he can sleep out a storm
And when it wakes him, he can slip out a storm from the bag that smells alien stormy Omartian.
There’s a reason we call him the Mindsmith afterall.
Niel Quchi came back with an encore of sorts;
A man lived, a man died. A man peeved? A man cried.
But the people heard a roar whenever a man tried. ‘He’s going over the edge again’ a town cried. The whole city a’gong’
They tried to chop a man eye but a man never lost sight. A man could see and hear, but he knew sign language and braille.
A man was drunk on occasion, messed with fornication. But somehow God had maintained calculation so a man’s dreams remained his holy grail.
A man was GOATED, knew it, believed it, yet somehow for the life of me not once had he ever achieved it… not until…
A man was revived, spirit within and upon, pocketed Christs eternal coupon. Knew he was more than a son, he was dead, but had been reborn.
But though a man knew the truth, yet still a man was curious. A man had heard whispers, seen landmarks that he swore he knew.
So a man trod into the valley of the shadow of myth. Asking the stars why a man still felt incomplete.
A man sought to know why he had awakened a dream, a dream that shut his eyes to his side of the coin that read go ye.
A man still pretended he didn’t see the calling, hear the loud pictures of ministry painted in his head. But even in his sleep, a man could repeat what He said.
A man is obstinate still, but a man knows it’s futile. His cards were laid bare against this opponent who had seen it, not once, but two times.
Tell me why a man fights, a man cannot say. But is a man confident that God will find his way? …hear all the nay sayers go away… the I’s have it.
That was something!
Now if you’re a frequent reader, or part of our larger community, you’re not a stranger to Ebube’s beautiful words, and she always comes through.
Thus says the prophet,
Wait for it oh
Hillary son of
Graham celery
It’ll come
A miracle awaits you,
By May?
I know not
How it’ll be
Shall it come?
The route it’ll take.
How it looks
The closer it maybe
Maybe, maybe not
Will it come?
Hillary son of Graham celery shall not know too
Thus says the prophet,
Oh Hillary son of Graham celery
Anticipate still!
How long it’ll take
How much it’ll cost you,
Wait for it.
For man’s own ways differeth from God’s own ways, it may tarry,
ANTICIPATE STILL
It may come in MAY
And then Eremipaghmo Pearl sent in this piece just before the end of the day;
Man’s perfection is his best imperfections
It only makes sense to him
When it’s satisfying
Funny how there is nothing really as a line that’s ‘perfectly straight’
But man will argue
We’re born to debate with nature after all
But how can I trust the same voice
That makes statements like
‘The way to a man’s heart is his stomach’
Or ‘the earth is flat’
Nah ‘it’s spherical’
‘Pluto is a planet’
‘Oh no it’s not’
Egg is good for you until it isn’t anymore
When the arm of flesh fails
Could God be referring to human hands?
Man’s ways are altered with potholes of imperfecions
And his best fix will leave the road with bumps still
I am the kind of man that is human
I embrace my imperfections
I doubt my spirit gets to deal with such imperfections
But my flesh has a way of adding it’s arm to the plan
It’s just man’s way
But I’m not depressed by this
I’ve never really trusted my perfections
Even when they are audible in my voice
However, I know a better way~
To trust God who helps my imperfections.
And makes my way much better than I ever could try
And with that we ended a very eventful Freestyle Friday with contributions from some of our best and finest. Please take a moment and say a prayer for Chiamama if you can, and I hope you had a fun time today!
It’s been my pleasure to do this with you. Have a blessed day!
Authors
Niel Quchi
The Mindsmith
Ebube
Eremipaghmo Pearl
Christ a poet 