STEWARDING OVER AN IDEA

Isn’t it exciting when an idea pops into your head unplanned like an unexpected lighting flash? You are excited, you feel so pumped up and ready to go only to realize in few days that you don’t really know how to go about it. Excitement dwindles, frustration sets in, and the next thing on your mind is giving it time. Sometimes, weeks, months, and years go by with you still deliberating or totally forgetting all about it. Imagine the unpleasant feeling you would have when you see someone else executing the exact idea you had a few months back. I am guessing the flashback wouldn’t be as exciting as it was when the idea dropped. You can liken an idea to a crayon – colourful, beautiful, but static on one spot – if you don’t get a hold of it and paint the picture you see, of what good is it?

An idea is many things. One thing is, it definitely is unfinished. It speaks to a possibility, but in itself, it is just a promise. It does not look like much, may not feel like much but an idea is worth a lot because it is the birthplace of tomorrow. It is kind of a paradox because although it may seem inconsequential today, it has potential to be indispensable tomorrow. As exciting as this may seem, an idea comes with it a very important note of responsibility. Like a baby, an idea is fragile, loose and full of mystery, but it is precious and anyone who is lucky to get one is supposed to take care of it and nurture it into something that is strong, definite and distinct in expression. Just like conception, an idea is not always expected but every parent knows that “not being prepared” is no excuse to not “do the right thing” and be responsible. So, do you have an idea? Well, you need to do the right thing.

Just like money, I can bet we’ve lost a couple of ideas every now and then, some you can’t even recall, some you still have regrets about. You are not alone. It is not a function of you not being good or skilled enough for the execution of the idea, but a human struggle we must all deal with. It is not something to beat yourself up about, but rather, choose to brew on your ideas a little more, trusting each step even when you can’t see the full picture. You don’t have to sulk or stay in the confusion of not knowing how. There will be more ideas to come and some you might still not follow through. A good thing to do now is to have a resolve not to let your next idea slip through your fingers.

This is the reality – the end of an idea is the best part of every idea. When you get to reap the benefits that come with stewarding over an idea, I hope you realize that results come at a cost. It is not always a straight forward path, but it is one you must take to get to where you want to be. First, you need to acknowledge the presence of that idea; write it down, ponder over it intentionally, brainstorm. Then you need to carefully cultivate a space for it; share it with people who can possibly expand it and work with you on delivering it successfully – truth is, rarely does it take one man to do all of this. Now that you have created an enabling environment for your established idea (this might take a while) you need to give it time and capacity to grow. This means you MUST grow and let the idea metamorphose as you go. There are many specific steps that go under this over-generalized schematic, but you can bet that the key to all of this is RESPONSIBILITY. You need to watch over your idea like a mother does over her children and give it all it takes to grow, and mature, and take on a life of its own. At the end of it all, you get to sit back and be grateful that what was once a figment of your imagination is now existing before your very eyes.

Godswill Ezeonyeka
Imani Dokubo

(C) 2020

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL – Part 1

The most beautiful girl my experience taught smiled at me today
It has been a long class and I thought I was following till that smile
I have myriads of questions but I fear my mates might have a comic relief
So I try moving my shivering lips apart in an attempt to smile back
My grades are average so why the warmth in her smile?
My grades are average so I must be missing something a brighter student can point out
Soon after class, a tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see a pair of joy-flooded eyes
I can’t hold her gaze, my legs are trembling and I have a sudden urge to pee
I sit down, clamp my legs together with my hands between them
She seem to notice my discomfort so she pulls out my hand and holds
“What have I got myself into”, I think
Without mincing words she tells me she likes me and would want a friend in me
On the 3rd attempt at trying to talk and not recognizing my voice
I clear my throat and all I can mutter is ‘okay’
I could change classes and routes and never see her again but she has other ideas
She walks me home, my palm in hers
With each laughter and chatter, I feel at home
She tells tales too beautiful to be true about herself;
Describes her thoughts of me in ways my exposure has not afforded my imagination
I unpack boxes I leave packed because I was always on the move
Now I am home

ChyD
© 2019

Water is wine

Day by day
My broken will and dream cry unto me
Fighting, screaming loud for a better way
But futile is this game, all is lost to me

Tell me who knows, who knows
The real definition of birth and living
Tell me who knows, who knows
The open mystery of death and parting
Often I’ve heard men say
I’m not pragmatic, not practical

Often I’ve seen women point this way
Whispering be strong, be spiritual
Men and their subtle ideas
Have rightly led me astray
And I am not more or less
But a rotten carcass on a rugged way

The wisdom of king Solomon is good
But our Shepard’s Will is excellent
For by the cross and its humble blood
Water is wine, weakness is strength
Despair is hope and death is life in Christ

Ugwu David. C
© 2019

Fry-day

Last night, i got laid
Doubt came to me in my dreams
And had an intercourse with my mind
I am five months gone
Carrying these thoughts around
Hoping to abort this abomination
So, let me break open my insecurities
Hoping to make an omelet
Because today is fry-day

Shots fired
Fear has breathed its last
I am shut fire
Ready to explode at last
This is suicide
I die to rise, call it Easter
Fear skews sight
Jesus fixed it, Bethsaida

I love a meal of eggs,
Egg-xactly omelets.
The way we can whisk two together or maybe more,
Like the intercourse of minds, like the grind of spirits.
And isn’t beautiful, the wet and slip of waters, the freshness like a new day, the way it all becomes familiar and new?
As we sit at tables set before enemies ,
Fellowshipping with sips of living tea and chewing bread alive, making alive,
That the omelet served is faith, the abortion to every doubt.
Isn’t it beautiful, the sparks that fly as iron sharpens iron, and ideas are born for the time they arrive?
Don’t you just love a meal of omelets?

Olaoye Adeleye
Ezeonyeka Godswill
St. Davnique
© 2019

#Fry-day
#FreestlyeFriday

slowly with a process

The era of greatness
Began slowly with a process
A pause, a close of the eyes

It began in all truthfulness
Not with the light nor in her rays
But in despair and in darkness

Like a hawk process swooped
down into a deep troubling dream
So full of owls and bats

Bitter it was once, bitter is it still
Remembering as brave process
Fought and fought and fell
Without rescuing success

But then, HE came very well
In the wind, in the morning bell
Lifting her from the hollow hell

Into a new dawn of ideas
A splendid tomorrow
Devoid of frown and agony

Indeed, the era of greatness
Began slowly with a process
A pause, a close of the eyes

Ugwu David C.
© 2019

WE, THE INDEPENDENT ONES

We are they that ride on the waves,
Of ideas, beautiful manifestos of the 50s,
The very spittle that our mother told us if dried before the 60s,
Our navels would rot,

We are the child born in lies,
A fatherless child of 250 fathers,
A child that reminds our mother of this rape called amalgamation,
The child who is half of everything,
Whose strength should be in being everything,
Yet one thing rules: the cancer of corruption,

We are this child in dependence,
To the blind, senseless man that knew how we were delivered from,
This very deep inferno between our mother’s leg,
We encourage ourselves with hopes in things,
Things our reality tells us can never be,
We are married to Religion,
These new Masters that promise us mansions and virgins when we,
Like the worms, cringe and bow out of this stage,

We are hungry,
Milk and honey we dare not wish for,
Our elder brothers eat honey,
They told us to pray,
If we dared stared too long into his plate, he would slay,
The nascent dream we have,

We are independent,
Masters of our own,
Slaves to our elder brothers,
Who constantly tell us that the rudders will be ours one day,
Yet make their sons our master when,
Need be…..
Happy Independence Day.

Chukwu Simeon Chidiebere
© 2018