PRIEST

Your heels are cracked
And journey untracked
You can’t retrace your steps
And so into more misery you step
Each turn leads to different tunnels
The torns you encounter a lesson
But the essence of lessons are lost
When there are no opportunities to retreat

So further you go into the woods
Waiting for salvation, deliverance
Little did you know that the well
You just discovered will dry up by morning
Your sanity is threatened
And so you become a church
And your priest
Take therefore no thought for the morrow

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof’
But the evil is too much for one day
The human says
Back and forth
The priest proposes
The human opposes
It is well
Such a lousy cliche

Human more a realist than the priest
However you can’t let him win
Your life depends on his loss
You bet what you have not on your Priest
Flipping pages and making incantations
This is no mini war
Your life depends on it
Through the tug of war

You add more power to your Priest’s line
Pushes and pulls
Until the line is crossed
And its your Priest lying on his back
And just then
You knew you would survive

ChyD

(c) 2018

ONLY HUMAN

The story ends the same
No dime for this prediction
Inadvertently, the head remains on top
Experience is not the best teacher
Perhaps this next person will be different
Too sweet not be swept off
Way different from my last mistake
But mistakes come in different shades of grey
Some shades more obvious than others
Nevertheless, this may be a lighter shade of grey

You’ll need brooms and mobs
It has been a while this heart was used
The key hole rusty and needs lubrication
The key dumped in a dump of keys
So Mister, I hope you are as patient as you claim
Trail begins and as my drum of key reduces
And his drum of sweat increases
Alas the keys exhaust and no one fits
You must have missed the right key
In no particular order
Frustrated ransack unfolds
My heart hurts from this careless handling
Enough!
I can’t blame you for meeting a rusty heart
I understand you tried
You are only human

A ban to avoid a rebound
But I wouldn’t wanna let a good man go
So let’s go
You look skilled and smart
Are those tools for picking locks
Because keys don’t unlock my heart
That smirk on your face shows you know your way around
A tweak here and there
Alas, this is the very first time I’ll be accessed this fast
But you didn’t unlock a gold mine
You unlocked a dumpster
Grab that broom Mister left
Hold on
Your eyes are teary
The wheezing sound you are making
You can’t be here
Go get some air
It’s not your fault you are asthmatic
I understand you tried
You are only human

Some time to mourn
That’s the end
Then tagged along a real man
Not flashy like the rest
But it’s high time I switched tastes
Big rough hands can surely clear this dumpster
You won’t be needing a broom
Grab a rake let’s get to work
The filth makes me sick
A lot of baggage I have to carry around
It leaves no space for inhabitants
Raise the table, revenge
Raise the cushions, pain
Keep raising, keep discovering
Why are you jumpy
Why is your heart racing
Oh you hate crawling things
How would you not expect mice and likes in a place like this
I’ll spare you
Go
I understand you tried
You are only human

Don’t seat there and judge me
I would clean myself if my eyes can see my back
This is where the journey ends
But hold on
I hear of an invisible superhero
I’m not one to see marvel comics
But they say he’s justice league summed up and more
There’s nothing to lose so why not
After introduction
We kick off chatting
The first thing he tells me, I love you
Hollup!!!
You must be fast and furious
Be turbo for a while
Day after day he proves it
When I throw my tantrums, he stays
When mice and likes run past, he stays
He doesn’t mind staying in my dumpster
But with each conversation we have, nuisances disappear
His words are vacuum cleaner
Systematically he sucks up the dirt
Plants flowers and have butterflies dance around
All trash that keep me down is gone
Now I fly
Where humans fail, the invisible superhero thrives
I understand he wins
He was human, now God!

ChyD

(c) 2018

RENEGADE

I hear the door creek,
It’s banged lock.
I wake up from my sleep,
It’s all dark,
I try to move my feet,
It feels stuck.
I try to move my hands,
I feel ropes.

That’s when I realize,
That I am trapped by ropes and chains,
To a chair of endless pain
And I don’t even remember my name.

How can that be,
There has to be a reason why they have me,
No way my name was “Mr. Kidnap me”,
I had to be important of some sort,
That’s why they needed to grab me.

For a moment I listen,
There’s not even the slightest sound in the distance,
For a little while I struggle,
Hopeful to get free from painful sorrow.

Choicelessly, I choose the obvious,
To scream till even the walls decide to pay attention,
Frankly, I don’t even know if walls exist,
Or if this is all just in my head.
How could there be no sound but me in the distance,
How could no one have even heard.

I feel the chains tighten across my chest,
The pines an inch deeper into my legs,
This is hell,
Frankly I’m exhausted,
After all, my blood is all wasted,
Let me just die, after all at burials I always feasted.

And just at this moment,
This moment when I am done fighting and chose to sign out,
This moment when I don’t even have strength to cry out,
This moment I finally choose to die out.

I doubt you would believe it,
At this moment I don’t believe it,
There’s a shadow trying to be reaching in,
Yes a shadow.

Frankly the darkness is now shallow,
The light only my eyes can try to follow,
For there’s just little life the darkness didn’t swallow.

Till this moment,
I didn’t recall,
That till I choose LEFT,
I was the child of THE KING.

National Poet

(c) 2018

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

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/

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