The Comforter

When we met I gently opened myself and allowed him in, I couldn’t wait for him to explore my body and soul. 

Like an engine in need of oil I needed his lubrication to get me flowing. He didn’t disappoint, it’s not in his nature to. 

He touched me here and there, overwhelming yet satisfying I stayed put uttering words I was not taught to speak 

Devilish!

This must be devilish I thought 
Confused, I jerked up binding and casting, asking for forgiveness, I could imagine him in shock saying “what is my lover doing”?

I really didn’t care, my sanity was primary at the time. 

“Lord can you hear me” I screamed more 

“Do you consent to this”?

Silence was all I got until I looked down and saw the words Be Anxious For Nothing 

Suddenly it dawned 

The Spirit within 
The comforter 
The awaited day 
A new form of communication

by Imani Dokubo (2019)

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I HAVE SEEN LOVE

Though the sun
Escapes beyond the rifts the cloud makes
The scent of dawn
Woven in sounds of streams and breeze

All birthing from genesis
From young- never cease
What’s been said,
Saying let there be light

None can stand His words
Through spirit-life words, we were formed
Blessing invoked when He said,
Let’s make man in our image

After our likeness
Having what he loves-
A lofty hope of divine liberty
Our will free, we were his

He in fore-age,
Knew us by names
Portioned us into diverse ministries
By the fore known destinies

Giving grace, blessing us His’
From a strong heart
Sunk and sickened
With excess of love

TM Sungs (2019)

Where am I

This world is unfamiliar to me
The walls I once felt like breaking now whisper words that heal my cracking

My cracked tone is now pitching
My words no longer echo
Where is this place?

The smell is unfamiliar
The feeling is different
Not the smoky puffs I’m used to

Do dreams feel this real?
Is my mind messing with me?
I really can’t make sense of how I got here

I listened when he spoke
I heard him clearly when he said the words
“You’re free”

I remember
But it only brings me to my next question

Can my life be flipped in just one second?
Can my past be gone with the wind?
I lack answers

But If the branch is who I am now then all I can hope for are leaves to help me birth fruits

This world is unfamiliar to me but I rather stay than leave

 

  • Imani Dokubo (2019)

Evolve

Man.
Lord of the earth, unknowing.
Born Heroes; living victims.
Black Panthers scared shitless.
Superintendents gone puny.
Sad.

Man.
So primitive. So common. Like dirt.
As is the sunrise.
Aye, it doesn’t make him, nor the sunrise,
Any less a miracle; any less a beauty.
But then…

Man.
“Ye are Gods,” I heard Him say.
Creators, made He you.
But it’s sad.
You only live as pawns on a chessboard.
And you die like mere scum of the earth.
Who knew the hashtag was truth, after all.
Men are scum, indeed.

Man.
Oh, man.
Pity! PITY!
I mean, you share a last name with Deity!
With Yahweh Himself!
Oh, that you knew thyself!
And, that, to thy sweet self, you be true.

Man.
Do not your dreams whisper to you
The destiny of your race?
Do not your superheroes, your folklores, your movies
Point towards mastery?
And power?
And love?

Man.
Does not your genius, your spirit
Nudge you ever so silently
To rule from the top of the rainbow?
To conquer the sky you’ve agreed is your limit?

Who has deceived you?
Oh, man!
“Evolve, man!
Evolve!”
Eternity screams.
Immortality beckons.

But no. You’ll read this poem, this call,
And just move on.
Sadly.
Oh!
Man!

Nonso John
© 2019

Dear stranger

Dear stranger,
Do not hold down your doubt, your anger,

Life is no ordinary poem,
With lines, stanzas and rhymes,
Life is no ordinary Odyssey,
With storms, fear and courage,

‘No’ your breath is more,
Breath of life is more than,
a poor poem, a poor journey,
And so I say,
Let the apparition show,
Let the street overflow,
With the words of psalms,
May the words of proverbs,
And Matthew fly across your mind,

But please dear stranger,
Do not restrict your doubt, your anger,
Let them challenge the Psalm,
And proverbs and all,

And when your inner man is ready,
And your reasonable war over,
Throw away all the broken armors,
Of doubt and anger and sit still,
For awhile by the river,

For I am the crown, the king,
The light, the peace,
The truth, life eternal,
In me every road,
Leads the way home,

Dear stranger,
Do not resist your doubt, your anger,
But come, follow me.

Ugwu David C
© 2018

REALITY STRUCK

I was scared, didn’t want to make another promise I wouldn’t keep.
Guilt struck me each time I tried and failed, what was I to reap?

Why such a difficult path?
If He willingly gave His life
Why couldn’t I automatically shine like light?

Well I played smart this time, I had a plan B.
I threw in some eggs, and let some be.

I couldn’t trust the process of “just believing,”
I had seen men die believing this saying.

I carved out an escape route,
I set out plans to activate when I got stuck
And He is no where to pull out my foot.

Poor me,
I was oblivious of the real me.

Saved
Blessed
Blameless and
Spotless

Little did I know what it meant to be saved by grace.
I had no idea what the term “finished works” entailed.

How can believing be termed ‘just’
when it had the power to save the lost.

I found Love in its pure state,
Righteous is now my new state.

Love bought me, and I can never be bought back!

This is about Him, the man Christ Jesus.

The One who loved me when I didn’t know me,
The One who gave His life for me when I hadn’t found me.

The One who swore never to be angry with me,
The One who took guilt and fear away from me.

The One whose Words I can bank on,
The One whose Words I can stand on.

The One who freely gave,
The One who graciously saved.

Imani Dokubo
(c) 2018

I am alive

Mopping moronic in the vacuum
I lie,mocking all memories
That comes to twinkle and die
Hail Mary is over,the Rosary rolls on

I tried reining my violent mind
I struggled holding it back
I resisted the thunder’s clap
And fought against the lion’s roar

But gently it came
The idle voice of the mind
Contaminating the hard beat of the heart
It came so low
So so low as a groan of a dying horse

And that was my last noise
The last push
For hope became unconscious
Falling rapidly upon the vacant floor
Breaking bones, broken ribs

Seven days later the poem is ended
But I looked up to the cross
And see that the stanza runs on
Though all blood is lost,
I am alive.

– UGWU DAVID .C
(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 visit 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…

(C) Symolean