Tag: Waves

Can I trust you?

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Can I trust you?
Trust you enough to behold my nakedness,
To come before you bare-
With engraved scars and a broken soul,
Can I trust you will hold my brokenness,
And make a sculpture out of me,

Can I trust you?
Trust you enough to let go,
And drown me into your vessel,
Guiding me through the waves life throws at me,

Can I trust?
Enough to abandon all I have built,
Pillars of sweat and blood,
And follow you to the promised land,
Though alien to my eyes but familiar to my heart,
I hear how it calls out to my spirit,
And sings sweet melodies of what my future would be like!
This rhythm soothes my soul,
But fear has gripped me by my spine
And has crippled my faith and numbed my feet
So I ask, Dear Lord,
If I give you my hands to hold,
Can I trust you?
That you will never let go
Until these songs of the future
Become a reality I dance to!
Can I trust you?

Adeleye Olaoye
©2021

EVEN IF FOR A SMILE

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As I gaze the blue sky with my tired eyes
Swimming in the ocean of my mind
Word draining and words building
My tired soul in complete disarray

Will I rise again like these ocean waves?
Renewed with strength that won’t cave in
But this weary soul needs some hope
My tired mind, helpless as all look lost

Would you like some pie sir, a whisper?
My eyes alight with a new glow at the smile
A petite brown haired girl with green eyes
With the brightest smile I ever saw

Yes please, little smiling one I croaked
I stretched forth my tired hands
My grieving soul a teary-eyed. My wife and
My little girl will not return, alas

Oh what a pain untold to lose your world
But this smiling one renewed my hope
Not to end it on this deep blue sea
But to start all over again even if for a smile

Galatians 6:10 “So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith

Ajegbomogun Olufunke
©2021

FALLEN AT HIS FEET

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I carry no fear on my shoulders
I have saved no teardrop to shed
I have left every iota of worries

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Worries? They have no rooms in me for rent
Harmony, peace and joy cram the whole story
Every other issue is backstory

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Backstory is a tale of yesterday
I spend time now swimming in God’s love
Waves of pain, illness and disease are

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Disease of the Egyptians shall not know me by name
Cancer is a raging empty threat
Hunger and starvation their powers rid

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Rid of gory garments and pierced sides
Christ rose in glory with fierce strides
Armed soldiers strapped with sleep

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Sleep in the arms of a loving mother
Tomorrow the fever with shudder
Because all the bugs in a million march lie

Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

March, march on Christian soldier
Relieved of every burdensome weight
Tomorrow is certain, today is fixed, last night is
Fallen at His feet, fallen, where sin is
Fallen at His feet, gathered in dirt heap

Rebekah E.
© 2020

Rainfall: Behind The Scenes

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Once, as a child, I peered through my window
I saw the Skies smile
And the Earth come alive
The Sky flashed her eyelids and lightening tore across the ends of the world
She breathed in, and the waves of the sea rose high into the air
She breathed out, and the wind blew across the lands
All across the North and down to the South
The wind blew like an harmattan.

She shone her eyes down the Earth
Fastening her gaze upon the hills
Then flashed her eyelids again and there were more lightening
Slicing through the darkness
And
Cutting through the trees
She sighed and the thunders gathered from within her
Sneezed and the thunders exploded out
Shaking the walls and causing my window frames to quiver
And my frail heart to
pound.

Then there was calm.

She whistled
And from her lips blew the wind
The calm wind with the still sounds
It was the making of rain

I took a peek behind the scenes
And I saw
That the Skies had unzipped
She was urinating upon the earth
It was calm, cool and soothing
The rain pouring down on us.

Steven Kator Iorfa
© 2020

Barren Mother

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I have an empty well of a belly.
My womb has known nothing but dying blood all my living years.
I have thought of no one but myself,
Fed no one but myself,
Placed no one before myself,
How do I have a womb except it was made to bear another, and yet
I have no idea what it means to pour a part of myself into another.
“A breast feeding mother?”
That’s a foreign name to me.
“A bread winning father?”
Who dares call me?
I am my own hero,
My own salt,
My own light in a shady place,
Come with me and I’ll lead you into the darkness.
I’d snuff the life out of my light because I do not want to share it.
I’m an evil already happening,
A menace waiting to be uncovered.
My tactics are new everyday
Yet my mind is old.
I am a dirty, dirty soul with a clogged up heart and a rigid body.

This is why I have come before the Rock of Ages,
Before The fire that purifies without consuming to ashes.
My tears produce more salt now than I have ever thought to produce.
I do not know when I ever took lessons from the ocean
But my ill will like waves come crushing over me.
I am caught up in my own dirt web,
Spun in my own fear.
I have come to you as a barren womb in need for a child.
I was born to be mother, now may I know a child?
I have come as a fruitless tree in its season.
As hungry fire,
I’m desperate.
As a docile branch,
I submit.
I accept defeat.
Let your rains fall on this arid land again, Lord.
I admit nothing was ever my own;
As I am left with nothing now I am reminded where I come from.
Give me one child, Yahweh ‘tis All I ask.
Surprise the quick-to-conclude with Your quick-to-deliver.
Let them know when their calling-me-barren tongues call me mother,
Let them know from every side of the flipping coin earth,
That You make the Barren Mother.

Adaobi Chiemelu
(c) 2018

WE, THE INDEPENDENT ONES

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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

Questions Crossed Out

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My wailing,
What does it weigh,
Against the sighs of seven billion souls, each,
Digging wounds into my already shattered depths,

My breathing,
What does it matter,
When it’s lost in waves of first winds drawn and last gasps sown,
Lashing earth for eons,

My living,
Is it a rare gem or a speck of dust,
Amongst countless weddings, empires collapsing,
And the universe’s billionth galaxy collision,

The answer,
Is a death to cross these questions out,
The meaning of existence, hanging on a stake,
For my sake.

Ikenna Nwachukwu
© 2018