THIS IS NOT MY GOODBYE

Picture Courtesy: www.thinkthink.wordpress.com


PROLOGUE


This is a glass of scotch,
No ice,
Hot and heavy,
Leaves you sweating like crazy.


This is bare bones,
No flesh,
Straight up ugly,
Nothing fancy,
Yet far from ordinary,
Nowhere near everyday,
Like no other day.


Metaphors,
Rhyme,
Rhythm,
Puns and riddles,
You’ll find none here,
If you should come across one,
Then that’s how this tale chose to be told,
I had no hand in that,
I only do as I’m told,
I’m not one to protest,
You all know I find words hard to come by,
I do not talk much.


This is a party,
A celebration of a journey,
But I’m sorry to say,
There’s no music here,
You’ll find neither drink nor food here,
If that’s what you’re here for,
Now’s the time to angle for the door,
I’ll hold no grudge,
If you choose to do so,
For honestly,
I feel like doing so too,
Sad part is,
I’m the one running this show.
It get’s no ridiculous than this,
Parties and celebrations
With music food and drinks a no show?
What next?
Concerts without a band,
Football pitches bald as vultures,
People watching television without television sets?


This dude’s off his rocker,
He should be clapped in chains,
With four white walls for company,
Instead you give him an audience and a stage?
Draw the curtains,
Turn the lights out,
Somebody get that lunatic off my stage,
Thank you.


THE MAIN EVENT

The only certainty,
Was uncertainty.
I sat down,
Behind my computer,
Somewhat sheepishly,
After assaulting the keys
Of my poor keyboard for a while,
Somewhat reluctantly,
On Friday, February 5, 2010
I published my first note on facebook.


I did not bother tag anyone in it,
Just posting it,
Was enough for me.
After posting,
I felt as though I just climbed a mountain,
Can you blame me?
I had not written a piece in a while.


It took me over a month,
To publish my next note,
Don’t ask me why,
I have not the slightest idea why.
On Monday, March 29, 2010,
I published my second facebook note,
Titled “MAN ABOUT TOWN”,
I sent out invitations in the form of tags,
To as many as I could,
Unsure of what the response might be.


If only I knew,
I’d have 37 comments in total
And 8 people liking that particular note,
I would have published my second note
Much earlier than I did.


It’s been almost seven months,
Since I began writing on facebook.
I survived the 5 pieces a week challenge,
It became my driving force,
I could not fail,
And I did not,
In fact,
I began enjoying that challenge.
At a point,
What initially looked daunting,
Became ordinary,
I turned to the newspapers,
A bigger stage,
I had the Daily Graphic
And Mirror in the palm of my hands,
Courted them for a month
And grew tired of them,
Between their politics,
Typos and pompous
We’re doing you a favour attitude,
I thought it best we part ways,
I felt them an inappropriate stage.


When a friend suggested the myjoyonline web page,
I thought her crazy,
Yet respected her for thinking me crazy enough
To tow her line of crazy.
I thought her idea crazy,
Not because I felt my work unworthy of that stage
Nor for fear that my work was inadequate,
Rather because,
I had no idea what they were all about.
In no time,
What seemed imposing became ordinary,
I was strutting around the myjoyonline offices
As though I owned the place,
Calling the editor at will,
It felt good,
But grew boring at a point after a few publications,
Somewhat annoying too,
They preferred I give them pieces for free,
Just like the newspapers,
So that was my cue to leave that stage too.


Then came the blog,
Right from designing it,
Through to publishing on it.
That was a feeling quite indescribable,
On days when I sat back surfing the net,
I’d type out my name in the google search engine,
And my blog would pop up in the results,
Felt like a little boy with a new toy.


Throughout this journey,
I’ve met amazing people,
I’ve learnt so much about myself.
My ultimate lesson learnt on this journey is this:
You will get so much farther in this life if you
Set goals far higher than the clouds and
Pursue them as though you were an alien
In a foreign land without the possibility of a helping hand.
Imagine walking into the office of the editor
Of the Daily Graphic Newspaper
And telling him,
Not asking or pleading
But rather telling him,
Why he needs your work in his newspaper.
Bottom line is,
It is better going it all alone
And asking for help when you reach a dead end,
Rather than anticipating a dead end
And calling for help when you’ve not even tried.
You stand to loose nothing if you try it all
By yourself first,
Regardless the result,
Whether positive or negative,
You’ve become a better person in so doing.


Whoever came up with the word
GOODBYE,
Probably must have been drunk
Or must have had a concussion,
How can parting ways,
Regardless how long or short be good?
There’s nothing good in that bye,
People always cry or feel something missing
After good bye.
So today I’m not saying goodbye,
What I’ve been doing for the past months
Has become routine,
Too familiar,
Made me too comfortable in my shoes,
Truth be told,
I work best when challenged,
Under mounting pressure,
Walking the thin line called uncomfortable,
Funny thing is,
That is my comfortable.


So today,
I take leave of you for a while,
Make no mistake about it,
This is never my goodbye,
There’s nothing good about that,
I take pride in the fact that I made
So many friends on this journey of not only mine
But ours,
I’m glad to declare that by your comments,
I never wrote a piece worthy of the tag “CRAP”.
After such a roller coaster ride,
This is my pause,
To catch my breath,
Sit back,
Inhale
Exhale
And tinker with the big picture,
In an effort to take the next step up the ladder,
So when you wake tomorrow morning to find
There’s no note of mine,
Neither have u been tagged by me,
Know that probably I’m seated under a mango tree somewhere,
Singing with the emerald green humming bird,
Having tea with a gazelle
Taking naps on the fronds of coconut trees
Planning the next journey for tomorrow.
Curtain’s not drawn,
Hat’s off,
This is where I take a bow,
Going away for a while,
I’ll soon be back in an encore,
God bless,
This is not my goodbye.


THE END

This is the beginning,
There’s no end to this tale,
Catch you soon,
With more tales from “The Graveyard Shift”.

CONSCIENCE

Picture Courtesy: www.preapism.com


Higher ground,
In the slums of society,
I found.


Among the cardboard shacks,
Muddy pathways,
Dirt strewn landscaping,
Pungent smells,
Vices dwell.


Runoff of society,
A well of free flowing poverty and disease,
Squalid
Squalor
The pauper’s
Parlour
Shanty towns of miseducation,
Relocations,
Evictions,
The lowly human condition.


Tis true,
Vice here does dwell,
Yet our vice sure does have a conscience,
Semblance of common sense.


In the halls of power
Greater vices
And genocides do dwell,
And what do we do to stem the tide?
We legitimize,
The atrocities of crooked leaders,
Giving them crowns and tiaras in coronation,
Thank yous in appreciation,
Gratitude,
For ineptitude.


Out in the market squares
Villages,
And slums,
The by-products of their crooked ways dwell,
Yet you call me
What’s wrong with society.


How easily you forget,
Every new car,
Suit,
And house you freely give out,
To leaders,
In the name of rule of law,
And service benefits,
A hundred brothers or more,
Add to our numbers,
Society’s slum dwellers.


You call me a slum dweller,
And I couldn’t agree more,
Chalets and apartments fit for kings,
Yet reserved solely for the poor,
Putrid,
Fetid,
With a hint of acrid humour,
But our poverty and vice
Cling to the walls of power
Like starch on pressed shirt,
Testament to the very failures of society,
Yet society comes at us,
As though we were weeds,
Disfiguring lawns with manicured toe nails.


Slumlords,
Looking to make an aesthetic example
Of modern day people living in trees,
But please,
Before I leave,
A question,
Do permit me,
What did society ever do for me?

PRISON

Picture Courtesy: www.ibtimes.com


Hurriedly,
As though the devil himself
On their tails,
Clutching briefcases,
With shiny faces
And angled edges in degrees of perfect 90,
Wearing smooth faces,
Yet grim faces,
Cursing Mondays,
Oh poor Monday,
Praying another Friday,
Oh good Fridays.


Just so they can venture farther,
Farther than the walls,
Of those complex office complexes,
Those shiny metallic mules called cars,
Air-conditioned prison cells
Handed them as incentives by wardens,
With those on the lower tiers,
Shouting,
A pay rise,
That would be good enough incentive for me,
They the inmates of an intricate prison,
Praying they do not fall afoul,
For after that cometh the warden’s wrath.


Come Friday evenings,
Right through to Sunday,
They manage forget all about their
Elaborate prisons,
Adorned with art and computers alike,
With staple guns and stationery,
Littering desks from the top floors
Right down to ground floor,
Slamming the closet shut on their
Shiny tailor-made prison uniforms,
They call suits if only for but a while.


Come Monday,
The warden sure does call,
Beating the gong in the town square,
Out in groups of two, three or more,
They will come scurrying out,
Like rabbits with ferrets on their tails,
It’s back to prison all over again,
Where parole comes only at 60,
And a dishonourable discharge,
A possibility everyday,


You can find these and more,
Only in prisons that require one be educated,
Possessing many degrees,
With a perfect command of the English Language,
Just so they can submit an application,
To become the newest recruit,
In a burgeoning fancy modern facility,
With lavatories boasting heated seats,
Walls choking on expensive oil-based paint,
And floors boasting more marble,
Than stone quarries could ever dream.


It’s all nothing more than fancy prisons,
A bit more expensive,
Than your everyday prison,
Just a wee bit more refined,
With duties and responsibilities well defined,
Slave drivers with slaves,
Better clothed and loosely shackled,
With carrots dangling in front of them,
As incentive,
Instead of whips,
Like it used to be in ages gone by.

JUSTICE SERVED

Picture Courtesy: www.africaheritagerivonia.com


He stood at the feet of the traffic lights,
At a busy intersection,
Arms outstretched,
Handing out leaflets,
Clad in colours,
Those of the one to whom
He bore allegiance.


Preaching change,
Questioning their politics,
He had embraced democracy,
A bit too wholeheartedly,
He took it all at face value.


Day’s before Election Day,
His campaign was at a crescendo,
Lips throbbing like talking drums
At the height of an African festival,
Oblivious to incumbency,
And tainted elections,
All he could see,
Was change,
Braving the wilderness,
Charging into the city streets,
Marching straight into the seat of government.


When the dust settled,
Results declared,
He was left with egg on his face
And a sour taste for dessert,
The incumbent had won by a landslide.
This caused him great pain
But a far greater pain
Was to befall him,


Wielding the reigns of power,
They set something elaborate in motion,
They said he had defaulted on a loan,
The hotel he was building was auctioned off,
Together with his home,
Tore him limb from limb,
Till all he had left were,
The shirt he wore,
A pair of shorts,
And his bathroom slippers,
Injustice,
Witnesses?
Many,
Even the birds give testimony.


His wife left him,
With children in tow,
Homeless,
Penniless
And destitute,
Insanity overtook him,
Swallowed him whole.


On hot afternoons,
You would find him,
Seated at the very spot where
Had campaigned months on end,
Surrounded by nothing more than pieces of paper,
No one really knew what they
Had written on them,
No one bothered ask,
For he was unkempt,
Looked rabid
And had lost his mind,
A pale shadow of a man,
Who once was
More than in touch with his senses,
So much so,
He could discern change,
Cry out change.


After months had passed,
We never saw him again,
We let his leaflets be at that very spot,
Some sort of shrine,
A memorial to a man,
Who embraced democracy,
Reaping injustice as just response
To calls for change,
Thanks to courts riddled with rats,
Holidaying in pigeon holes,
With pigeons out in the cold,
Surrounded by mountains of Swiss cheese,
And a political process,
Majestically adorned,
In colourful attires of white greed
And selfishness on angel wings,
Singing out loud the “Gloria”.


Gloria(n) - A hymn or set of words in Latin that begins with the word "Gloria" and is used in the Christian liturgy to praise God.

Talking Drums - The talking drums of Africa imitate the pitch patterns of language and transmit messages over many miles.

ADVERSITY

Picture Courtesy: www.erinsadventures.wordpress.com


Throughout life,
I’ve appreciated adversities,
Called them blessings.
Life’s lessons
Cloaked in angst.


I’m wary of success,
It breeds complacency,
Slowly dulls your wit,
Dims your candle,
No matter how brightly lit.


I’m happy in success,
Do not get me wrong,
Success has never made me sad,
If I said it did,
Call me a bloody liar.


Before me stood a mountain,
Towering high into the clouds,
My impediment,
Night and day,
I clung to its side,
Aspiring daily to its higher heights.


Breaking sweat,
My everyday toil,
Clothed in dirt,
My brown skin soiled.
Several days of grief,
On the hangman’s noose my belief,
Unbelief,
Lingering doubt,
The human trickery,
Nature’s bribery,
The downfall of many a men.


Good grief,
My sweet relief,
I stand atop my impediment,
Of a mountain peak,
Dogged belief,
Pinned to my chest,
A soldier of life,
Forever embracing the strife.


Then my tragedy,
The ephemeral nature of success,
Far out in the distance,
I spy a higher peak,
My success dwarfed,
In the shadows,
Of the greater challenge,
My adversary,
Forever my reckoning.


Dwarfed,
And somewhat miffed,
By a much greater feat,
I take solace in the shadows,
Of a daunting challenge,
Success the illusion of absolute,
Ultimate,
Only but for a while.
Success forever dwarfed
By today’s challenge.


Even in nature,
Adversity speaks,
The land rises and falls,
Among the mountain peaks,
Valleys do dwell,
For there to be life,
A heart must beat,
A beating heart,
Does rise and fall,
For one to breathe,
Inhale exhale,
A chest in turns of rises and falls.


Mountains,
Valleys,
Rises
And falls,
Adversaries,
Standing tall
In varying snapshots of time,
Spellbound,
That is time,
A mere spectator,
To an unending tug of war.


For one to succeed,
There must be a challenge,
In embracing challenge,
We look to succeed,
Success and challenge,
Twin adversaries,
On opposite sides of the divide,
Antagonism,
Rivalry,
Two squabbling puzzle pieces,
Complimentary of each other,
Only in opposition,
Life’s perfect tune resides in adversary,
Nature’s eternal balancing act remains adversity.