Ray of Hope

How sweet to lie beneath
The wondrous beauty of a new dawn
To bask in the freshness and soothing
Caress of the morning breeze
How sweet to leave the shadow
Of yesterdays behind
And embrace the new day
The tender glow of sunrise
Radiating hope

My Birthday

To me, this day is more than a birthday, that’s too ordinary. But what could make a birthday more than an anniversary of the day in which a person is born?
A Rebirth?
A second chance at life?
I got both, because if the devil had his wish I would exit here the same day I entered it. And I would be labeled so many evil things and more. But the Lord in His infinite mercy gave me life, again.
A birthday used to be just the celebration of my birth. When I ended one year and started another. After my twentieth anniversary it became, “what’s the big deal? Everybody has them. Someone has one every day.”
And now, there are so many thoughts and feelings attached to this day: happiness, apprehension, panics, blessing, anxiety, and gratitude, their incessant and persistent attacks can be so overwhelming and frustrating – A time bomb waiting to explode.
Over the years, I’ve learnt to accept them, feel them all, sort out the real from the imagined, and forge the strength to beat the delusion.
Today, I woke up again with the dread of facing the long day, my birthday. Because I had a doctor’s appointment, today of all days. Memories of my birthday not too long ago in surgery and ICU flooded my mind like rushing water. I was going to see the doctor who hacked off my limb on my birthday. I wanted to hide in bed all day. But then, I armed myself with the remembrance of all I had to be grateful for. The little things like sneezing without pain, stretching without whimpering and turning without grimacing. I’m grateful for the blessings of the people in my life who never let me feel bad about my life for a second. When I think He seems too far away or uncaring, I see Him in them. These little things make me realize just how blessed I am, and how much good I have in my life. They outweigh the bad.
Today, I realise that good or bad, there are benefits to everything; one simply needs to find them.
And that, birthdays are more than celebrating the inevitable passage of time.

The Old Album

When I found the album it was caked with dust. I wonder why it looked like a relic of the Second World War, I had flung it to the back of the closet, where I couldn’t reach it. But now I can, I’m much better, stronger and steadier. I opened it and was surprised that it opened to the last picture I saw. It was the picture I took at the front of our old house on my birthday five years ago, before everything fell apart. Except it looked nothing like me. I was darker, simpler calmer and very innocent with big eyes; uninteresting and young, but of course I was younger. I was dressed in a sky blue shirt and a dark blue knee-length jean skirt.

It shows the legs, nice, shapely smooth calves. I had nice legs, I know it and people said it too. They looked awesome, but they didn’t feel like mine. The last time I saw the picture, my whole body went still and everything around me too. My heart wouldn’t stop hammering at my rib-cage. My eyes were so heavy with unshed tears, I wanted them to drop to at least mourn their dead mate. But they wouldn’t, so I flung it.

Today, the picture look so unreal and so far away, a lifetime away. I looked down at the left limb where the rest of the leg was supposed to be. It stopped mid-air like a frozen raindrop waiting for someone to press the play button. And the right leg has put on a muscular and fierce looking armour; wearing protruding veins and scars, its warrior badges in place of its former sexy look.

The residuals of the traumatic experience has faded into occasional nightmares and buried amidst counsels of accepting the present, look into the brighter future and forget the past. I closed the album and stared at the face looking back at me from the mirror on the wall and wished she could tell me what this is, healing, denial or acceptance?

I’m More Than a Man

I’m a woman
I’m more than a man
I have his blood and bone
I’m shapelier, sexier and fairer
I’m weak and strong
I’m patient and impulsive
I’m a woman
I’m more than a man
From the taste of the fruit
Till sunrise tomorrow
I’m the face of the deceiver
The root of evil
A haughty heart
I’m the cause of the failed love
The broken home
The dirty china
I control the mind of
The defiant child
The wayward son
The estranged husband
With a straight back
And a square shoulder
I bare them all
I mother them all
I’m a woman
I’m more than a man
Reincarnation, I await you
If you were to come
A woman I would be

Happy women’s day to you all…..

Death Will Die Someday

Today is your day, Damilola Adisa or supposed to be your day. In my heart, it’s always is and I can’t but remember you. I didn’t want to remember, so that I won’t be sad but I couldn’t because that would be like you were never here, like death has conquered us, conquered you and all that you were. It hasn’t. So, let death not be proud of this small victory for it only lasts a while. This reminds me of one of my favourite poem by John Donne:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Five years ago you passed away and you left an empty place in my heart; a place that nobody can fill. It was the saddest and most painful day I’ve had in my life. That day, after I had tried so hard to contact you, I logged into my Facebook account to check your wall, and there I found a post left by someone of your death. I was shattered into a million pieces, worse than when I met you. I couldn’t even mourn you because I was beside someone close to both of us who was also fighting for her life. I buried the pain in my heart crying inwardly, going through the rituals in a daze. I couldn’t say anything to anybody until weeks later, it was the hardest moment of my life. I couldn’t comment on the post because she would find out too. It is a memory that I cannot erase from my mind, neither from my heart. I couldn’t be there for you in your last days. It was a journey I have not returned from.

People say that time heals all wounds, but today I can tell you that’s not true. Till today, I feel the same pain in my heart that I felt that day. I’m still finding it hard to accept that you are no more maybe because there was nothing to get the closure from, nobody; you didn’t give me any clue you just vanished. You left me wondering.
The only difference is, today I have decided to think only of the good times we had together, they were the best times. Though much younger you taught me how to love, you opened my heart, you taught me that family is deeper than blood. You kept tugging at my heart until it embraced yours.
When I met you, you needed so much love, you needed a family. I needed to heal from a broken heart, and together we healed.
I wanted no human company, just my books. You were always telling me how books can’t give love, friendship or warmth; and I’ll say that’s the point:) They don’t need anything, I don’t have to give anything and they wouldn’t complain. And then you would sit right in front of me, dragging your feet and grumbling and until I’d get tired and eventually gave up. You’d clap and smile. And then you’d insist that I helped you with so many things until I could no longer resist you.
I brought you to my family and you accepted us as your family, the one you never had but always wanted. You were always eager to please everyone, to help, to do the chores though you didn’t know how. You liked to be praised when you did it well, but hated being scolded when you didn’t. At first, we would let you go free when you were wrong so as not to hurt you, then we stopped because you wanted a family, a family shouldn’t let one do as one pleases. And because you were such a gem too, you understood the love in being corrected and adjusted. You loved to cook though a very bad cook.
I thought you all you wanted to learn from a mother and a big sister. But you didn’t wait to show me all you promised to become. You didn’t write the book you promised, you left with the biggest story. You didn’t wait to be all that your mother wanted you to be. We both failed to keep our promises.
Now that you left without saying goodbye, I’ll do all that I can to keep the memories alive. I’ll remember you like you were, always happy, free, innocent beautiful in and out. I’ll remember you with longings and with joy.

Rest on Sis, till we meet to part no more. Rest on Damilola mi, until death would be defeated forever and we shall weep no more.
May we meet again.