Tag Archives: healing

Shades of Freedom (5)

She had her wings
Made of dreams
Her feathers forged
From truth and life
Crystals of snow
Here and there
She is freedom

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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?

Crazy or Not

I am not beautiful, not really.
I’m not talented, or maybe a little.
I’m not rich or famous. But there are some things I’m passionate about, wealthy or not everybody deserves that. I love dancing; it empties my mind of negative thoughts and purge me of loneliness.
I love walking, especially in the night, or in the rain. Crazy? Maybe, but nothing is more soothing than the stroke of the cool night breeze. I love riding okada at night. I’d let my hair loose for the wind to whip though it after the day’s work. It’s a great way to destress and exciting too. Too crazy?
Aren’t we all? I loved the cold. The colder the weather, the better I sleep.
The point is we love what we love, crazy or not. They give life to our souls, they make us more alive than spirits floating in the air. But what happens when those things are snatched from our warm fingers without warning. When all we have left of our being are the memories of the used tos? Leaving our souls floating, merely existing.
Where do we start?
How do we recover from the shock of the snatch?
How do we hold on to the tail of the kite connecting to our soul?
How do you find your way back to you?

The Grinning Ghost


It’s there
and then it’s not
teasing and taunting
not a soothe of hand
can succor bring
it lands hard on emptiness

The mouth without caution
can chew
when the rotten tooth is pulled
ne’er with a hacked limb
pulling and tugging
fluttering and trembling
itching and twitching
you can’t touch
you can’t scratch
save a pat on the stump
like an itch on a crotch

Never sleeps; never dies
not a rest ; nor an ease
for the tormentor,
or the tormented
till the rest goes to rest.

Pray, leave
go torture the physician
who hacked you off,
quit appearing and disappearing
like an advert on tv.

Not my desire that you die first
tis the cruel fate life dealt me
since you can stay not,
quit lingering; stay on the other side
and rest awhile
for this body, craves
a little rest.

Words That Breathe

From the four winds of the earth
Came breath to breathe on the slain
In the valley of dry bones
Where heads sat apart,
Bones scatter about, yet intact

At the command of Him
Whose words formed the earth
Came words that breathe
On the slain of Israel
Sinews for the stiffs
Bones to bones
Flesh to flesh
With a loud thunderous shake
The slain awake

Never say bones are dry
Never say hope is lost
With words that breathe
Your dry bones can walk
With words that breathe
Your slain shall wake

To Sisterhood

your brilliant smile
like the morning sun
my daily anodyne

its brightness eclipsed
the looming gloom
in the hall of torment

filling my heart
with warmth
and my aching bones
with joy

your innocent positivity
barred the constant
thoughts
of speedy end

your love and care
stilled the waves
of hopelessness

every morning
my eyes searched
for yours
my daily dose of
strength and courage

your tender hands
soothed my wounds
and hastened their
pigmentation

you stilled my fears
and shared my fears
you calmed my restlessness
and eased my sleeplessness
you sweetly filled the hollowness
left by a lover’s absence
thanks angel
for being you.

“…..Like Gold”

I’ve known pain
I’ve known fear chilling than the harmattan air
Pain, fiercer and harsher than the whips of a thousand horsemen

My soul sank deep into the river of pain and fear

I sought refuge in the bosom of the younger dawns
I hid in their embrace and they comforted me
I dreamt of the rebirth of her garden in all its glory
I felt the healing miracle of the morning sun when Eva
bathed in her warmth; and I saw her inhabitants,
came alive with the songs of the birds, and fluttering flowers in the breeze
I’ve known pain;
Nameless, faceless fear

I sunk deep into their depths
And they hurt no more