a new year,

a new decade,

a new chapter on the open canvass

Let God draw his finest on this one,

Let it be beautiful even in the trenches,

May the anguish of the saints be tended to in the secret place

May the blissful abandon of heretics be laid down in the dust

Whatever rises, whatever emerges from the onslaught of this new era,

May we wrestle against it with sweet angels on our side.

On the sick beds of departing souls

Even there, may we toil against the enemy.

And dodge that celestial exile

And launch into the eternal galaxies we prayed for,

Where the heavenly ones reside with Gods of menacing & holy rage

May the saint’s conscience rest from feigned motives

Of nobility, holiness and other falsified canonizations,

May the heart withstand the litigation of the heavenly council

With nothing grandeur to qualify itself for release…

A new year

A new decade

Authentic sinners on the canvass

The souls of misbegotten children

Let God decide what he will,

Let it be ugly, horrendous, torturous,

Whatever…as He wills,

a new year,

a new decade

a new era…

whatever…

where is the eternal one?

neurons have been dragged down that
parched course of 
pregnant thought but barren ideas..
one minute the brain feels the coming of a new understanding
the next thing, the glorious genius leaves with her muted revelations...

and where is God
 when there is poverty of
meaning and purpose in my blood
i am trying to understand the moral of my own life so far
stripping out of a broken heart some romantic comprehension
of at least why He'd harbor such struggles for me, this child-like woman...

i am not arriving at any resolution
the more i ask the more the head is dealt with nothing but inconvenient rhetorics
& i am not saying i am sad...
but my heart, my blood and this of course my melanin
need divine answers...
...to continue like Apostle Paul, on the narrow path
and to hold on to  the encumbering faith of the saints.

 abstracts & lousy rhetorics,
Feeding my mind with exciting drivel from  realists
I hear what they say, it makes sense especially when I’m desperate,

heaven remains quiet 
leaving me to the science & reasoning of brainy unbelievers,
They talk, they reason ~ supreme perceptions all round,
impressive if you’re smart.
Their genius  confined to the sufficiency of the 6 human senses...


The body is enough and my neurons are tired
arguing  about things...
I stay doubting my doubts & beliefs alike,
I’m no longer imploding from
Within the limits of my own understanding,

I’ve realesed that tension to the mercy of Him,
For too long my faculties have toiled within
The limits of my manufactured reality,

Now I sit with my tiny head
Waiting to receive an understanding
of the sort of stuff that resides outside the boundaries of science,

I am not fighting anyone,
I just want to listen to the silence of the other side...

a new consciousness teased itself into my mind

I am not saying it was a churchlike awakening

With deity things abounding

But it was a troubling disturbance nonetheless

Where celestial things seemed like imminent reality,

Reasons received a new pensiveness: Of God and unbecoming angels,

Yielding chaos in my head, one fathomed in the next life.

I had to quit the pen & paper and take

Some time to listen, observe, and frown

I am still frowning…

I am yet to see something and anything…

The mad ones live in the desolate parts of their brain,

But I need to delve deeper into this thing,

To find the sacred drivel I think exists,

I am yet to see who you are

Whoever you are

I need you.

Dear God

I am a feeble song
Doing melodic things
Tired and starved of holy ephiphenies
Guitar strings fighting to carve out a nicer tune,
Me- standing almost like a vocal zombie
Singing godwardly out of spirit convulsions
Calling out, shouting !
Apparently singing into that elusive-soprano -hallelujah
Fighting to be a meaningful note
The halo of it lost in forced ululations
Fighting to sing
My madness enough to occupy many pews
Common sense lacking & the eerie things bountiful

Find me in your abstracts.

A sinner's regret

was I yours?

So then why the hellish stain

Of mistakes committed when your dove-like spirit

resided in my heart
Was I truly yours?

Me? With irrevocable stains & dents in my soul,

I spoke lofty nonsense  through poetry

But down there,

Where my soul wrestled with its own hypocrisy

I was a convicted sinner,
 preaching through a dirty tongue
Ofcourse kept the pulpit credible

unqualified to sing you hosanna,
But the churchmanship cleaned out the filthy canvass.

I was not yours.

I am saying this vessel was yours, yes,
 but I was a rogue nomadic

In love with my own savagery.

Loved too much the glory of my own exploits:

E.g. the power of my character vindicated me into heaven  

I was able & worthy to push myself into this celestial thing,

And yet you 'd say, I needed ‘’thee’’ to ask even for an invitation.

I needed the Gethsemane complex.

I needed my yoke imputed on Golgotha,

I needed a measly manger,
To stand un-litigated by  a cosmic court ...

On that basis I declined a gracious offer- for the ultimate credit would not be my own,
for i would not be at the center of my salvation,
but a peasant carpenter from Nazareth, would take all that credit, all that glory...
Never!

... laid myself in the real dust and so dallied blissfully into Lucifer's den.

My pride too pompous to need a homeless king,
A carpenter from Nazareth. 

I could not  have him, 
I did not want him,
i did not love him,

And so let my soul enter  this restlessness
my teeth gnash in peace.
In peace mystical.