CRAWLING AND MOURNING INTO THE DARKEST PART OF THE NIGHT, IN SEARCH OF MORNING BRIGHTNESS
After a rigorous battle with commotion, I arise in weakness and stagger with no solution, in watch and fear for the bleeding future and drabness yet to pass.
My blessings, seems to be pleading for air, while my bleeding sweat seems to be healing my sword, instead of my body.
Around me, are shadows wearing iron frowns, golden crowns and shiny garments of haggard lamentation.
Suffering and dryness, is sinking my skinny soul.
The more I wait in hope, the younger my sufferings get, while the older my hopes and happiness get handcuffed.
The hash rain and hot sun represent my gods of shelter, for no habitation is habitable for my pains and watery faith.
I feed on ginger of anguish and leaves of sorrow, like a harbinger of torment, to restore the bones of my strength and the muscles of my healing. But greater the pains elevate into original harshness.
And this gets more painful, like a pregnant elephant falling on an ant, or the heaven's falling on the earth.
What more can be more crushing?
A scream would be helpful and consoling,
but no voice and strength to scream.
A cry will do a better job, but the entire empire of my cry, has gotten so friendly and entangled with sorrow, like it is a childhood friend.
Suicide will be an unreasonable alternative, because, I am already in a dead world, where flesh severs more as Nigerian police uniforms, while blood severs as condensed urine.
It feels like it's almost the end, but it's just the beginning, so bearing, I must continue to bear, till the point, the devil himself shall start feeling pity for me and consider to bare my pains with me.
The more I think, the weaker I sink in thought.
Then I crawl on, into the valley of pity,
meeting no angles or savior's, but illiterate aliens, that understand not how I feel or what I am made of.
What a failure of creation?
I judge them not, for this is what they think about me, as they nod confusingly with no regards as I crawl closer to them.
Then I start to fall in pity for their green souls, for they are all in a more rumpled state, than I am.
What an accident sobriety?
Their faces do not exhibit a smile, and also do not exhibit a frown as well
I am unable to tell the truth of their acute state. For I think I am now blinded by the knife of my feels.
I can hear and understand them quit clearly, noticing that their piercing moods, wrench their souls.
I long so sadly to bench and quench their sorrows, but my grief will add more salt of anguish to theirs.
And I am not a vehicle or herbs from China, to lift them away from their sorrow and heal their stale emotional moods.
So I have to crawl on, before I get stuck and sunk in their Lust of illiteracy.
I wondered where I am crawling to, for all I see ahead is a darkened tower and when I look up to the skies, to ask God why, the heavens is nowhere to be found.
I keep crawling into the realm of the dark, in search of healing and a redeeming light.
For this is a journey into the darkest part of the night, in search of the brightest light.
If Adam hadn't eaten the forbidding apple, apple accessories wouldn't have been invented today
One man's take on life told thru humorous short stories from his childhood on into his mid-50's; from feeling like an outcast in school to being an adult. His intent: hope. Hope in that you shall see, no matter how rough life can seem -and is- at times, that you may be able to enjoy it. Each story will bring a laugh, a smile, a tear, a lesson.
The 23rd Annual Book Awards said:
"We Really Need To Laugh" shares “memories which will resonate with many readers. Overall a creative presentation of the author’s life given in a rather sing-song poetic story telling style; a pleasant read"