Wednesday, October 29, 2008


Supple skin
And milky liquid;
I want to gulp the world.

Bland breeze
Cuddles my lips;
I want to kiss the moon.

Smoldering ripples
Tickles my palms;
I want to surf the sea.

Joyous jingles
Lick at my limbs;
I want to ride with you.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

...and there was light

It overshadowed the world with wrath and war. With its vicious forces that stretched like the sea, the world fell again and again.
Brutality. That was the word for the massacre. With their weapons dripping with blood and flesh, the forces of the dark lord hacked mercilessly the souls of men. Countless heads rolled down the mountains of the earth. None could save it. Its helplessness was a disaster.
The enemies advanced deeper into the heart of the world, thirsty for more blood, for more victories. Amidst dark and gruesome clamour, they plundered everything they found on their ways. like swarms of locusts on the loose, they marched, raining fire and chaos. Women, helpless and powerless met their doom in the hands of these brutal fighters who raped and tortured them to their untimely death. Vulnerable, children found their innocence stolen from them, as they saw blood flowed like a river. They saw their world crumbled and they wept.
On his dark beast, the dark lord beamed with delight at the horror that sprawled out before him. This was his moment, the ultimate hour of his victory. After centuries and centuries of crafty waiting, the world was at last becoming his own to rule and ruin. His aim was to kill as much as he could and the remnants would become his slave. None would be spared.
He looked up towards the heaven and grinned mischievously. Since he was shamefully thrown out of that paradise of a palace, and disrobed of his honour and glory, he had vowed to mock his former master at every given opportunity. This was one of such opportunities and he was making the most of it.
He missed his former glory and that painful realization made him hate the maker even more. He was ambitious and proud, so what? What is wrong in the clay striving to be better than the porter? He envied the ultimate power wielded by The Maker and had dreamt of usurping his throne. That attempt failed fatally and had cost him what he held so dear. He could not forget that epic battle easily.
He missed the ceaseless pleasure that flows sweetly from the fountain of life. The crystal rainbow that lightens the supple space and creates beauty from ceaseless harmony. And how much he loved harmony. Once, harmony had flowed from him like streams of water and had sparkled round the throne of the Maker. He was a singer; his voice was like magic, mellow and mellifluent. He had led the choir and they had rendered sweetest adoration to The Maker of all.
His thought was disrupted by one of the commanders.
'My lord,' the commander bowed before him.
Rudely ;what is it?'
‘We are about to chain the prisoners and set the world on fire! We only ask for your permission.'
'Permission granted! You shall all be honoured at the great banquet. Our victory shall be celebrated.'
The commander bowed and took his leave.
And so, the earth was set ablaze and the remnants taken captive.
Darkness had won.

The captive were shown hell. They carried on their backs the bulky burdens of their enemy. With their sweat and blood, they built for the dark lord cities renowned for abominations and cruel perversions. Those that proved too weak were fed to the beast, which was as gruesome as its rider. His only drink was blood and his meat human flesh. His appetite was deep; nothing could fill it to the brim.
There were some among the captives who believed in hope and prayed earnestly for deliverance. They knew it was their trips that gave the earth away. And so, they prayed for another chance, another day of glory, when the earth again would be free, when the light would return and human souls float in ultimate victory.
Though they did not realized it, their hope worked.

Up, far above the cloud, a decision was reached. The earth must be saved from the hands of a rebel whose fall from grace was the most shameful.
There were volunteers. Mickeal was one of them. He had led the heavenly forces that defeated the Dark Lord during that epic battle and he wanted to do it again.
As an archangel, he still could not understand why Lucifer of all angels dared question the authority of the Maker. It was unheard of. He had everything, why then did he allow evil into his soul? Mickeal wished above all other things to meet the dark lord again. this time, in the battle to save the earth.
Determined, the captain of the heavenly host fell down at the feet of the Maker. The ceaseless light from the throne bathed him tenderly and he felt his Maker's presence more than ever before.
'My lord, let me lead this battle and take care of this rebel once and for all. My task is to take care of your enemies and am ready to do it even now. All am asking is your permission.'
'Mickeal,' the voice was like the echo of flowing waters.
'Yes lord.'
'You are a faithful servant and I love you. But am not permitting you to lead my host this time around. Someone else is doing that for me.'
'And who is this?' the archangel asked.
At that moment, the heaven floated again in suspended harmony as angels merged their voices together in holy adoration. This was the moment they have all been waiting for. Who would have the honour of saving the earth?
Amidst these echoes of love, the maker stood in his majesty and there was quiet, a great hush fell. In uniformed humility, every creature fell on their faces and worshipped him who is clothed in lightening.
'The lamb will lead the host and free the earth.' he announced and sat on his throne.
Immediately, it became lively again as songs gushed out like water and drenched the heaven in golden melody. The Lamb, clothed in love and power would lead the host of heaven to victory. It was going to be a very short battle.

The dark lord brimmed with anger as he gathered his troop. He had filled the earth with his darkness and poisoned its soul with its filthy breath. Now, after years of dominion, his reign was being threatened. Another epic battle he knew it was going to be and he wondered why heaven could not let him be. He had worked so hard to make the earth his own and no one would take it from him. no one!
He gathered his troop, humans and fallen angels alike; he pour his spirit and dark hell into their souls and they became possessed, ready to fight with their last breath. And so they marched. led by the dark lord and his beast, they proceeded to the great mountain where it would all be decided.
Their nightmare began immediately they got to the battleground, where the heavenly host was already waiting. Multiple lights became as sharp as swords and pierced the very heart of darkness. Some of the fallen cherubs burst into emptiness and melted away. Panic gripped the rest, and they retreated. Seeing his troop fleeing, the dark lord became furious and roared like a wounded lion.
Somehow, the roar was magical. It woke the hell in the retreating troop and they came roaring back to their doom.
One by one, the dark fighters were shown the way to hell by the superior forces. They bowed to the ultimate power of the lamb who rode gallantly on his white horse. Seeing the lamb riding his way to victory, the dark lord charged forward at him. That was his undoing. The lamb pointed his two edged sword and from it flowed invisible mighty chains. It happened so fast, the dark lord found himself bound. He had never felt so helpless and humiliated.
Seeing their master and his beast in chains, the dark forces knew it was over; they surrendered to he who they can never conquer in battle. Like their master, they were put in chains too and dragged into the dungeon.

Like a warrior who he truly was, the Lamb rode to the edge of the mountain and smiled. The earth had finally been redeemed. He lifted his sword and pointed it towards the earth. Swiftly, darkness fled and there was light.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Dreary Death (For Yinka Craig

On this bed
Sleeps an older bird
His home was once a nest
But here, he lays to rest

Upon this chest
Lays a precious pearl
Yesterday, he sucked the milky earth
Today, he drank dreary death.
Don’t cry when you see the grave
For it is made for the brave
Life comes and go like rain
So will you when your breath is slain

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time in your arm, I saw pleasure on the fingertips of bursting dusk and my body throbbed to the rhythm.
In your arm, time lost its urgency and passion triumphed like waterlilly.
soft moist dew trickled and glistened on flesh intertwined in battle and victory.
Once upon a time in your arm,
I found you.
I found me

Love Fell

Love Fell
Love fell and a million hell burst crudely with sapphire. The earth trembles, trickling with salty brine and tepid tears nearly drown the soul.
Love, tender and sweaty, was pushed down the craggy edge of the wild mountain and she wept.
With its fluid alto, she wept for help and breath until the terror, ready and raw welcomes her where corpses littered and passions mangled.
Love fell and the earth fell too.

Love Fell

Love Fell
Love fell and a million hell burst crudely with sapphire. The earth trembles, trickling with salty brine and tepid tears nearly drown the soul.
Love, tender and sweaty, was pushed down the craggy edge of the wild mountain and she wept.
With its fluid alto, she wept for help and breath until the terror, ready and raw welcomes her where corpses littered and passions mangled.
Love fell and the earth fell too.

wordsbody: Okore's Infinite Flow#links

wordsbody: Okore's Infinite Flow#links

Monday, October 20, 2008

from God and his Demons

December 5: This morning, I woke to the gruesome sonance of death. Horror seemed to be everywhere, banqueting freely on human flesh like a vampire. From the mission house, we could see as smokes of burnt houses ascended to form an alliance with the grizzled cloud. Shouts of terror, wailing sounds of guns and Arabic chanting became so regular, it nearly twisted one’s brain. Later, when the terror seemed to have subsided, father went out to see what was going on. I volunteered to go with him but mother would have none of it.
When he returned about three hours after, he did not come alone. He came with so many families who brought with them tears of sorrow and loss. Father announced to us that the Jihadists have declared war on us. Christians in Zaranda have been marked and their blood will the shed. This is happening because a Corper seized the Holy Book from a boy who was caught chanting a verse during his lesson.
Some of our visitors slept inside the church while the rest flooded the mission house. These innocent people have lost in a minute what they have gathered in years. The evil in men is indeed like a pit of hell, it swallows first the soul of good men and if it likes, makers of agony. Isn’t that injustice?
December 6: The nightmare lingers. Am writing this journal in the bush a few distance from our house. Am trying so hard not to fall asleep like mother and the maid. I love the untainted melody of the birds quite all right but tonight, their voices torture my soul.
Am alone with mother and our housemaid. Father is not back yet. Our exodus to the bush began two hours ago when we heard that the Jihadists are heading towards the church and the mission house. This news scared our visitors and they all fled in panic. We fled too, the bush was the only alternative. Everywhere was on fire. Father went back to see what happened.
I decided not to say my prayers today. Why should I honour God when innocent people are dying because of his Holy Book? If God can allow so much blood to be shed on his account, then I want to dishonour him. Mother will call this blasphemy but I don’t care. Am still waiting for thunder to flash from heaven and strike me down. Can the thunder of God be more vicious than the wrath of these wicked men? Goodnight. I hope I will not wake up in hell.
December 7: the bush is still our home; father is not back yet. We could feel the terror heavy in the air. The battle out there is nothing compare to the hunger raging in my stomach. We ate nothing other than unripe mangoes plucked by me.
December 8: we left the bush when the news came that our governments have intervened and the violence is over. On our way home, we found the streets deserted, still brimming with fierce fire of destruction. Burnt cars littered every space; most of the houses have been reduced to mere debris. The few people we met are full of tears, their faces pasted with helplessness.
My heart beat faster as we neared our home. The entrance gate had disappeared. While mother and the maid made for the church, I ran towards the mission house. I couldn’t recognize it. The glasses were shattered and the walls scotched.. I entered through the living room and found that its beauty had disappeared, burnt by the fire of madness. With tears blurring my eyes, I ran towards my room, hoping to see my journals and its sweet memories, hoping to find my simple paintings intact. My hope became dashed as I entered. Everything had disappeared.
I was still coming to grasp with my loss when I heard mother screamed. I dashed inside the church, and there he was, kneeling on the altar, still holding on to his Bible, which was already burnt beyond repair. My father, Rev. Babayanmife Crowther, was fried like a fish fresh from the river.
Right there, I knew my journey to the world of unbelief has started. I wanted to run away from God. To run away from him and his flesh eating demons in human flesh. Goodnight. I don’t care if I wake up in hell!

Your Blue

Your blue,
Bathes with golden hue
And love brims
Like the fertile sea.