FLY LIKE A BIRD.

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Robin my bird chirped in her cage with her usual song. Hope she’s  not singing a song of escape. I dislike the morning, because the world was too ugly now, and Lagos was cold! It’s the fifth year I graduated from school and still expecting a miracle-job with a jumbo pay.

I remembered leaving countless offices disappointed. Now, another interview? What am I thinking?  The knock on my door doubled my frustration. It could be Mama, I thought.  Must she always bring a mug of concoction, especially on every interview mornings? Although I am used to such rituals, so I didn’t border.

“Abigail dear, you look beautiful on that dress.” She told me as I opened the door. The mug on her hand was beautifully designed. It must be a Japanese mug, I thought. Because of the Haiku written on it.

“Mama, why another mug of juice?” I asked. My eyes still on the aesthetically made mug. The message from the Haiku had freedom as its theme. I smiled, not minding Mama. After all, it’s her usual DON’T-GIVE- UP homily. As she talked, I heard her mention FREEDOM.  I looked at her, she was dead serious.
Was freedom knocking? I wondered.

I stared at the mug again, who designed this? I pondered greatly. Was so fascinating! But I know I could do better than this. “Mama, please I will really love to be alone, before I go for this interview.” I told her, and she understood. She was about to leave, then, she turned: “there are some things that
conceal their strength, especially our gifts. Look inside of you Abigail; you have much to offer the world.” I looked at her and wished she never came here.

What can I give when I don’t even have a job, I thought. She knew my degree in Fine Arts, from Yabatech was good enough. But I don’t enjoy painting again. I am not Claude Monet who loved to paint as the bird sings, or Michelangelo, I just need a job! Can’t she understand?
“Mama, what I need is a job,” I reiterated.

“Yes, Abi, I am one of those that believe you have one already. Don’t wait for the world to give you anything, because it may give you less!” She said and left.
Why would she visit me with such disaster? I pondered and fought her words. Tough woman, I guess.
But she could be making some sense…. So I turned and went to open my box——– a world of Art, maybe. My paintings were still beautiful. “Your business could be the work you hate most.” I soliloquized.

As I kept looking at my paintings, freshness overwhelmed me! It was like the right medicine on the venom inside me. I was finding strength again. “Where is my brush?” I asked myself. I remembered telling my professor that I could paint the world. Robin used to be my friend in such times, so I decided
to go and whisper my new found joy to her. No! Why? How? Her cage was opened, and she was gone!

The sky was too big to say which bird there was Robin. I knew she left me a message, and, it’s that she is happy to be free! And, I could do the same, yes, I could fly freely now and pursue this freed dream from an old box!

DON’T LET ME DIE.

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She watched  her helpless self

Torn in pieces of fire.

They burn her, and curse, and

The dying untiring, until she bleeds,

Die, awake, trudge, and mourn.

She gather wounds, and life too

Heavy to take her into tomorrow.

 

Untiring  counts of

Aborted souls and cheap

Blood!

What is holy with hell?

What devotion pushed

Such hearts, and the renewed stabs?

 

 

She is a woman who

Slows to live…

Will the night come again

To renew my wounds,

After the harvest of working

To believe?

 

The butchers say she will

Die, and their banner is

sworn, even as children look

to pirate’s banner and

Cannot see God…

 

Who will bring the

Times when children were

Born into so many hands,

That carried them to

The temple of love?

 

How did we wake to

This place?

How did children grow

In the wild, while we watched

Them in the house?

 

Did they share from

The place where we came from?

We watched aliens create

Strange things before our

Faces, and called the brains

To treat them.

 

Now they cut everything

With a surgical knife!

So we watched them grow

With compromised and poisoned

Hands, and play Assembly

With everything….

 

Are these people amongst

Us?

How did we publish their

License? They come now

Like loosed wolves on display….

 

Who will spend the strength

Going up, going down?

 

Down the avenue

Of strange places, again,

And again, I hear the spirit

Of NIGERIA say:   DON’T LET ME DIE!

THE POISON OF CORRUPTION.

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A proverb in eastern Nigeria goes thus: when one finger brings palm oil, it soils the rest fingers. This is the way with corruption. Defined by the Oxford Advanced Learner’s dictionary as ‘dishonest or illegal behavior, especially of people in authority’, corruption starts from leadership.

The reason is that, power rests with leadership, and a leader can choose to kill or lessen corruption through the power vested on him or her, depending on their sincerity or insincerity. Every problem Nigeria faces now, is the harvest from the seeds of corruption we allowed at first…

For better illustration, I will be using what I call the tree of corruption, to hit the nail on the head. A mango tree bears fruit because a seed was planted. When the seed of corruption is planted in any nation, they must wait for the harvest coming in front.

The five problems Nigeria faces are: CORRUPTION. CORRUPTION. CORRUPTION. CORRUPTION and CORRUPTION! The reason is that it has taken root too deep, that it’s hard to dig it out in one day. Be it economic, political, educational, social and security challenges, they are the products of a negative compromise we tolerated before now. So, what we are seeing now is the harvest!

Some people argue that corruption comes from the masses, but let them know that if you want to poison a bottle of water, you don’t put the poison from the bottom of the bottle. The poison is put into the bottle from the mouth, then, it goes down until the bottle is saturated with that poison. This is how corruption comes from the top (leadership), until it goes down to the bottom(masses).

The food of corruption is avarice. When people lack character or virtue, they will produce vices. And, one of those, is corruption. When people are not contented with what they have, they feed their insatiable-self with greed. The madness of getting excess pushes them to amass wealth, until they lose conscience.

And when conscience is gone, a man becomes a tool in the hands of the spirit of vices. He will lose his or her sensitivity to follow kindness and what is just. This is why many leaders loot without being sensitive! They take the first step by allowing greed, then that greed does the rest of the damages we witness.

Again, many leaders are not trained to understand what to do with power, so it’s misused! When the purpose of a thing is not known, abuse is inevitable. If a leader loses conscience, and becomes insensitive to the plight of the masses, it takes only GOD’s intervention to create a change. The best thing that can happen to a nation with insensitive leaders, is for leadership institutions to train young aspiring leaders who are ready to listen.

More so, the tree of corruption has not been dug out in Nigeria. That is why as one terrorist group is leaving, one worse than the previous one  raises its ugly head, like an,untamed dragon.

The Bible makes it clear that there is hope for a tree that is cut down, not dug out… Because a tree cut down can still survive through the elements and nutrients in the soil, but a tree dug out cannot tap nutrients, but will be left to die.

Finally, if we must move Nigeria, corruption must be dug out from the roots… And, if we are to remove the poison in the bottle, the process will not come from the bottom. We will cease to eat the poison of the corrupt fruits, after we have uprooted the tree that grows the poison of corruption, and has stayed with us for too long like the depth of the Iroko tree!

(c) DykeWilliams. 2014

THE POWERS OF POETRY.

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The condensation of poetry makes it add weight to theme, language and the expression of the poet. What poetry is, must carry the elements or powers that makes a poem antique. Imagery, rhythm and sounds are the major elements that keeps the taste and strength of a poem.

Some poets and scholars see imagery as the setting of a poem, whether physical or abstract, and, that looks right in their own belief. But imagery is more than that. In fact, it’s the soul of poetry. If it’s missing, the poem lacks salt, it has no enjoyment!

Metaphors, similes, language or diction and hyperbole, creates imageries in a poem. Imagery helps to create the exhibition-house on the mind of the readers of poetry.

Sometimes, the experiences of the poet gathers a reservoir of images on the heart of that poet. The poet with experiences may not lack the power of imagery… Imagery stands as the greatest of the powers that makes a poem.

Another element is rhythm. Rhythm is like the waters that push the ship to its destination. It’s the movement of stressed and unstressed syllables or sounds on a line of poetry.

It keeps the heartbeat of a poem, and graces it with music and beat like a flowing stream down a valley. Rhythm flows the lyric of a poem, adding its own strength to spark more enjoyment of the poem. It simply gives a poem that musical touch, and harmonic beauty.
It’s the element of rhythm that can turn a poem to a song.

Rhyme or sounds have the charms of rhythm, and supports rhythm. It’s the strength of sounds or rhythm that has remained the Japanese Haiku in the eternal state of antiquity, despite coming from the long distances of masters like Basho, Buson and Issa.

The haiku’s finest function is to distill a powerful message with few sounds. Elements like assonance, repetition, refrain, rhyme scheme and alliteration,also keeps the music of poetry.

However, it’s with time, writing and study that makes better poetry.

(c) 2014. Dyke Dyke Williams.

Buy my poetry book here: http://www.innerchildpress.com/dyke-williams.php

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ON HATRED AND REVENGE.

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Revenge is the poison that kills both its carrier and the victim. Three major things make men go to war: hatred, pride and revenge. But revenge is like fire, it remains only ashes after it has burnt. Revenge will make people destroy what they should have kept alive. People who are vengeful are the most dangerous to be with.

Revenge will take away your happiness. Happiness is so powerful that when we are in that mood, we ignore and tolerate many things and people. But a vengeful person, because of the hatred he or she has inside hardly gets amused. The reason is that the nature of what they carry inside does not permit a joyful mood. You need anger and hatred to revenge.

Secondly, revenge will not give you peace. Peace is far from someone who plans to revenge. When they see or remember the one they plan to hurt, anger comes alive. An angry person is not peaceful, you cannot give what you don’t have.

You may hurt the innocent. Some people go after the children of the person they are planning to hurt.

Sometimes people think they know the best way to revenge, especially trying to hit the victim on the pain-est place, but in trying to justify our jungle justice, we show unfairness, in the end we have done no justice. But have killed a man and his innocence!

Revenge imports more vices. A virtous person could lose the virtue because of the quest for revenge. This happens because revenge will allow more vices into the life of the person who carries it. And, it will even affect those they love who are dear to them. Revenge has the nature to spoil everything…

Revenge will not allow forgiveness. GOD makes it clear that the one who shows mercy receives it. It then means that the one who refuses mercy gets no mercy. That makes a man remain guilty, and fustrated. Until he or she may even contemplate suicide.

Revenge will take anyone who has it to a wild journey, that may result to death. Mandela had to drop it at the gate, because it is another prison.Revenge is like the burning sun, it burns us all.

AT THE CROSS.

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Eternal at the cross,

The prodigal returns

With scars that scares

The soul…

The prodigal weep

Day and night at the

Mouth of the labyrinth…

At the cross is where the

Prodigal is chained, unto a cross,

Too rugged to save the

Prodigal from everything,

When the last of the

Clock ticks….

(C) DykeWilliams.

                        From ‘GOD: As I See Him’.

Buy my poetry book here: http://www.innerchildpress.com/dyke-williams.php