Posted in INSPIRATION, NAIJA POETRY, POETRY, POETRY FROM THE WORLD

The Definition of Hope

Poetry is hope; hope is life; something beautiful.

If you would listen, it is a promise.

If you would listen, quietly and get those codes that gently unveil themselves to us like dawn unfolds to day; like the caterpillar to a butterfly.20130217-203619

It is the look of waters

– on a cloudy night; wait a few seconds for when God’s hands pushes those clouds –

With stars and the moon dancing in a million glitters across several miles;

Can you see the diamonds bobbing up and down as the waves sing promises and freshness to your soul?
It is transformation from bleak to bliss.

It is the sight of beauty, the sound of desire, the smell of hope, the taste of victory and the touch of greatness… It is so much more…

It is your heart in words the mouth cannot utter; your soul in codes your flesh can’t decipher. It is the air and it is the earth – you can feel it without touching; you can grab it in your fingers yet it carries you.

It is dawn – the sun smiling when you wake.

Dusk – when the sun dives back below the earth’s belt.

The moon shining in shapes from a calabash to a banana, on any given night – with its stars glittering and dotting the skies, precious gems lighting the souls of the weary…

It is those words that tell us, who are heavy laden

– lovers who struggle to find the spark of fires that now seem like smoke

– a writer weaving words no one seems to care about

– someone looking over a sick one, in anguish

– people in recession, finding a single meal

– a father who looks to questioning eyes that ask ‘why?’

– a mother, forced to go to a trash can to pick meals like a lunatic, not caring about eyes that stare, as she puts food in the mouth of her baby

It is those words that tell us to look up in hope, even on those nights when the clouds come around to bring a sense of darkness
As you struggle through dusk, note every night gives birth to dawn and day, brilliant rays that will sparkle your existence

When it seems like the end, remember just when the caterpillar thought it was over, it became a butterfly!

The river that looks dark on a cloudy night, inviting you to taste of its depth transforms to a mirror of diamonds with a small push of Aôndo who takes all the clouds away

True. Those clouds…

They never took away the moon and stars. The clouds would slowly float away… but would you be waiting?

 

That is poetry. That is hope. That is life.

That is you.

You are verse. You are hope. You are life.

Too beautiful to be explained. Too deep to be deciphered at once, yet full of so much and more.
You are beautiful.
If they would listen, you are a promise.

If they would listen, quietly and get those codes that gently unveil themselves like dawn unfolds day; they would see the diamond that hid behind the rough.

You are the sight of beauty, the sound of desire, the smell of hope, the taste of victory and the touch of greatness… You are so much more…

 

Listen slowly to what the universe just whispered to my heart,

hear it everyday in the voice time should never make you deaf to:

You are the best verse that life ever wrote.

 

  • Copyright ©Su’eddie Vershima Agema, 2017
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Posted in NAIJA POETRY, POETRY, POETRY FROM THE WORLD, Uncategorized

MAYBE WE SHOULD LEARN TO HATE

Maybe we should learn to hate.

Not to love everything, like our heart would have us do. Not to compromise on things that are more of lies, for the sake of – peace.

When they piss on the centre of our souls, quenching the one thing that keeps us going –sanity.

Maybe we should learn to hate.

To rise above the cries we have sobbed, smiling in distress, swallowing sadness while lingering pain stabs us deep in the heart where no one can see… Even in love, we offer another plea…

Maybe we should learn to hate.

Shout at the arrogance of asses that fart noises to our noses, entrenching deeper stripes into our skin as more wipes are lashed by those we throw our hearts at, as they target carefully aimed darts…

Maybe we should learn to hate.

Maybe hate should grow. Slowly, a spark at a time till it flames and enrages our being, burning every fibre to shout at every evil, stare every stupidity and not be trampled by those who live that we may die…

Maybe we should learn to hate?

 

  • Su’eddie Vershima Agema
Posted in INSPIRATION, NAIJA POETRY, POETRY, POETRY FROM THE WORLD, Uncategorized

ONCE UPON A TALE OF LIFE (Versed Notes)

(after listening to a spoken word by daisy odey)

once, there was a storyteller
who created fires from sparks
who started each tale with ‘let there be’…
a teller of many intertwining tales
who told our universe to be
and in that space,
he killed the darkness, formed the light
filled everywhere, made it bright…

tale-of-life
art painting fire surrealism Old man Teun Hocks Love|Crave Source

the teller decided to tell another tale
‘let there be…’
a dragged sentence that took nine sticks
and a rubbing of stones
the answer was a tiny spark…
that found movement in four ways…

four feet became two
as seconds multiplied minutes
that aged into years
the tale spiralled on, and formed extensions
that spanned decades through an existence
of much that left in some minds
a steady presence, in others an absence

this tale continued
a fire spreading
burning as it lit others
within, other tales made:
continuations that left everyone amazed…

till finally,
the fire quenched to smoke
the tale came to a halt
it lived on in others and became a narrative
one that continues to be
in a beauty everyone can see
but the fire was meant to be reborn
and so the storyteller…

…decided to add one more
like many other things
the voice said: ‘let there be…’
it was a long sentence that took nine sticks

a rubbing of stones
the answer was a tiny spark…

-©Su’eddie Vershima Agema, 2015.

Posted in romance, TALES

A SONG TO A TALE by Su’eddie Vershima Agema

It was one song. The song of his romance. The song of his soul.

The tune played slowly into his ears as memory came rushing in.

He had been asking Julia out for some time. They knew they liked each other and he just couldn’t see why she would see their language difference as a barrier to their romance. He had asked on and on till she finally decided to come pay him a visit after giving him a subtle, ‘Maybe.’

His radiance had been enough to take away every darkness that might have been hanging anywhere. He beamed his smiles at his neighbours and made jokes that threw everyone to great laughter.

‘What’s the secret?’ ‘A woman?’ ‘What’s happening?’

The questions kept playing as he replied to each: ‘You no go understand.’

Soon, his room and parlour apartment was transformed into a palace. The dust that had found permanent rest on cushions and other parts took sharp leave. Cobwebs that had been spun by expert spiders and become some form of permanent artwork were brought down. He got new bedsheets from the market and put everything in place. Time ticked slowly even as he made each second count till the moment chimed. She came in from work, tired and a bit sweaty. He took her in his arms soon as she stepped in and the tiredness that clung to her like a cloak was lifted. Still, there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t understand.

‘What is it dear?’ he asked repeatedly.

‘Nothing. Was tired but now, I am strong! Thanks dear.’

He took her words, smiled his way to his room and appeared back with a plate in his hands. She opened it to find long grained white rice covered in a deep red sauce supported with some shrimps. At a corner of the plate were fresh vegetables. The aroma rose to her nose tickling the hairs within. He watched her as she closed her eyes. He got to his fridge and brought out two cans of Malt.

‘Would have got us wine but for starters, let’s not get you drunk on a first date.’

Her lips were spread in a huge smile even as her eyes filmed. He had his back to her as he tried to put on his radio set to slot in a cassette. He fiddled with it for some time, then decided to get a new tape. As he turned, he found her in his front. She stretched her arms around him and he smiled. After some time, she disengaged and gave him a cassette. He slotted it in. Soon, the voice of Rascal Flatts filled the room; I woke up this morning, with this feeling inside me that I can’t explain like a weight that I am carrying has been taken away… But I know something is coming… I don’t know what it is but I know it is amazing, my time is coming, I will find a way out of this … And it feels like today…

‘Come, let us eat,’ she called. He made some sounds of disagreement. She looked up at him with a deep frown.

‘Okay…’ he grumbled and joined her.

The plate was cleared in little time. Then he stood up, got to the room and was back with a plate of some dark mound with a smell that could not be mistaken – chocolate cake. Her eyes confirmed what her nose had declared even before he could put it down.

‘Ah! My favourite!’ she shouted and grabbed the plate out of his hand.

Soon, the song, ‘Feels like today’ caught their ears: ‘I woke up this morning, with a feeling I can’t explain like a weight that I have been carrying has been carried away…’

‘Stand up,’ he invited. ‘Excuse me dance?’

They laughed at this. He had a way of behaving old when he was in the mood. She refused to move. He got down to her chair and poked his fingers into her ribs. She started giggling then ended up laughing out loud. She stood up finally.

‘I don’t want to dance!’ she shouted over the volume of the song that he had increased.

‘Oh well, it isn’t an option now!’ he replied back, matching her loudness.

Feels like today…

The song soon changed to ‘Bless the broken road’, then JJ Heller’s ‘Tonight’.

‘From dance steps, I usually know how long a relationship would last and also a lady’s true feelings for me.’

‘Really?’ she said and raised her head from his chest to look into his face. ‘How long would we last?’

‘As long as the day goes,’ he replied and smiled. He buried his head in her hair as the scent rose into his nose. He looked at her face after a while, her eyes closed and against his chest. She looked up then, and he locked her lips in a kiss. The music stopped, but they swayed on to music from within, trapping time if only, for that moment.

couple

 

 

 

SONG for the moment: JJ Heller ‘Tonight’ from The Pretty and The Plain album.

 

 

Excerpt from A Song to a Tale and Waiting by Su’eddie Vershima Agema

Picture Source: http://www.clipartbest.com/cliparts/9T4/o5K/9T4o5Krjc.jpeg

Posted in LIFE, POETRY FROM THE WORLD

THE MOMENT OF THE ROSE by Su’eddie Vershima Agema

The Almighty gives a gift – of a rose, to those who are blessed.
You hold it carefully, and ignore the thorns. You smell the fragrance and enjoy its beauty, always knowing that one fine tomorrow perhaps, it will wither. Or maybe you will wither first. Maybe a miracle will enclose you both into an eternal glass that wouldn’t ever break.
Maybe nothing.
There’s just now. You and your rose.
Inhale deep, and enjoy the fragrance. Lock it in your thoughts.
And if tomorrow takes any of you away. Smile, for today, you lived in the greatest of fragrances and beauty: the moment of the rose.

rose-hold

 

Posted in INSPIRATION, LIFE, POETRY, THANKS

face of heaven (a poem) by su’eddie vershima agema

rainbows hide memories of misery
that certain storms bring
peace a colour
of the wind poured into one
that helps give our souls joy…

the face of heaven
is a smile that lived
in my heart
i found its construct
in your words
as they came together slowly
one on the other
…it was  also the beauty of your being
close to me
in flesh, as in heart…

to first draw a line
then stretch at the ends
a bow that brings peace
in grins
a fulfillment of ease

now and then
when uncertainty and past slips
seek to drown my ease
when storms blow in torments
i will seek treasured moments
to fight through the torrents
till the sun shines again to make things bright

i will seek you…
to help pull back that line
my eyes will look to the skies
and if no rainbow appears
in which your beauty is knit
i will draw one…then find you in it

i will find you
even if you be far…

i will draw our love anew
then bring together again
heaven’s face

 

 

 

Posted in INSPIRATION, LIFE, POETRY FROM THE WORLD, THANKS

PRELUDE TO FACE OF HEAVEN (thoughts)

I just completed the poem, ‘Face of Heaven’.
I started writing the poem in church on Sunday. Yes, I did. The sermon was on the miracle at the wedding of Cana. I think there’s much we can pick from the Bible. There’s so much treasure within. I could preach on and on, but even if you wouldn’t believe, find peace there. But back to the poem…and the sermon.

I was touched. Love has many issues and sometimes, we carry burdens, worrying for those we love and…worrying for ourselves. Sometimes, we go through so much strife we wonder if it is worth it. Might be we get to that point where we forget the joys that once were the key things that got us going…

Truth is, I wanted to write a sad poem. But the lines kept changing. And soon, it flowed on. I tried to tweak it again, at some point and felt happy at my supposed success. After hearing much from friends and feeling bad with certain issues, I decided to post the poem. But looking at it, I began to wonder how people would feel when they read it; if it would bless them or break them. In the middle of everything, in some boil, I got to talk to Belle. After everything, I came back to my post here. Decided to rather bless, if I can.

Slowly, new words came, new stanzas. New ideas also came in that took the poem beyond love alone. It is lovely to see how the mind makes different things work. But I took time again and crafted diverse themes and thoughts. I shall restrict to its interpretation in the face of love. Now, in that light, I don’t know if I have done a good job but this poem here comes from my heart and is in the spirit of those ‘Note-To-Self’ pieces.

I believe in love but I know there is pain in it. Many times. Hasn’t it been compared to the sweet rose with its thorns? Still, don’t let any moment change you or make you lose hope. There’s beauty in us all. Even when you go through storms, even when doubt, anger, fear or worry comes in, love stands strong.

Find memory as your strength, work towards building every broken relationship, sustain those in their bloom while treasuring moments to use in the future when torments come and remember, love’s happiness and sorrow is worth every second.

It is hard…but worth it.

Good morning.

Posted in comfort, INSPIRATION, LIFE

Show Love (Random Notes) – Su’eddie

Even men too love, is the title of a poem by Ene Odaba, my adopted daughter. She writes deep. She writes well.
I have been thinking of late how many times some men put a  bold face while dying inside, showing emotions in every way without saying the words. They imagine that the lady should understand… Now, I have come to realise that whether you are in a relationship or hoping to win a lady’s affections, you need words to help build assurances, to rekindle fires and spice desires.
Insecurity easily rises when a partner doesn’t always express love. Insecurity arises when competition comes up, whether intentional or not.
I have been talking to a few friends and getting their views on this, which has led to this post.
I don’t know where you are or how your relationship is going but please,  take time to tell your love you really love the person – mean it. If you have lost your spark,  rework it. Share compliments, ‘You look good’ ‘I loved that picture of yours’…
Heck, treat the person like a child. Shower kisses and all.
I see too many people dying these days.
I see too many relationships withering.

A most lovely friend of mine mentioned to me this evening that when we look back at issues against time,  a lot will be trivial.
Make every moment count and shower the love on your special someone tonight. ..

Posted in FICTION

The Roman’s Strength (A short story) by Hymar David

EASTER STORY.

They stood outside the tomb, hugging themselves tightly against the biting cold. Their weapons hanging idly by their sides, their backs against the tomb’s wall.

The darkness was thick. They could barely see the shapes of each other. One or two cursed in low tones.

” Raca!”

Jemiah was the youngest of the soldiers, the most zealous and outspoken. His companions held him in disdain. He was too keen to impress, he was always doing more than the job called for, working longer hours, volunteering for the harder tasks. What does the little beardless fool want to prove, they asked among themselves.

Jemiah pretended he didn’t hear the whispers. He pretended he didn’t see the furious glowers as the leader of their band heaped praises on him after leading the successful capture of that delusional crackpot Rabbi called Jesus.

Now, he stood ramrod straight and alert, his spear gripped firmly in his hands, his eyes straining to peek through the veil of darkness. They had told him to be on the lookout for a band of deluded followers of the dead rabbi who might try to steal the body and claim he rose from the dead.

” Bring them alive,” was the order.

Jemiah and his cohorts had been waiting for a few hours now. But the only sounds they had heard so far was the wind whispering into the ears of the grass, the murmur of night ghosts and spiritwalkers that his widow mother had told him about when he was a little child.

The only thing they saw was the unreadable face of darkness. The face of blank nothingness. Voids.

They hadn’t brought lamps. They hadn’t wanted to scare the would be grave robbers away. Jemiah could hear the heavy snoring of some of the soldiers. He tsked in disdain. The era when Roman soldiers were rugged, no-nonsense and very brutal custodians of the laws of the lands were numbered.

Gbrrrrmmmmm.

What’s that? His eyes flew wide. His grip on his spear tightened and he turned sharply.

He saw nothing but he knew what he had heard. No, he didn’t know what he heard. He only knew he heard something. He just had no idea what it was and where it had came from.

” Wake up, dogs.” he yelled.

Jemiah was also despised because of his utter lack of regard for rank or age. He was half-Jewish. Roman only on his father’s side. He had been involved in training ground shouting and slanging matches with his superiors several times. Tall and built like an ox. He had the demeanour of a possessed bull when angry and his voice split eardrums when he yelled. Men thought five times before trifling with him.

The other men jerked awake. Someone, the leader of the expedition cursed. Jemiah responded in a mixture of Hebrew and Greek which he learned at school as a boy.

The sound came before Jemiah finished venting. The others must have heard it for the air was suddenly stirred with the sounds of boots stamping hard on the earth as the men came awake, spears making a swish sound as they were pulled from the earth.

” What is that?” someone asked.

As if to reply him, the air was suddenly shattered with a roar that knocked five men senseless on the ground, the others dropped their spears and stuck fingers into their ears. The ground shook beneath them and they removed their hands, flailing to keep their balance.

Jemiah cursed again as he fell, groping for his spear, feeling the earth beneath him vibrate like a demoniac under the possession of the whole hosts of hell.

The tremor stopped as suddenly as it had began. Jemiah got up quickly, still groping for his weapon. He collided with someone who was doing exactly the same thing, the man was mumbling something about the devil in a voice so filled with fear it infected Jemiah. His heart began to beat drumbeats of dread.

His hand came upon the cold metal. But feeling it did not give him even a misguided sense of courage. It was as if whatever it was that had just happened had ransacked his mind and heart and shook the last dregs of courage out of him. All he felt as he stood in the darkness was a deep sense of cluelessness and indecision. His feet trembled, itching to flee into the darkness. But Jemiah had never ran from anything. Not even when he got lost in a forest expedition one day and stumbled on a pride of lions having a nap under the shade of tall grasses. He had gripped his spear tightly and waited for them to attack. Lucky for him, the lions had just finished a heavy lunch and showed no interest in the human trembling before them.

Jemiah looked round, towards the mouth of the tomb. And his heart almost stopped.

He saw a man in shimmering white clothing. The man was tall, taller than Rufus who was six foot eight. And he had shoulders so broad they blocked the entrance into the tomb. Jemiah wasn’t surprised to see the stone rolled away from the tomb. The man standing before him had a body that suggested he benchpressed mountains for fun.

” Who are you?” Jemiah asked, hating how his voice trembled.

” My name is Gabriel.”

For a man so huge, he had a very soft voice. Each word seemed to have some kind of ethereal beauty wrapped around them. It was almost like a song.

” You came to steal the body of Jesus.” Jemiah accused, lifting his voice a couple of notches higher, trying to summon courage.

The man did not answer him. Jemiah gripped his spear and steadied himself, not knowing what he was doing but hating the feeling of helplessness that had wrapped itself round him like a widow’s black shawl.

He launched himself at the man.

Two wings protruded suddenly from behind the man. They shot out like lightning, one sweeping in a horizontal arc to knock the spear from his hand, the other slamming hard into his left side, sending him spinning into the air and crashing heavily on the ground, stunned.

The sound of frenzied footsteps told him his colleagues who had survived the tremor were running away.

” Dogs,” he mouthed, gripping his sides in pain.

The man, no, the angel moved from the tomb and seemed to float four feet in the air. Jemiah saw a strange glow emanating from the tomb.

Another angel came out and joined the first one. They seemed to converse briefly then they stared at him. Their eyes shone, branding fear into his soul.

From nowhere a voice that sounded like the roar of water from a burst dam exploded from above them.

” LET THERE BE LIGHT!”

Before Jemiah’s eyes, the darkness gave way. Lightning flashed across the sky in forked streaks. Midnight suddenly became noon. A sunless noon. He saw clearly the outline of his colleagues sprawled on the ground. Dead? Unconscious? He saw the angels as they hovered over the tomb, their wings spread apart. He saw the hill suddenly take on a strange shimmering radiance, he saw the flowering shrubs seem to grow a bit taller, brighter, the sky became bluer, the grass greener. The world more alive than he had ever known it.

He saw the dead man as he walked out of the tomb.

He knew it was Jesus because he came out staring at his hands. Pierced hands. Crushed hands.

A halo surrounded him, blazing brighter than any light he had ever seen. For some reason, Jemiah’s heart became calm, his fear vanished, his hatred for this man he had whipped and spat at a few days ago dissolved.

Jesus turned his head and stared at Jemiah. Jemiah saw two balls of bright flame shining in his eyes. He felt faint, a sudden wave of nausea enveloped him. At the same time, he felt happiness showering on him. Like water.

Just before he passed out into a darkness so long and deep, Jemiah had the time to reflect on the light he saw in the eyes of Jesus. He thought that the light was good.

E.H. David.