For grandma

content goes to the typist & printer this morning
i still haven't written a word for grandma

i'm one of the family's writers
birthday wishes on behalf of mama
long ass messages for everyone
i still haven't written a word for grandma

words haven't failed me
they dance on the canvas of my mind
visualized somewhere
around my eyes and forehead and brain
i have composed several medium articles in my head
said a few of grandma's stories since she left
sang some of her songs
said some of her signature words
words haven't failed me
but i still haven't written a word for grandma

they'll print the programme
and have everyone's tributes
save mine because
i still haven't written a word for grandma

grandma has to forgive my selfishness
i don't want to put my words down just yet
because they're all I can hold on to
and if at any moment
i allow them to fly onto pages physical and digital
outed words become out of mind
so i still haven't written a word for grandma

and as these letters conjoin
from the tap of my hands on this keyboard
an army of tears
is at the precipice of my ears
i may not write any words for grandma

or, maybe i have.

-

—

for every paragraph
that wraps itself in rhythmic flow:
whose words rush out
like autumn leaves in the wake of the breeze
from a car's tyres —
upbeat; giving the heart some artistic melody...

for every verse we make:
whose words saunter out
like a white cat
unsure of the harshness of the Eastern sun...

for every step we take, unsure
and every poem we write, regardless;
for the accolades
and the rejectionsssssss

for the love of the —
& lower-case letters;
for the defiant formlessness
made bold by poetic license...

and the retirement
that only brings us back,
because every sentence is poetry;
life is poetry.

for these lines — moribund;
yet valiantly wafting through a forest of thoughts...

happy world poetry day!

-

Letters to Ibi: The bias is a bully; monstrous-faced, but inherently fragile & breakable

Dear Ibi,

Remember those secondary school bullies? With their faces knitted into the worst contortion, they extort their fellow students, beat others up, make a jest, and do all sorts.

They look scary, till that lanky school child has had enough and beats the living daylights out of the. Then, everyone finds out that the bully is not much of an unbreakable rock, after all.

And so are biases. They're thick-faced and monstrous. Many people have worshipped them for years, decades, centuries — because they appeal to the social alignment of many, and well, it's easier to conform than to stand out.

But they're not unbreakable. I know you know that — I want you to always remember that. And live by that. And inspire other women to live by that.

Remember one of your biggest resolutions for the new year... One of the best places to start is to wage war against biases, armed with knowledge and information.

Happy International Women's Day, top-tier woman. Love how far you've come; love the promise of what is to come. Confident in how well things would turn out. Cheers to the best.

Yours,
Theo

-

Letters to Ibi: It's Been A While, And Many Other Things...

Dear Ibi,
It's been a while... I'd say it's largely because messages and every other thing in between have become more frequent. Or perhaps, it's because we're both neck-deep in a lot of stuff...

I'd also say that no matter how frequent messages have been — they can't fully replace these letters.

On the 14th, I told you some things I've learnt this past year — how out of sight, out of mind has rare exceptions; as it is with you. How you genuinely make me happy... I meant them.

Yesterday, I was scrolling through our chats — that's one of the best things I did all week. They brought me an array of beautiful emotions. And of course, I found one or two things to send to ERIVIC to torment him 🤤.

It's two days to (who no know, go know 🤤), and I'm as excited as you are 😊. I'm also excited about how the next turning will be crazy — in a positive way. I do see it all in my mind's eye already; it's wonderful to see.

Here's a pre-arrival: may genuine happiness never cease to erupt from the fountain of your heart.

It's Sunday, and well... Let me stop here for now. I hope this comes more frequently than it's been.

- Theo

-

Letters to Ibi: It's Been A While, And Many Other Things...

Dear Ibi,
It's been a while... I'd say it's largely because messages and every other thing in between have become more frequent. Or perhaps, it's because we're both neck-deep in a lot of stuff...

I'd also say that no matter how frequent messages have been — they can't full replace these letters.

On the 14th, I told you some things I've learnt this past year — how out of sight, out of mind has rare exceptions; as it is with you. How you genuinely make me happy... I meant them.

Yesterday, I was scrolling through our chats — that's one of the best things I did all week. They brought me an array of beautiful emotions. And of course, I found one or two things to send to ERIVIC to torment him 🤤.

It's two days to (who no know, go know 🤤), and I'm as excited as you are 😊. I'm also excited about how the next turning will be crazy — in a positive way. I do see it all in my mind's eye already; it's wonderful to see.

Here's a pre-arrival: may genuine happiness never cease to erupt from the fountain of your heart.

It's Sunday, and well... Let me stop here for now. I hope this comes more frequently than it's been.

- Theo

-

The Sound of Silence

the sound of silence is deafening;
your eardrums gyrate
to the vibrations of
self-imposed illusionary sounds.

you push the antennae of your ears
some inches further up north
and send the distraction enveloped in light
out of your eyes —
you want to hear
beyond the extending vibration
what it really is
that the silence is whispering;



it's just you & your delusions
but if you wait some more
you'll hear, alright —
what you seek is what you'll get.
the dread, in all its goriness.

wake!!! will you?
at least you've heard something;
be content or be damned!

-

Life is a cyclical bitch but you won't admit it 🙂


time moves on the wings of swiftness
and soon
age ceases to be just a number

the strength wavers
the flesh signs off in surrender
the youthful zeal to push
falls off a cliff of crushed hopes

then decay sets in
resentment at all that has been lost
and the dreams that were too lazy to walk with you
beyond the realm of sleepy eyes
to a world where other humans will see them materialize

hell is let loose
so you crave the days of old
and oh you wouldn't mind being called a small boy
or girl
or human
only if the energies will return

for once since you've existed
you see life for what it is
get married make babies and strive
to mould them into
all that you should have been

but the cycle must continue
it's you against life

-

Thoughts into lines
(cause thoughts never finish)

does mama ever remember
times when she worried that her little boy went out too much
and visited too many people

mama need worry no more
I keep my room comfort now
and I have forgotten how to visit
houses & inboxes

today my poems come
oh pardon me
I no longer write poetry
I just put thoughts into lines
devoid of punctuation
marks free as the bottoms of a newborn
& difficult for you to read
why do you want to read

I write what I will
how I wish

acceptances & rejections
only hold sway on the style of poets
I am a linesman

-

Thoughts into lines

went out tonight
in search of you
but all I saw were pinches of light
scattered across the sky

made me remember
that poem I wrote for you
on days when I wouldn't write poems
without rhymes
and it was enough to just put them
on the chalkboard

then came the desire to publish
in journals and on literary websites
and with that desire came a lesson
that the african poet is rebellious against rhymes
and that to get published is to write complicated verses

a litter of appearances in publications
brought the desire to get paid acceptances
and free-to-enter poetry contests
held a promise of riches

the acceptances never came
too proud they were
so they sent their messengers instead
rejection letters
to tell me that there's always someone
or 3 people
or 10 people
who could write more complicated verses

today
I no longer write poems
I just put words in verses
helps to make my thoughts well-arranged

-

Answering the Call
(sequel to Home)
when home calls,
you do not leave unprepared.

you lift your chest of songs
to the table,
blow off dust from the lid, and open it.
you select
home. and whispers. and riding to new york.
and their sister soulful songs.
you are careful not to select fireboy.

you make a fire.
dangling above it, your body
with bruises of memories,
rubbed all over with these songs as spices.

you are grilled. and healed.
then you haul your bag
across your shoulders
and pick the path
one pace at a time.
till you reach home.
and find peace.

-