Sunday, October 6, 2019

T.Notes #45: Alice in Wanderland

My goals may be like a rabid rabbit
But i am like a cheetah on steroids
I will get to you eventually no matter what.

My sin may hound me daily without mercy
Relentless like an overzealous tax man.
But there is a saviour on this side of eternity.

Last night we ventured like Alice
Down the labyrinths of a complex beautiful mind
You shone your torch, touched a nerve and spoke passionately about new habits.

Thursday, September 19, 2019

T.Notes #44: Faulty Towers

Last night we watched a Cathedral suddenly implode into rubble.
They said she had survived the wars and natural disasters,
But something dangerously subtle had been occurring within her walls.

It reminded me of gentlemen who carried on whilst their lives were falling apart from the inside out.
Till they felt the tremors,
And the fault lines from our many battles terrified our hearts.

We gathered around the rubble to share stories of war and wanderings.
About men who ventured in search of the gap between expectation and reality,
And a God whom we heard could mend the broken.

These are our T.Notes.
Please mind the gap!

Wednesday, August 14, 2019

T.Notes #43: Lost in Paris

They told us the house was on fire
So we brought in gasoline, lit some cigars,
And sat down to watch the whole thing burn to the ground.

We spoke about mum.
About magic nights sharing a bottle of bubbly,
Whilst tipsy teenage feet danced away to 80's reggae music,
Talking about love, and true disciplines of a good man.

Mum used to say, beware of the soft spoken intelligent man.
She would murmur to father whilst eyeing me and stirring a steaming pot of concoction,
'Keep an eye on that one'.
Bless her, she was right - sometimes.

She used to tell me to be wary of strange affections,
The girls who stoke your desires and damn your devotion.
But instead we let our hearts run wild, savage.
Till they flowed into a hooker's reckless embrace.

She said, from the begining of the world
To the end of days,
Beautiful women will walk the face of the earth.
May they ever be to us -
Nothing more than a passing distraction.

We talked about this new brave world
Where the voices of imperfect men are silenced, me too.
And moral codes are exhalted, without re-education.

How did the leopard changed its spots,
Mum's favourite fòlklore.
The one about Fathers wandering aimlessly trying hide their secrets and find their feet -
With sincere yet uncharmed cluelessness.

Mum was no saint either - god forbid no.
There was no end to the contradictions in her convictions.
Like the psalms she read to us at bedtime,
Whilst her staunch African beliefs dogged her every decision like a talisma.

My therapist admitted that i am a product of dire dysfunction.
Yet thriving beyond every possible imagination.
I agreed - for me and many many others.
God bless the untiring hustle of the Nigerian child.

Last night we waited for the midnight train to Paris,
We watched the girls stroll by in bouncy summer skirts,
And the boys who stumbled over themselves trying to catch a glimpse of heaven.
But God was healing our minds....

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

T.Notes#42: Ode to a rise

Tomorrow we rise!
To take the front reins of the European Banks.
We grab a fistful of balls and dare to ride this new challenge!
Bouyed by the same rugged determination, a tactical calculation and a knapsack full of providence.
You said the whole thing is sheer madness - I know.
But glory never came to those who did not dare.
So heaven help us, this cannot fail.
F^%k it, this WILL NOT FAIL.

Saturday, July 6, 2019

T.Notes#41: Watershed by the Beautiful Blue Danube

Last night our feet dangled over the blue Danube and we were honest men.
We spoke about loosing a grip on life and how adulting is hard.

We made paper boats out of hundred dollar bills,
Floated them away into hidden waters,
and wondered if God was mildly interested in the affairs of men.

If he could really see through our facades,
the misty nights of muffled secrets,
and the unhelpful doxologies of the new churches -
The ones who told us to ignore our demons and sing a new song of grace.

We wondered what it'll take for mortal men to forgive God.
If it was entirely inconceivable waiting for him to tender his own side of apologies,
Or if our disasters were worthy penalties for our own depravities.

I worry for my dear old friend Tobi and asked however i could support.
He returned a quiet smile and asked me to write him a blog post,
About a boy who found himself in the year that his dad died.

Keep it short, honest and sweet.
Talk about Jesus, Loyle Carner, Loose Ends, Self-seeking piety,
And life striken reflections that spoke back to us from a beautiful eastern river...
And don't try to find any conclusion.

So this is it old friend -
Our watershed moments by the Beautiful Blue Danube.
This one is about finding our ways back to a new normal.

"I write because i have secrets no one else knows" - Tony Jordan.

Thursday, February 14, 2019

T.Notes#40: Lilac Sheets

I woke up feeling overwhelmed by life this morning.
The routines and the unending tide of shi&%y happenings,
With only brief respites in-between.

I attempted to make a nice list of my life motivations -
You know, the things that keep me pressing on.
My raison d'etre.

Pay the bills, Support the family, Save more money and Take good holidays.
It turned out mundane and mildly depressing,
So I turned to the less tangible motivations.
Faith, Hope and Love.

Faith, Hope and Love
It really is for those three that i let go of my cozy duvet every morning
And take my place in this madness.

I thought about faith this morning.
About how a good faith has to be more pleasurable
than that toe-curling kind of sex.
I want a good faith.

I'm not talking about that
Ticket to heaven,
Else 'thou hath damned' type of faith
A good escort can easily arrange those.

I am also not talking about the happy clappy motivational sorts
I'd rather have a good book and a long holiday instead.

But there is a type of faith that knows the depths of me
And recognizes my soul amidst a thousand.
It is that type of faith that stirs my affection.

What gets you out of bed in the mornings?
What fuels your hustle?

Thursday, February 7, 2019

T.Notes#39: Dia Fada

I cannot pull any Shaku dance moves to save my life,
But BasketMouth's new song has been doing all sorts of magic to my feet lately.

There is something about the catchy Afro beats and defiant poker faces,
which speak deeply to my internal struggles of blackness.
Excuse my African.

Without sugar coating, I do believe that being a black person is tough.
Irrespective of descent, there is a depth of struggles that we don't talk about and can't even begin to understand.

Sometimes i wonder that if i were given the choice and insight,
Would i voluntarily ever return as a black man?
I posed the question to my Irish friend recently.

A simple question that is devoid of political correctness,
But the answer often lays bare the truth about blackness.
He thought long and hard and admitted that it is complicated.

Living and working outside of Homeland has taught me to deeply understand the histories and depths of being a so-called "black man".
I used to disregard these feelings and try to fit-in,
Afterall, "(mental) slavery is a choice".

I wonder if someday we can talk honestly about necessary blackness.
About unsolicited weights of responsibility,
Unending battles to stay alive,
And this constant need to validate our existence.

I'm not supposed to speak about these things
I am afterall privileged,
Far from the maddening crowd,
And somewhere in that hazy dual nationality state with no real entitlement to call anywhere home.

But Blackness is rising
And it is beautiful to see.
This new audacity and unapologetic pride of kids owning their origin to show off street dance moves in Times Square.

I may not be able to pull any shaku moves to save my own life,
But today i stepped into my predominantly white board meeting with a new sense of unrepentant blackness,
humming BasketMouth's beats
And mouthing 'Dia Fada' as i owned my own space.