I'm the epitome of holy misfit.
‘cause I couldn’t fit in,
Not into where I was coming from;
Not into where I was going yet.
I could n’t fit comfortably
into where I am per time.
My heart is always stirring, my spirit yearning .
My mind is continually in motion.
Saying there’s more…
I can only create, and recreate till I die
I am not fulfilled till I see and seek Him.
I can boldly pioneer
Some sort of replica within me!
My soul longs for thee!
Oh! God of the freedom world
from such fanaticism of religion and dogman here.
I am left without afore
I am left an option; but to live
I’m left to die but, yet I’ll reach
and that is to reach for the stars
To gaze till I blink no more
To wait, wail until I see the star!
Until the daystar arise in my heart .
all I’ve is mire, myrrh and mind
all I was told is myth and mirth
All might have gone
but all I am is right here
on the inside of me.
All I have does not matter to me now
all I am is on the line.
I'll yet praise Him, until I see Him.
I’ll yet try and test all these creative things within,
this “creatorial” and creative-oral ability within me.
This what I will yet birth
this "thing" within that is crying to me:
“…for the last time!”
Showing posts with label vision. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vision. Show all posts
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
What is the most important thing to you in this life?-A tribute!
If I ask you this one question that: what is the most important thing to you in this life? What will you tell me? In my limited version of experience, I have come to realize that in the final analysis, Life is the only thing...it's the most important thing. Not our dreams, not our visions, not our ambitions but breathe. Those things we are able to do while we are still living here. Those noble deeds we are able to do are the things we will be remembered for. Those opportunities we are able to seize, those lives we are able to touch and the service we have offered unto God are the truest valuables.
Just like fire will be remembered for the ember. The smokes that we leave behind us are our deeds, service and relationships. What we have built or broken? Who we have helped upwards or held up? From the ashes of our history will remnant of stories come, out of the lips of those we have impacted. Those things we have been able to achieve for God and others will stand out like embers from dead fires. The ashes of memory that remains on the altar of time after our life is over are those who will miss us or not.
Yes! I know that people are taken up daily and they are blown off this earth. Death cannot be as extraordinary to everyone as much. Very recently in Jos, Nigeria was an uprising that claimed many lives. The crisis was of political, religious and unclear. It was crudely fuelled by ignorance, hatred and wickedness. Churches have been reported burnt in the massacre of many innocent lives, even sucklings were killed. I saw a photograph on Facebook taken during the crisis. It was of a burnt suckling lying side by side with her dead mother as though both were roasted game.
Another photo taken on the location revealed an amputee girl with her intestine busting out of stomach. Her hair and roasted-body were the remains we could identify. Corpses were laid on the floors. Most were covered with wrappers of survivors who stood by and wept as attendants.
My vocabulary could not capture the experience. I was not there present but how I felt when I saw the numbers of those who had died was not as one sedated. Why would people with gut kill their neighbours? Humans with the same breathe like them. Having blood like them. It is still a mystery to me. What saddens my heart was the reality that is dawning at us. Will this become a norm? Can’t we truly live together as brothers and sisters that we are? Despites all our love songs and debut albums on peace and unity?! And this is not the first time this cruelty will be happening in the same region of the same country.
Worst than death is death…worst of all is to experience the death of a friend amidst the news of metropolitan deaths! It tends to make you vulnerable, humble and mumble. You tend to utter such questions like: what is the most important thing? What is more important to you? About the same time, I heard of the passage of a lady who was one time my old friend and loyal “disciple”. I was privileged to lead her while we pioneered a campus fellowship during my final year in the university in Nigeria. It was during those days of small beginnings in a small town of Ayetoro in Abeokuta, Ogun state.
I still remember vividly those times. I remember her commitment. The way she sang in the choir and when she is alone. She once told me about her dreams, desires and vision. She wanted to grow up in the Lord to impact lives through preaching of the word and singing of life-transforming songs. She admired the lady preacher Joyce Meyer. She wants her life to make a mark like hers. She once asked me how she can become a impactful preacher of the gospel. I remember how she did everything with all her being... The smile on her face was encouraging… The way she played innocently like a baby… She would often serve her last food to entertain her guests while she goes without eating much. She just wanted to give and give. She is an epitome of sacrifice. She will hardly show it on her face when she is going through tough times. She may be cracking on her inside but you will hardly know it. She could handle pressure to a very large extent without complaining.
Although, you may not know Sholape Joto, she was a friend who touched my life in a remarkable way. She would often tell me to slow down in the middle of overwhelming school-workload. She was a pretty lady a guy would love to marry. But she did not get marry before passing on to glory. She graduated from a stressful university program, where for one whole year the penultimate year students are subjected to a farm life that can be likened to the slavery experiences of the Pre-cambrian era. So tedious was their farm practical year in that program that whoever went through never came out the same. The instructors were full of sadism. The farming activities itself was done with crude implements rather than improved technology. Activities such as weeding, planting, harvesting, processing and more are the order of the day.
All proceeds from the farm produce must be brought in to the instructors of the program. Coordination was so ruthless that even diseased crops, failed crops and pest infested crops had to be accounted for. They were evaluated as though they actually got harvested fresh as other germ-free produce. Failure to pay for crop failure is tantamount to a fail grade for the affected students. It was despite of weather, natural disaster, and genetics that students were to pay for the proceeds of their planted crops. The seeds are brought in at the beginning of season by students. The harvests are sold and proceeds brought in at the end of season. It was irrespective of outcome if you want to earn a passing grade.
Sad to say, that my friend graduated from such difficult program but she did not get to enjoy the victory. The tradition has it in Nigeria that fresh university graduates get enlisted to serve the nation in a certain National youth service corp called NYSC program. This is where fresh graduates get to sing some patriotic songs and anthem daily in a mock military camp. This service is regarded as an honourable period where patriotism displayed. Fresh graduated go through military drills daily as they dress up in mock military kits singing “Ajuwaya” songs (patriotic songs). My late friend would not be singing nor serving along with her comrades this year because she died just few days to the commencement of this year’s service program. She will not be serving her fatherland for the next one year or ever. Unlike others she already served her heavenly father when she could. Although, she won’t be singing any “Ajuwaya” song in the NYSC, she will be singing Halleluiah song in heaven amongst the host of Angels. She had sung so much in her daily life when she was here. She would usually wake up singing. When bathing, cooking and at her leisure times, always caught singing.
So sad about her story is that she did not wait to release that album before she died. She loved singing and she did sing as many times as possible especially during ministrations in the church choir. She sang on Sundays and week days. She preached her heart out when she finally became the Coordinator of Ogun Varsity Christian fellowship. As at the time I knew her, her priority was obvious. She was not thrilled by frivolities. She stood out of the crowd. And deliberately associated with greatness… much more on her mind was her dream. She wants to live a life of impact. As I looked back on her life, I came away with several lessons. Whenever we talk about vision, dreams and more; one thing that is certain is that these things are grand but that breathe within us is the most important!
Just like fire will be remembered for the ember. The smokes that we leave behind us are our deeds, service and relationships. What we have built or broken? Who we have helped upwards or held up? From the ashes of our history will remnant of stories come, out of the lips of those we have impacted. Those things we have been able to achieve for God and others will stand out like embers from dead fires. The ashes of memory that remains on the altar of time after our life is over are those who will miss us or not.
Yes! I know that people are taken up daily and they are blown off this earth. Death cannot be as extraordinary to everyone as much. Very recently in Jos, Nigeria was an uprising that claimed many lives. The crisis was of political, religious and unclear. It was crudely fuelled by ignorance, hatred and wickedness. Churches have been reported burnt in the massacre of many innocent lives, even sucklings were killed. I saw a photograph on Facebook taken during the crisis. It was of a burnt suckling lying side by side with her dead mother as though both were roasted game.
Another photo taken on the location revealed an amputee girl with her intestine busting out of stomach. Her hair and roasted-body were the remains we could identify. Corpses were laid on the floors. Most were covered with wrappers of survivors who stood by and wept as attendants.
My vocabulary could not capture the experience. I was not there present but how I felt when I saw the numbers of those who had died was not as one sedated. Why would people with gut kill their neighbours? Humans with the same breathe like them. Having blood like them. It is still a mystery to me. What saddens my heart was the reality that is dawning at us. Will this become a norm? Can’t we truly live together as brothers and sisters that we are? Despites all our love songs and debut albums on peace and unity?! And this is not the first time this cruelty will be happening in the same region of the same country.
Worst than death is death…worst of all is to experience the death of a friend amidst the news of metropolitan deaths! It tends to make you vulnerable, humble and mumble. You tend to utter such questions like: what is the most important thing? What is more important to you? About the same time, I heard of the passage of a lady who was one time my old friend and loyal “disciple”. I was privileged to lead her while we pioneered a campus fellowship during my final year in the university in Nigeria. It was during those days of small beginnings in a small town of Ayetoro in Abeokuta, Ogun state.
I still remember vividly those times. I remember her commitment. The way she sang in the choir and when she is alone. She once told me about her dreams, desires and vision. She wanted to grow up in the Lord to impact lives through preaching of the word and singing of life-transforming songs. She admired the lady preacher Joyce Meyer. She wants her life to make a mark like hers. She once asked me how she can become a impactful preacher of the gospel. I remember how she did everything with all her being... The smile on her face was encouraging… The way she played innocently like a baby… She would often serve her last food to entertain her guests while she goes without eating much. She just wanted to give and give. She is an epitome of sacrifice. She will hardly show it on her face when she is going through tough times. She may be cracking on her inside but you will hardly know it. She could handle pressure to a very large extent without complaining.
Although, you may not know Sholape Joto, she was a friend who touched my life in a remarkable way. She would often tell me to slow down in the middle of overwhelming school-workload. She was a pretty lady a guy would love to marry. But she did not get marry before passing on to glory. She graduated from a stressful university program, where for one whole year the penultimate year students are subjected to a farm life that can be likened to the slavery experiences of the Pre-cambrian era. So tedious was their farm practical year in that program that whoever went through never came out the same. The instructors were full of sadism. The farming activities itself was done with crude implements rather than improved technology. Activities such as weeding, planting, harvesting, processing and more are the order of the day.
All proceeds from the farm produce must be brought in to the instructors of the program. Coordination was so ruthless that even diseased crops, failed crops and pest infested crops had to be accounted for. They were evaluated as though they actually got harvested fresh as other germ-free produce. Failure to pay for crop failure is tantamount to a fail grade for the affected students. It was despite of weather, natural disaster, and genetics that students were to pay for the proceeds of their planted crops. The seeds are brought in at the beginning of season by students. The harvests are sold and proceeds brought in at the end of season. It was irrespective of outcome if you want to earn a passing grade.
Sad to say, that my friend graduated from such difficult program but she did not get to enjoy the victory. The tradition has it in Nigeria that fresh university graduates get enlisted to serve the nation in a certain National youth service corp called NYSC program. This is where fresh graduates get to sing some patriotic songs and anthem daily in a mock military camp. This service is regarded as an honourable period where patriotism displayed. Fresh graduated go through military drills daily as they dress up in mock military kits singing “Ajuwaya” songs (patriotic songs). My late friend would not be singing nor serving along with her comrades this year because she died just few days to the commencement of this year’s service program. She will not be serving her fatherland for the next one year or ever. Unlike others she already served her heavenly father when she could. Although, she won’t be singing any “Ajuwaya” song in the NYSC, she will be singing Halleluiah song in heaven amongst the host of Angels. She had sung so much in her daily life when she was here. She would usually wake up singing. When bathing, cooking and at her leisure times, always caught singing.
So sad about her story is that she did not wait to release that album before she died. She loved singing and she did sing as many times as possible especially during ministrations in the church choir. She sang on Sundays and week days. She preached her heart out when she finally became the Coordinator of Ogun Varsity Christian fellowship. As at the time I knew her, her priority was obvious. She was not thrilled by frivolities. She stood out of the crowd. And deliberately associated with greatness… much more on her mind was her dream. She wants to live a life of impact. As I looked back on her life, I came away with several lessons. Whenever we talk about vision, dreams and more; one thing that is certain is that these things are grand but that breathe within us is the most important!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The field of Dreams …
When I saw the North Star!
I set out after it
When I saw that flickering light,
I ran on, holding to my beliefs and briefs
Towards vision like moth to light
Towards dreams like butterfly to grains of pollen
When I saw the dreams,
I pursued with my whole heart.
I called, I turned
To the east and the west, I yelled.
I begged and beckoned
For the Supporters club of life
But Lo! They won’t come
Wary of my daydreaming
Boycotting my rescue
The supporters club failed me
They despised my dreams.
They will not come to my aid.
At a point I began to doubt.
I felt sorry
I pity partied self.
I felt like a loser.
I even considered I was crazy
I was regarded: that unserious fool.
Rejected with the baggage of my dreams
Lonely with the blanket of my ideas
I laid me down to sleep without
In the cold winter of November
I was left in the field of dreams
I held on
I was holding on to the dreams without fail
In my doubts and uncertainties
I started out
I started taking small steps…
Made small and big mistakes
But I kept on moving
Then a bold step…
Then another, after another
I saw crowd gunning for most profitable ventures
Not my kind of silly venture
They’re still chasing another’s field till date.
But then, I stayed in mine, at home alone
And behold! It speaks…
The dreams speak!
It was for an appointed time
Then the traffic shifted
The crowd changed.
They held my way
Into the field of dreams
They came to me
Where I’ve once laid alone
I can now barely rest
I now have more sweet and honey
From the honeycomb of my dreams
Dreams…they don't die. They age like men,
they sprout wings and fly
Don't give up until they come true!
I set out after it
When I saw that flickering light,
I ran on, holding to my beliefs and briefs
Towards vision like moth to light
Towards dreams like butterfly to grains of pollen
When I saw the dreams,
I pursued with my whole heart.
I called, I turned
To the east and the west, I yelled.
I begged and beckoned
For the Supporters club of life
But Lo! They won’t come
Wary of my daydreaming
Boycotting my rescue
The supporters club failed me
They despised my dreams.
They will not come to my aid.
At a point I began to doubt.
I felt sorry
I pity partied self.
I felt like a loser.
I even considered I was crazy
I was regarded: that unserious fool.
Rejected with the baggage of my dreams
Lonely with the blanket of my ideas
I laid me down to sleep without
In the cold winter of November
I was left in the field of dreams
I held on
I was holding on to the dreams without fail
In my doubts and uncertainties
I started out
I started taking small steps…
Made small and big mistakes
But I kept on moving
Then a bold step…
Then another, after another
I saw crowd gunning for most profitable ventures
Not my kind of silly venture
They’re still chasing another’s field till date.
But then, I stayed in mine, at home alone
And behold! It speaks…
The dreams speak!
It was for an appointed time
Then the traffic shifted
The crowd changed.
They held my way
Into the field of dreams
They came to me
Where I’ve once laid alone
I can now barely rest
I now have more sweet and honey
From the honeycomb of my dreams
Dreams…they don't die. They age like men,
they sprout wings and fly
Don't give up until they come true!
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