LINES AND VERSES

The last time I met him, he had a dream. He said this society had ills; that they keep asking us to wait, but for how long? He said this land had a heart, and it was bleeding. And all that he saw was wasting men pleading. He wanted to know if I saw what he saw in the eyes of the lowly. He said the call was for him to stand and speak for their tears. Yes, I saw that dream. I saw a man whose blood spilled even though the cut was not on him. I saw a man who’d been down long enough to tell a smile … from a frown The next time I saw him, he wouldn’t even look in my way. I could only whisper to a doubtful stranger that I knew this man. That I knew him, not long ago… but I couldn’t tell him how much I thought the man had changed. I couldn’t tell him how wealthy he had suddenly become. And I couldn’t tell him this man once had a dream. He had dream of a house where he could speak for the voiceless. But now he speaks for new interests he has met. And together they read bills, they pass bills, a

We are willing characters playing out acts we have neither been briefed nor fully understand; so eager are we to live life, so expectant, yet so disappointed. Life is one big book of endless comedies, endless discoveries, and end endless tragedies; all scripted in a random sequence. At the end of every scene in this endlessness, we are left with at question marks: Has one done the right act? Has one taken the right part? Is one being tempted? And there goes the conscience of a man, ruffled to surrender at the feet of twisted fate. Our joy, our faith, our hope, all beyond immediate control; all presenting even more questions, so we seek to comprehend the unanswered, seek for meaning to our very existence. But first, we must identify with who we are, what place is ours, and we must make difficult choices. So we have to look back at the past, steal into the future; history, horoscope, religion, rebellion – all in search of inner peace and belonging. Sometimes we settle for what we find, b

Fate By: J.Ifeme Elo “Mister, this is the last stop.” The conductor’s growls in Pidgin English and taps his shoulder rather unkindly. He shudders awake. He saw her again, Farida; so young, and so beautiful. It was ten years ago but he still gets these flashes of the last intimate moment they shared; the naïve promise of commitment; the caress of eager hands; their first and final kiss before she disappeared. It took weeks for him to gather they fled to England because her father became a target for the then military regime for sympathizing with dissident democrats, and exile was the safest choice. Over the years, he had wondered why it had to be her, why it had to be then, and above all, why he had to love her so much that her departure shut down a complete half of him. Today’s flashes ended with the conversation he had with his mother just days after Farida’s disappearance. “It is fate, my son,” she had assured him, “you have to accept it and move on. Concentrate on going to the u

Mischief By: J.Ifeme Elo “Hello good people, this is your girl on radio, P-E -A-CH. You are right on 107.2 Megahertz, FUN FM – your number one radio location. Hey, don’t touch that radio, because you are hooked to the very best, and we assure you nothing less. Good deal, huh? That is what I am talking about, fun all day,” her satin smooth voice could make even a hard core gay start reconsidering. “It is a beautiful Friday morning. Beautiful, beautiful sun- filled day, blue skies all the way.” She lets in a little of the latest soul music. That is her style, and they love it like craze. She is the one and only PEACH; the smoothest and juiciest of them all on radio, and this is how she flies. She likes the early morning show the most. Though she worked the night shift, she is in the least exhausted or bored. Radio is where she has found, not only her passion, but her sanctuary. The fact that her fans are out there and listening, thrills her. They adore her voice. That is very importa

Guy Next Door By: J.Ifeme Elo “Chris De Burgh, he is a beautiful singer.” She feels such an expansion in her soul that she is almost bursting. What I’m I, some sort of a music connoisseur? She knows it not the music. “Have you heard this?” Dennis makes a face. Before he has the time to say a word she snatches the remote and flips to a track she thinks he should know by now, after all she’s been playing that long enough for him to notice. “So, this is….” “‘Lady in red’, great song, I think this is his best,” she steals a look at him, “by me though,” and giggles like some one just slipped a block of ice in her armpit. “You’ve heard it, right?” “Nice song.” He doesn’t seem relaxed; he doesn’t seem to be listening to her. She overlooks that. No guy ever is truly relaxed at a first visit to a neighbor’s, especially if she is a young pretty lady, all by herself; but he is no saint, at least I know… One thing she has not yet told him is that a fifth of the songs here were bought within the t