Categories
Christianity ODM

Put The Glass Down

It hurts to let go, but sometimes it hurts more to hold on. To heal your wound, you need to stop touching it.

A professor entered his classroom with a glass of water. He raised the glass of water. Everyone in the room expected the half entry or half full question. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, the professor smiled and inquired: “How heavy is this glass of water?” The answers called out for the range from 8 Oz to 15 Oz.

“I need to weigh it to know how much exactly it weighs. But the question, I want you to answer is – what if I held the glass up for a minute?” asked the professor.

“Nothing,” the students answered unanimously.

“But what if I hold it for an hour?” asked the professor.”

“Your arms will start aching,” answered one of the students.

“You are right! But what if I held it up for a whole day?” The professor asked further.

“Your arms will feel numb, your muscles get stressed, and it may even, get paralysed,” ventured another student,

“You are right! exclaimed the professor. “So what should I do to avoid the pain?” asked the professor.

“Keep the glass down,” answered a student.

“Exactly!” said the professor. He continued “In all the cases the weight of the glass remains the same. But, the longer I held it up, the heavier it becomes. The stress and worries in life are like a glass of water. If you think about them for a while, nothing happens. Think about them for longer; they will start hurting. Think about them for even longer; you will feel stress and be paralysed.”

The problems of life do not cease till death! But, it would be best if one did not carry the stress long enough that it begins to ache and paralyse one’s life.

It is essential to let go of your stress! Let go of that worry and anger against those who hurt you! Let go of bitterness and unforgiveness.

Story culled from ODM.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love

The Devoted Friend from Project Gutenberg

One morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole. He had bright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long bit of black india-rubber. The little ducks were swimming about in the pond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who was pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand on their heads in the water.

“You will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your heads,” she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them how it was done. But the little ducks paid no attention to her. They were so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in society at all.

“What disobedient children!” cried the old Water-rat; “they really deserve to be drowned.”

“Nothing of the kind,” answered the Duck, “every one must make a beginning, and parents cannot be too patient.”

“Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents,” said the Water-rat; “I am not a family man. In fact, I have never been married, and I never intend to be. Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much higher. Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or rarer than a devoted friendship.”

“And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?” asked a Green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had overheard the conversation.

“Yes, that is just what I want to know,” said the Duck; and she swam away to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her children a good example.

“What a silly question!” cried the Water-rat. “I should expect my devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course.”

“And what would you do in return?” said the little bird, swinging upon a silver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.

“I don’t understand you,” answered the Water-rat.

“Let me tell you a story on the subject,” said the Linnet.

“Is the story about me?” asked the Water-rat. “If so, I will listen to it, for I am extremely fond of fiction.”

“It is applicable to you,” answered the Linnet; and he flew down, and alighting upon the bank, he told the story of The Devoted Friend.

“Once upon a time,” said the Linnet, “there was an honest little fellow named Hans.”

“Was he very distinguished?” asked the Water-rat.

“No,” answered the Linnet, “I don’t think he was distinguished at all, except for his kind heart, and his funny round good-humoured face. He lived in a tiny cottage all by himself, and every day he worked in his garden. In all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his. Sweet-william grew there, and Gilly-flowers, and Shepherds’-purses, and Fair-maids of France. There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac Crocuses, and gold, purple Violets and white. Columbine and Ladysmock, Marjoram and Wild Basil, the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, the Daffodil and the Clove-Pink bloomed or blossomed in their proper order as the months went by, one flower taking another flower’s place, so that there were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant odours to smell.

“Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all was big Hugh the Miller. Indeed, so devoted was the rich Miller to little Hans, that he would never go by his garden without leaning over the wall and plucking a large nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or filling his pockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season.

“‘Real friends should have everything in common,’ the Miller used to say, and little Hans nodded and smiled, and felt very proud of having a friend with such noble ideas.

“Sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strange that the rich Miller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a hundred sacks of flour stored away in his mill, and six milch cows, and a large flock of woolly sheep; but Hans never troubled his head about these things, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to all the wonderful things the Miller used to say about the unselfishness of true friendship.

“So little Hans worked away in his garden. During the spring, the summer, and the autumn he was very happy, but when the winter came, and he had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good deal from cold and hunger, and often had to go to bed without any supper but a few dried pears or some hard nuts. In the winter, also, he was extremely lonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.

“‘There is no good in my going to see little Hans as long as the snow lasts,’ the Miller used to say to his wife, ‘for when people are in trouble they should be left alone, and not be bothered by visitors. That at least is my idea about friendship, and I am sure I am right. So I shall wait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay him a visit, and he will be able to give me a large basket of primroses and that will make him so happy.’

“‘You are certainly very thoughtful about others,’ answered the Wife, as she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pinewood fire; ‘very thoughtful indeed. It is quite a treat to hear you talk about friendship. I am sure the clergyman himself could not say such beautiful things as you do, though he does live in a three-storied house, and wear a gold ring on his little finger.’

“‘But could we not ask little Hans up here?’ said the Miller’s youngest son. ‘If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my porridge, and show him my white rabbits.’

“‘What a silly boy you are!’ cried the Miller; ‘I really don’t know what is the use of sending you to school. You seem not to learn anything. Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good supper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy is a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody’s nature. I certainly will not allow Hans’ nature to be spoiled. I am his best friend, and I will always watch over him, and see that he is not led into any temptations. Besides, if Hans came here, he might ask me to let him have some flour on credit, and that I could not do. Flour is one thing, and friendship is another, and they should not be confused. Why, the words are spelt differently, and mean quite different things. Everybody can see that.’

“‘How well you talk!’ said the Miller’s Wife, pouring herself out a large glass of warm ale; ‘really I feel quite drowsy. It is just like being in church.’

“‘Lots of people act well,’ answered the Miller; ‘but very few people talk well, which shows that talking is much the more difficult thing of the two, and much the finer thing also’; and he looked sternly across the table at his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hung his head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into his tea. However, he was so young that you must excuse him.”

“Is that the end of the story?” asked the Water-rat.

“Certainly not,” answered the Linnet, “that is the beginning.”

“Then you are quite behind the age,” said the Water-rat. “Every good story-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the beginning, and concludes with the middle. That is the new method. I heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round the pond with a young man. He spoke of the matter at great length, and I am sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head, and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered ‘Pooh!’ But pray go on with your story. I like the Miller immensely. I have all kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great sympathy between us.”

“Well,” said the Linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other, “as soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale yellow stars, the Miller said to his wife that he would go down and see little Hans.

“‘Why, what a good heart you have!’ cried his Wife; ‘you are always thinking of others. And mind you take the big basket with you for the flowers.’

“So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill together with a strong iron chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm.

“‘Good morning, little Hans,’ said the Miller.

“‘Good morning,’ said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear to ear.

“‘And how have you been all the winter?’ said the Miller.

“‘Well, really,’ cried Hans, ‘it is very good of you to ask, very good indeed. I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.’

“‘We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘and wondered how you were getting on.’

“‘That was kind of you,’ said Hans; ‘I was half afraid you had forgotten me.’

“‘Hans, I am surprised at you,’ said the Miller; ‘friendship never forgets. That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don’t understand the poetry of life. How lovely your primroses are looking, by-the-bye!”

“‘They are certainly very lovely,’ said Hans, ‘and it is a most lucky thing for me that I have so many. I am going to bring them into the market and sell them to the Burgomaster’s daughter, and buy back my wheelbarrow with the money.’

“‘Buy back your wheelbarrow? You don’t mean to say you have sold it? What a very stupid thing to do!’

“‘Well, the fact is,’ said Hans, ‘that I was obliged to. You see the winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at all to buy bread with. So I first sold the silver buttons off my Sunday coat, and then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold my big pipe, and at last I sold my wheelbarrow. But I am going to buy them all back again now.’

“‘Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘I will give you my wheelbarrow. It is not in very good repair; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something wrong with the wheel-spokes; but in spite of that I will give it to you. I know it is very generous of me, and a great many people would think me extremely foolish for parting with it, but I am not like the rest of the world. I think that generosity is the essence of friendship, and, besides, I have got a new wheelbarrow for myself. Yes, you may set your mind at ease, I will give you my wheelbarrow.’

“‘Well, really, that is generous of you,’ said little Hans, and his funny round face glowed all over with pleasure. ‘I can easily put it in repair, as I have a plank of wood in the house.’

“‘A plank of wood!’ said the Miller; ‘why, that is just what I want for the roof of my barn. There is a very large hole in it, and the corn will all get damp if I don’t stop it up. How lucky you mentioned it! It is quite remarkable how one good action always breeds another. I have given you my wheelbarrow, and now you are going to give me your plank. Of course, the wheelbarrow is worth far more than the plank, but true, friendship never notices things like that. Pray get it at once, and I will set to work at my barn this very day.’

“‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans, and he ran into the shed and dragged the plank out.

“‘It is not a very big plank,’ said the Miller, looking at it, ‘and I am afraid that after I have mended my barn-roof there won’t be any left for you to mend the wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is not my fault. And now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I am sure you would like to give me some flowers in return. Here is the basket, and mind you fill it quite full.’

“‘Quite full?’ said little Hans, rather sorrowfully, for it was really a very big basket, and he knew that if he filled it he would have no flowers left for the market and he was very anxious to get his silver buttons back.

“‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller, ‘as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I don’t think that it is much to ask you for a few flowers. I may be wrong, but I should have thought that friendship, true friendship, was quite free from selfishness of any kind.’

“‘My dear friend, my best friend,’ cried little Hans, ‘you are welcome to all the flowers in my garden. I would much sooner have your good opinion than my silver buttons, any day’; and he ran and plucked all his pretty primroses, and filled the Miller’s basket.

“‘Good-bye, little Hans,’ said the Miller, as he went up the hill with the plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand.

“‘Good-bye,’ said little Hans, and he began to dig away quite merrily, he was so pleased about the wheelbarrow.

“The next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle against the porch, when he heard the Miller’s voice calling to him from the road. So he jumped off the ladder, and ran down the garden, and looked over the wall.

“There was the Miller with a large sack of flour on his back.

“‘Dear little Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘would you mind carrying this sack of flour for me to market?’

“‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ said Hans, ‘but I am really very busy to-day. I have got all my creepers to nail up, and all my flowers to water, and all my grass to roll.’

“‘Well, really,’ said the Miller, ‘I think that, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you to refuse.’

“‘Oh, don’t say that,’ cried little Hans, ‘I wouldn’t be unfriendly for the whole world’; and he ran in for his cap, and trudged off with the big sack on his shoulders.

“It was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty, and before Hans had reached the sixth milestone he was so tired that he had to sit down and rest. However, he went on bravely, and as last he reached the market. After he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour for a very good price, and then he returned home at once, for he was afraid that if he stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the way.

“‘It has certainly been a hard day,’ said little Hans to himself as he was going to bed, ‘but I am glad I did not refuse the Miller, for he is my best friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.’

“Early the next morning the Miller came down to get the money for his sack of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.

“‘Upon my word,’ said the Miller, ‘you are very lazy. Really, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you might work harder. Idleness is a great sin, and I certainly don’t like any of my friends to be idle or sluggish. You must not mind my speaking quite plainly to you. Of course I should not dream of doing so if I were not your friend. But what is the good of friendship if one cannot say exactly what one means? Anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good.’

“‘I am very sorry,’ said little Hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling off his night-cap, ‘but I was so tired that I thought I would lie in bed for a little time, and listen to the birds singing. Do you know that I always work better after hearing the birds sing?’

“‘Well, I am glad of that,’ said the Miller, clapping little Hans on the back, ‘for I want you to come up to the mill as soon as you are dressed, and mend my barn-roof for me.’

“Poor little Hans was very anxious to go and work in his garden, for his flowers had not been watered for two days, but he did not like to refuse the Miller, as he was such a good friend to him.

“‘Do you think it would be unfriendly of me if I said I was busy?’ he inquired in a shy and timid voice.

“‘Well, really,’ answered the Miller, ‘I do not think it is much to ask of you, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow; but of course if you refuse I will go and do it myself.’

“‘Oh! on no account,’ cried little Hans and he jumped out of bed, and dressed himself, and went up to the barn.

“He worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the Miller came to see how he was getting on.

“‘Have you mended the hole in the roof yet, little Hans?’ cried the Miller in a cheery voice.

“‘It is quite mended,’ answered little Hans, coming down the ladder.

“‘Ah!’ said the Miller, ‘there is no work so delightful as the work one does for others.’

“‘It is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk,’ answered little Hans, sitting down, and wiping his forehead, ‘a very great privilege. But I am afraid I shall never have such beautiful ideas as you have.’

“‘Oh! they will come to you,’ said the Miller, ‘but you must take more pains. At present you have only the practice of friendship; some day you will have the theory also.’

“‘Do you really think I shall?’ asked little Hans.

“‘I have no doubt of it,’ answered the Miller, ‘but now that you have mended the roof, you had better go home and rest, for I want you to drive my sheep to the mountain to-morrow.’

“Poor little Hans was afraid to say anything to this, and early the next morning the Miller brought his sheep round to the cottage, and Hans started off with them to the mountain. It took him the whole day to get there and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went off to sleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad daylight.

“‘What a delightful time I shall have in my garden,’ he said, and he went to work at once.

“But somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his friend the Miller was always coming round and sending him off on long errands, or getting him to help at the mill. Little Hans was very much distressed at times, as he was afraid his flowers would think he had forgotten them, but he consoled himself by the reflection that the Miller was his best friend. ‘Besides,’ he used to say, ‘he is going to give me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of pure generosity.’

“So little Hans worked away for the Miller, and the Miller said all kinds of beautiful things about friendship, which Hans took down in a note-book, and used to read over at night, for he was a very good scholar.

“Now it happened that one evening little Hans was sitting by his fireside when a loud rap came at the door. It was a very wild night, and the wind was blowing and roaring round the house so terribly that at first he thought it was merely the storm. But a second rap came, and then a third, louder than any of the others.

“‘It is some poor traveller,’ said little Hans to himself, and he ran to the door.

“There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the other.

“‘Dear little Hans,’ cried the Miller, ‘I am in great trouble. My little boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the Doctor. But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it has just occurred to me that it would be much better if you went instead of me. You know I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so, it is only fair that you should do something for me in return.’

“‘Certainly,’ cried little Hans, ‘I take it quite as a compliment your coming to me, and I will start off at once. But you must lend me your lantern, as the night is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into the ditch.’

“‘I am very sorry,’ answered the Miller, ‘but it is my new lantern, and it would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.’

“‘Well, never mind, I will do without it,’ cried little Hans, and he took down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a muffler round his throat, and started off.

“What a dreadful storm it was! The night was so black that little Hans could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely stand. However, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking about three hours, he arrived at the Doctor’s house, and knocked at the door.

“‘Who is there?’ cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom window.

“‘Little Hans, Doctor.’

“’What do you want, little Hans?’

“‘The Miller’s son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself, and the Miller wants you to come at once.’

“‘All right!’ said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big boots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the direction of the Miller’s house, little Hans trudging behind him.

“But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and little Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse. At last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which was a very dangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there poor little Hans was drowned. His body was found the next day by some goatherds, floating in a great pool of water, and was brought back by them to the cottage.

“Everybody went to little Hans’ funeral, as he was so popular, and the Miller was the chief mourner.

“‘As I was his best friend,’ said the Miller, ‘it is only fair that I should have the best place’; so he walked at the head of the procession in a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a big pocket-handkerchief.

“‘Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,’ said the Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.

“‘A great loss to me at any rate,’ answered the Miller; ‘why, I had as good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don’t know what to do with it. It is very much in my way at home, and it is in such bad repair that I could not get anything for it if I sold it. I will certainly take care not to give away anything again. One always suffers for being generous.’”

“Well?” said the Water-rat, after a long pause.

“Well, that is the end,” said the Linnet.

“But what became of the Miller?” asked the Water-rat.

“Oh! I really don’t know,” replied the Linnet; “and I am sure that I don’t care.”

“It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature,” said the Water-rat.

“I am afraid you don’t quite see the moral of the story,” remarked the Linnet.

“The what?” screamed the Water-rat.

“The moral.”

“Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?”

“Certainly,” said the Linnet.

“Well, really,” said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, “I think you should have told me that before you began. If you had done so, I certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said ‘Pooh,’ like the critic. However, I can say it now”; so he shouted out “Pooh” at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went back into his hole.

“And how do you like the Water-rat?” asked the Duck, who came paddling up some minutes afterwards. “He has a great many good points, but for my own part I have a mother’s feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes.”

“I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him,” answered the Linnet. “The fact is, that I told him a story with a moral.”

“Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do,” said the Duck.

And I entirely agree with her.

Decorative graphic of windmill and overturned barrow

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love lifestyle opinion Pastoral reflection thoughts

Story: Be there for someone


An old man once told me the story of how as a young man, his mother used to ask him: “What is the most important part of your body?” Through the years, he would take a guess at what he thought was the correct answer. First time, his answer was: “The ears.” The mother replied: “No, many people are deaf. But you keep it and I’ll ask you soon again.” Several years passed before she asked him again. His second answer was: “My eyes”. The mother told him: “You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct, there are many people who are blind.”

Then a year later, his father died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Then the mother looked at the graveside and when it was their turn to say their final goodbye to their father, she asked him, “Do you know the most important body part yet, my son? He was shocked when she asked him by the graveside. The mother said to him: “Don’t be confused or shocked. This question is very important now and it shows you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you that you were wrong and I have given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson.” Then the mother looked down at him and threw her head to his shoulder and hugged him. With tears in her eyes, she said “My son, the most important part of your body is your shoulder.”

Wow! This young man was forced to ask: “Mum, it is because it holds up my head?” She replied, “No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometimes in life. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it.” There and then this young man knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is made for others and not for yourself. It is sympathetic to the pain of others.

People will forget what you said and did. But people will never forget how you made them feel in their crises times. Good friends are like stars, you don’t always see them, but you always know them when they around you. No wonder a wise man said “If you want to be wisely selfish, care for others.” Yes! It will come back for you. Be someone’s shoulder today.

Culled and editted from the ODM.

Categories
Africa, Poetry and Love Inspiration/Motivation lifestyle Love and Christianity

Legacy: Larry or Harry?

Legacy

Life is dynamic. It changes each time we look at it from different perspectives. This is a story you might know. It tells of two opposites: selfishness and generosity, greed and contentment.

Larry and Harry

Larry and Harry, two homeless men were given a chance to travel to a third world country on an all-expenses paid trip.

They were told to carry nothing and to return with nothing. They were to make sure they spent all that was given to them. Provision had been made for their expenses and welfare which they would get upon arrival at their destination. The only caveat was that neither of them knew when they would be asked to return home.

When they arrived, they were both given a huge sum of money and a credit card with no limits, but reminded to spend it all before returning to their home country. At this, they became instantly wealthy by local standards.

Harry thought to himself. “Wow! This is my opportunity to live like a king for I don’t know how long this would last”. So he went and rented a Ferrari and rented the best room in the best hotel in town. He went to the best stylist, shaved and transformed his looks. He had parties everyday. Everyone in the city thought the cars and the wealth were his and they loved and respected him for it.

But at the back of his mind, Harry knew he would go back home someday and leave all of it behind but he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to live the moment and enjoying himself to the fullest.

Larry, on the other hand rented a small Honda to get him around town and stayed in a modest inn. He thought to himself. “This money will not last and I don’t know when I am going back so I have to do something tangible with it.” He decided to use it to change some people’s lives while he had the time. So he got busy, went out on the streets and started making a difference. He didn’t just give away money, rather he tried to help people to be self-sufficient. He paid off all the school fees of some promising young ones to enable them get an education and take care of themselves and their families. He found some responsible adults and funded them in a business that guaranteed they would be able to take care of their family and create employment. He devised a means of helping some of the homeless people get off the street and getting them into a trade for he thought “I wish someone would do this for me when I get back.” In short Larry spent his time changing lives.

Then after two months they were suddenly notified that it was time to go back. They hadn’t even finished spending all the money but still had to leave it all. They both said their goodbyes and headed for the airport.

At the airport they were given their original clothes to put back on before boarding the plane back to their country. Harry reminisced on the good times he had but wasn’t too happy that he was going back to his old life.
How would he readjust to being homeless?

Larry on the other hand felt good. He came with nothing and is leaving with nothing, but he at least helped others with a chance at life and that alone meant the world to him. Readjusting to being a homeless person wouldn’t be a problem because he never lived like the wealth was his anyway and always had it at the back of his mind that he would leave it all someday.

But little did they know that each moment they spent on vacation was being secretly recorded and they would be rewarded accordingly.

Now, which one do you think would be cast back out to the slums as a homeless person and which one would be entrusted with large sums of wealth and position of authority?

The same goes with our lives. We are here on a mission and will return empty handed except for the recordings of our dealings on earth. Many walk around thinking that the wealth they have is theirs to keep forever. When we look at the mirror, we think that what we see will always be there, forgetting that everything is temporal.

Have a good day of reflection.

Categories
Africa culture/tradition folklore Igbo culture lifestyle Nature Pastoral Series

Diaries of a Village Boy: The Leopard Spirit 6

That night I had another attack. It was midnight and everybody was settled for some sleep. The moon was white, there were no stars and the evening brought mild breezes. Wild dogs and wolves howled from the hilly distance and the night was deafened in their terrifying noise. Night was nobody’s friend those days. Travelers were adviced not to travel by night. If they do they risk being attacked by wild animals or if unlucky may be taken by slave or head hunters or even worse, as the villagers believed, killed by wandering spirits of dead men.

I can’t recall exactly how it started, but in few minutes I fell off my bamboo bed and continued struggling with some invincible power on the ground. The twist and turns created a scene. The fall and noise woke even the heaviest sleeper and my sentinel, Nene. She yelled in fear and ran out of the room. Her dog followed her. From the passage I heard her cry for she was afraid to leave the hut that night.

I heard someone call Papa, ‘Where you deh Papa? Come fast please! It must be your boy.’ It seemed that this man heard Nene’s cry and woke to find out what the matter was. A rush followed as Papa and some men came. I felt hands all over my body when they tried to lift me up from the ground. I felt everything but couldn’t move. My body was stiff, I couldn’t even blink an eyelid.

‘Place him on his bamboo bed, so that his chest will be elevated.’ A voice adviced. Then my body was taken up to my bamboo bed. I sighed in pain. I felt palms pulling away at my legs and hands, massaging my body with some hot ointment. Few palms rubbed mmanu aku into my eyes, nose, ears and mouth. I sneezed, heavily, again and again. The pain was indescribable but as a man leaned over and made incantations I fell asleep immediately. I learned later in the morning, that father hired a dibia.

***

Morning was picturesque and dramatic as usual. Palm trees started a happy procession with the wind, that may continue till noon. Tree leaves fall, scattering with the flirty wind all over the hamlet. Little girls wished away the leaves so they could lazy around without sweeping. Activities resumed, older boys to farms, older girls to streams, younger boys to check rodent traps, younger girls to sweep. The women and men left for their various chores; dogs, cats and poultry played in the early sun. The whole village sent an emissary to my father’s compound to hear the latest news. My father who didn’t like much drama sent most away with assurance that I was fine.

‘Papa.’ I called from my room.

‘I’m here, my son.’

‘My head hurts badly.’

‘I’m sorry nwam, ndo. You’ll be fine, you’ll see.’ He consoled me. ‘Woman bring him some breakfast!’ He called to my mother. She wasn’t allowed into the room initially but the food gave her the chance to.

The aroma of yam and goat meat pepper soup rented the room when Mama brought the food. As Mama put the tray on the table she started crying. Papa asked some women to lead her away from the room…

To be continued…

Categories
Africa culture/tradition

Diary of a Village boy: The Leopard Spirit 3

The next Eke day, I was sent to buy provisions for the family. Dada gave me £2 for food and medicine. The money was enough to buy things that will last for a week. The Eke market sold once in two weeks, and many people, traders, artisans, and technicians came from far and near to buy and sell their wares. At the gate, I met Nene holding Ndien in a leash. Nene and Ndien, her mischievous dog, had always refused to accept my plea to stay in the compound. Nene always wanted to be an escort each time I had an errand.

“I told you severally, Nene; it’s not safe through the forest path. Besides, I must walk fast; you two will slow me down. Please stay back. I will get you some chewing gum when I return.” I tried to persuade her.

“What will you get for Nidan?” She asked, hands akimbo. I knew it was a no, so I tried to grab her. She was slim as a cassava stalk; she wriggled away from my grasp and ran towards the bamboo gate. Ndien followed his mistress, wagging his tail triumphantly. I returned to the hut to report to Dada, and when I came out, they were nowhere to be found.

Perhaps, they must have gone to the other compound to play or sit with Mama and other village women at the palm oil mill. I shrugged; good riddance.

The walk back from the market square was long. I recall seeing different birds bother my lonely thoughts. Sometimes a lizard raced across the bushy path, and rabbits peered from the cover of bushes. I laughed when I saw two beetles fight over caked cow dung. At a point, I noticed that insects, grasshoppers, spiders, crickets, lizards, rats, and other rodents were trying to escape from something. I looked up; there was no sign of fire nearby. So I decided to investigate. I was close to the bush path when suddenly, a black mamba shot out of the grass, and I jumped to let it pass. Ah, If I had jumped like this in the Village boys’ Jumping competition, I would have won gold.

Ijele, the soldier ants were marching, which explained the commotion. They consumed any living thing that stood on their path. Humans even dread Ijele ants. For men, they crawl up your genitals and then send one howling for air or water, or both. I also heard that during the war, prisoners from other villages were tied and fed to them. I strode back a few feet and traced the Ijele line as it led through the forest towards my village. Well, I hoped Dada and other men were around to see that these little rascals cause no harm to our livestock or community.

At the forest junction leading to my hamlet, I saw three men standing by the roadside. They spoke in low voices. They wore strange waist clothing and their bare chests smeared with white and red chalk. On their waist hung tiny queer painted beads and calabashes. I thought of the headhunters Dada told me about. Those who their job is to kill other people for rituals or revenge during wartime. I stopped on the tracks and tore a leaf from a nearby palm tree. I slowly mumbled, “the na image again, amam.” (What I don’t know, won’t know me). Then I proceeded, marching boldly towards them. One of them turned to stare at me and, seeing the palm leaf on my mouth, said something to his fellows, and they quietly left the pathway. I marched, and when I was a few feet away from them, I heard a sound…

To be continued

Categories
Pastoral

Legend of Wawadomea: First Wave of sails

There are dreams I like to forget. These dreams came, went and when I wake I find myself still wallowing in my own reverie. These dreams gave me illusions and changed the way I perceived the pirates. After the quick fight with the cannibals of Juren, a small island off the coast of the bigger island of Shark, the Lifnante decided to have some rest on the nearest land. We had sailed for many days without the sight of land and everywhere was the sign of gloom. Some pirates drank themselves to stupor, staggering, some heading for their beds and some picking fights as usual. I could see Sundjata peer through his binoculars and my curiosity got hold of me. There was only one way to find out what this young pirate sought. I quickly ran to the Ships head, scaling the stairs, two at a time.

“Hallo” I cried.

“Well, hi!” He replied after lowering the lens to see the intruder. I shifted a bit, trying not to show my unease. He must have noticed. “Dont worry little fella, there’s no cannibal around here.” He said reassuringly. Goodness, he always read my mind. The encounter with the cannibals was bloody and I wish not to experience such again.

“So what were you staring at?” I asked stupidly, faking a smile.

“Oh!” He grunted. “A legend has it that here, just somewhere near this piece of ocean, the Snake Fish lives here and if this legend is true we might likely meet them”. He was trying to speak correctly, perhaps he did for I felt fear grow in me. I shuddered at the thought of big living monsters. What excitement does he derive knowing that a disaster was out there, waiting for the Wave? That was Sundjata, always making serious issues trivial. Then a shout of land rented the air from Crocker, the ships heralder.

“Ahoy, Ahoy! Lande! Lande!! I sighte lande!” He yelled, excitement written all over him. I saw the pirates all rush out from their hideouts, arranged in different groups whispering, talking almost at the same time. The Lifnante came out with his silver plated binoculars. At one swing of his strong hands he raised it to his face.

“Aye! That is some land, some good land. Well done boy” he said. “All to sails!” Then like a sounded bugle everybody moved to their duty posts.

Ay Cap’n, rented the quietness of the ship. Such an effort it was for the ship was directed towards this strange and lonely island, sitting on a volcanic rock. Small tug boats were lowered and some pirates paddled away. I was in a boat with Sundjata and five other pirates. From the boats we could see the island close in. Glittering sand, white beaches, and fine shiny pebbles. It seemed that no man ever set foot on the island. The hinterlands harbored a forest and from our closeness we could hear the birds cry. Behind the forest, the Volcano stood majestically, bidding us welcome, extending Greek gifts to us. My excitement gave way to uncertainty. I wasn’t sure I wanted this.

“Stay with me boy, leave not my side for any reason.” I heard Sundjata whisper. Sincerely my whole being longed for the woods and for freedom, some quietness from the noisy pirates. Glancing over to Sundjata, I could see two pistols dangle about his sides and a sword hidden in his pants. I looked up and smiled mischievously at his glare. Then the boats hit the beach sands, and all climbed off running up the sands, trying to out run the others, to reach the riches and warmth of the island before anyone else. It was a holiday from the long sea voyages and a happy one.

Night was on her way trifle shy. Anyone who ever took solace on the Night betrayed himself. Don’t mind me, I actually stole the Lifnante’s quote book. But Night cares for no one, and cold nights are cruel to those who took refuge in her arms. I heard the Lifnante give orders for camping. All about the island many camps were set for the coming evening. Some pirates stayed back on the Wave, and those were sick or older pirates and slaves who worked in the Wave. The camps sprang up in few minutes and then cooking for the night commenced. Some fish caught from the sea were cooked in coconut oil and many more were smoked on bonfires. The smell of fish cooking in coconut oil aroused my appetite. It was long since I ate properly cooked food! Some pirates played soft tunes with guitars, whistles and every musical instrument they had on them.

I got a plateful of fish and with delight I set about eating. It was then that I saw a movement in the forest. Like a flash, something moved through the woods. Again and again, I saw it. I decided to investigate, but my courage failed me. Reporting to the Lifnante and the merry pirates would spoil the calm and cool evening merriment. I saw the movement again. Now I was sure that something was out there and my mind played no games. I dropped my plate and walked up to Sundjata. He was playing cards with some pirates.

“This is pay back. Now it will cost you another Nickel,” he growled, laughing at his opponents. The pirates were all talking…

To be continued

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Uncategorized

Grandmother’s Table

Good evening everyone. This story was adapted from the Brothers Grimm and I’ll like to share it with you.

It may be that the older we get, the more this story will mean to us. But we should learn it while we are young, for the sake of the generation coming before us. We should also teach our younger ones, not just by words but by our actions.

Once there was a feeble old woman whose husband died and left her all alone, so she went to live with her son and his wife and their own little daughter. Every day the old woman’s sight dimmed and her hearing grew worse and sometimes at dinner her hands trembled so badly the peas rolled off her spoon or the soup ran from her cup. The son and his wife could not help but be annoyed at the way she spilled her meal all over the table and one day after she knocked over a glass of milk, they told each other enough was enough.

They set up a small table for her in the corner next to the broom closet and made the old woman eat her meals there. She sat all alone, looking with tear-filled eyes across the room at the others. Sometimes they spoke to her while they ate, but usually it was to scold her for dropping a bowl or a fork.

One evening just before dinner, the little girl was busy playing on the floor with her building blocks and her father asked her she was making. “I’m building a little table for you and mother,” she smiled. “So you can eat by yourselves in the corner someday when I get big.”

Her parents sat staring at her for some time and then suddenly both began to cry. That night they led the old woman back to her place at the big table. From then on she ate with the rest of the family, and her son and his wife never seemed to mind a bit when she spilled something every now and then.

***

Image from Knoll .com

Categories
Nature Pastoral

The Boy Who Cried “Wolf”

This is one of Aesop’s most famous fable. It’s old but not rusty. As you read through note that the fastest way to lose what we call our good character is to lose our honesty.

There was once a shepherd boy who kept his flock at a little distance from the village. Once he thought he would play a trick on the villagers and have some fun at their expense. So he ran toward the village crying out, with all his might:

“Wolf! Wolf! Come and help! The wolves are at my lambs!”

The kind villagers left their work and ran to the field to help him. But when they got there the boy laughed at them for their pains; there was no wolf there.

Still another day the boy tried the same trick, and the villagers came running to help and were laughed at again.

Then one day a wolf did break into the fold and began killing the lambs. In great fright, the boy ran back for help. “Wolf! Wolf!” He screamed. “There is a wolf in the flock! Help!”

The villagers heard him, but they thought it was another mean trick; no one paid the least attention, or went near him. And the shepherd boy lost all his sheep.

That is the kind of thing that happens to people who lie: even when they do tell the truth they will not be believed.

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Uncategorized

Celebrating Arts: Glennys Arias

As I mentioned sometime ago, I celebrate creativity, knowledge, arts and people. Today I will be taking a peek at Glennys Arias new book.

I’m privileged to be reading from the author herself! These are excerpts from The Creator’s Angel which is published in Amazon.com.

Chapter 6

We stare at each other in complete silence, “I’m aware of your plan, it’s very good and unpredictable, just as spontaneous as you are. It’s going to take a lot from you. Are you sure you want it to end that way?”…

Chapter 7

Our eyes met, his lips went closer to mine, if he kisses me, it will lead to destroying my plans, I stop him. “Fenox we have to go” I take the IV out my hands and I get up “you’re still hurt” he sighs, “I’ll be ok, we have to go to my fathers in Repdom”…

***

Description:
One woman can make an impact that can change the world but it takes a group of people to make change. Love, Lust, Danger and suspense is what Ausra brings to the table. It feels like at times challenges and unhappiness follows Ausra’s life path, fights, actions, confusion and Fenox. Ausra loves Fenox more than anything in the world. Will Ausra get the love she desires or will she find a hidden surprise? Read along as the Creator observes.

**

About the Author:

My name is Glennys Arias. I am a new writer. Writing has been my passion, of course saying it is easier than accomplishing it. I had a vision of making a book for years. The more I grew I was able to assemble this book with inspirational help from Felix Lloyd Jr. My goal right now as this is my first book from a 3 series book is to grow and take my writing skills to the next level. I do welcome constructive criticism. I am very happy to share my experience with the world and I hope all my stories get enjoyed.

Categories
Africa culture/tradition folklore Pastoral Series Uncategorized

Reintroducing the Legend of Wawadomea

1

Now I write you a piece of my heart, tonight

In the growing Harmattan and her temperament

I am cut in two- halved in your Providence

One for your happiness, another for Your happiness

2

This piece of heart tells a tale of the sea folk

a story of survival, a war of loneliness and luck

Of a boy caught and taught by the sea, somewhere

A legend of the wild, of a land called Wawadomea

Permit me reintroduce this piece I’m working on. A fiction and fantasy of pirate life. The Legend of Wawadomea is a story and my creation which I hope to finish soon. I won’t give all details here but trust me it will give you the oldy tymey feel when you read some excerpts!

My major character is a poor boy, Yitzak who worked in a ship yard, located somewhere, on the Horn of Africa. One fateful day, he was kidnapped by sea pirates and had to live with them through their epic sea journey. Luckily, he had a pen, a booklet and some memory for his diary. He told of the sea and her strange ways, the love he missed at home, the hopes he has and the queer life of the pirate. He talked about the cannibals they met, the wars they fought, the Pirates’ seafaring competitions and more. You can read some parts of the story here:

The Legend of Wawadomea: The Cannibals of the East

Far out the lonely seas of the Indies
Our maiden vessel sailed
Hitting the strongest winds
Surfing the wild oceans
And at all times; bumping into the skies

In this quiet piece of the ocean
A strange sea of some sort
Where there stays a blue sky
An evenings journey with the Cods
A short lived companionship
For there came the black sharks
Gliding majestically; cunningly shy

But this time there was a sigh
A horn; calling from the masts top
“Ahoy, land! Ahoy, land!”
And those excitements that followed
“Aye!” the Lifnante growled thru raised binoculars
“That is some land for sure.”

An hour and some seconds
The Wave was tethered gently
Along those lonely coasts
A great vegetation stood before us
Strangely; the forests seem to have no life
We set about making some fire
For night was on its way
But we dared not stray near the woods…

The Legend of Wawadomea: Blue Horizon

The sunset drew a picture
Which lived with me,
Thru my younger life-
A strange uproar heartfelt
It was aye, very strange
That aye, I mean I
Will be amongst this lot
This people forsaken kind of clan
Living the life of a sea pirate,
Out in the weirdest part of the ocean

The blue horizon, carved on the skies
With birds returning, to their homes
And we, in a strange-looking island
Somewhere off the vast ocean
Caught and cautious, seldom willing to prowl about
A fading horn sounded, not so far away
All looked up, staring at each other
“I afraid, I wonder, what may that be?”
Tusky, wanting a left hand said
He must have spoken so loud
That even the half deaf Cron
Swiftly swerved around to look at him,

The Lifnante was glad we were off sea
I felt so, on an errand sent from Sundjata
The Lifnante was high on bottled spirits
“Git here boy, havee som rhum, will ya?”
I could feel the uncalled-for excitement
He was at the extreme end of the camp
There was a group of rocks
Bordering the beach and the forest
And he cared for less
“There’s a horn sire, a sort of bugle sire”
I delivered my message, but he
He waved me off with the hand
And grunted as a pirate filled his cup

The night was stormy, but all was calm
Just lightning and flash all the way
I was awake, I was scared all the time
But then I slept when I knew not…

©Oke Iroegbu

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First Words of P’Ville, SummerTown 2

                     images                       Summer had a lake which shone with the sun light

The shivering of the waters were seen even in the nights

By the roadside were carts drove were green and yellow flowers

And at some corners of the streets the crimson Rose stood taller

Than the street fencing which was immaculately painted white

From the vales down the road Summers castles on hills stood in sight

A part of the city harbored caves which the lost made their abode

Summers had villains, criminals who obeyed a Frog in the Woods

Swamps hid the other remnants of villains and burglars

Summers beauty reflected not on her inhabitants but on her clement weather

When it rained, it was more like melted sweet creams

So the city looked up to more creamy rain storm with glee

The Diamond Lake gave the town a feel of sea

And down the Burrows, Agui the cock  lived

…to be continued

 

 

 

Categories
Series

First Words of P’Ville, SummerTown

images.jpg

When the Winter Witch got tired of the warmth
Which the fine golden sun brought
She decided to leave the sunny, pitiful city
And with her she took all her trinkets and jewellery
Then she would stare across the vast wild Oat fields
And all she saw was melting ice and she always sighed
In the quiet and early morning she was gone like the mist
Taking all her frost with her, everything even the least

Then it was time for the greens to blossom
The butterflies emerged from the silky worms
And the clouds wore a fairer apparition
Which came as a pair of joy and admiration
To all the inhabitants of this city called Summer
The tents are packed for resorts where the land is lower
And where the three rivers happily met
The land became wetter as the sun set

Summer was flowery, full of bees and butterflies
And derived her name from the abundant sun smiles
That roamed and romanced the whole land
But even in the quietness of the city’s idionsyncracies
Thru the pockets of farms and homes and hills and valleys
There exist some bugs and gnats and toads
Those who find it nice to be villains and rogues
But this is Summer, where there is a golden sun
And city of insects, here and there, stay or run…

To be continued…

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Amuse: Poetale of a town boy

is.jpg

I have become the village belle

Just that in fact, I am not a girl

Nene was so good in eulogizing me

She sang of my praises even when I did nothing

She told the villagers about my escapades in the city

She told them of my big eye glasses and how it fit my face

And how it seem that the glasses wore the face instead

Now she told them the stories I was ashamed to tell

And how I wore long pants with a string they call beletu

Okay, the sweet memories I kept in this hamlet

Seem to outweigh my disapproval of the city life

I forgot that picking other peoples mango fruits

Was a great taboo, if so I am guilty… I just remembered

When the evenings came in the countryside

Nene will be the first to come take me for a walk

She will tell me to hide in the tree silhouettes

And not to let the wild boys of the hamlet see me

Why she said so I can not really tell

Well, I could feel the boys treat me with distaste

The evening was not like the town nights

The hamlets were lighted with the kerosene lamps

And smell of peoples dinner rented the air,

As we passed some of the windows on the huts

Nene will tell me, hold your nose akpiri

And she will laugh out loud in the darkness

I see her white teeth shine but not her

For Nene was chocolate brown and the night will not discover her

The trek to the village square were they sold palm beer and pork,

Where Mallams sold also the tasteful Suya which scatter my head

Was quite interesting… crickets buzzed in the darkness

And bright stars glittered up the dark, cloudy skies

Nene will let me use my little savings to buy those sweet things

And she will yell out big brother each time she wanted to deceive me

But the pain always was to go home when it was time,

When we returned from our evening walks

For warm showers and spicy hot soups

I feel the joys that come with me staying away from the city

Commentary.

Beletu: Belt

Akpiri: long throat

Suya: grilled meat with crushed ground nuts and spices.

Image designed by petro: http://www.designsbypetro.com

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Friday

The nights may be dull…
But there are fresh morning airs
That this beautiful morning shares
It grows with the comely light
Letting all feel the suns’ warmth
As she rise from behind the cloud
Painting the land, bright and gold

The airs are for all;
The sun flower with its bright colors
And the steam boat with sailors,
Cruising across the deep blue sea
And the farmers on green rice paddies
Looking up now and then, to stretch
With their dark grey fanciful straw hat

And it comes upon all…
Fridays dawn with sweet smiles
With happiness and hopeful sighs,
Relieves and joyful moments
Saved from the stressful torment
Of work done during the past days
And we all say, “thank God its Friday!”

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A tale: The Boar and The Tortoise

Once in a land far, far away… The Tortoise and the
Boar made friends. There friendship was known all over the land. The two families were very close. One day the Tortoise asked the Boar to lend him some money. Out of the old friendship which existed between the two families, the Boar lent out the money. It was agreed that the money would be paid back on a fortnight. The Tortoise made plans with his wife to deceive the Boar so as to prolong the repayment date. He asked his wife to use his hard back shell as a grinding stone and to tell the Boar that he wasnt around whenever he came. A day after the agreed date of repayment, the Boar walked in, full of smiles he saw the Tortoise wife grinding pepper on a stone. He asked after his friend. ‘He went to the farm not too long ago’ the Tortoise wife lied. The Boar ran off towards the Forests in search of the Tortoise. But he was no where near the farms. He walked back home. The next day he came back. ‘He went to see the Cock’ the Tortoise wife lied again. The Boar ran off again. This time he asked other animals on the road if they have seen the Tortoise but none had seen him and he wasn’t at the Cocks place either. Thinking that the Tortoise might be playing a trick on him, the Boar in anger returned to the Tortoise house and took the grinding stone from the Tortoise wife. He wasnt thinking, he flung the stone far into the shrubs. A few minutes later, the Tortoise walked into his compound. He saw the angry Boar. ‘What is it my friend. Why is your face red?’ he asked ‘I’ve come for my money’ the Boar answered. The Tortoise demanded for his grinding stone and vowed never to pay the Boar if he wont return his stone. The Boar rushed into the shrubs in search of the stone. He was picking every stone on the ground with his snout to see if they belonged to the Tortoise. Up till now the Boar still pick the ground in search of the Tortoise grinding stone. It is wrong to play on peoples intelligence, it is also wrong to act in anger.

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The Old Man and The Bulb

I met an old man
Walking down the lane
Passing thru the barn
With a face, bold and stern
He dropped his stick
And I watched him stoop
His body rattled, weak
And down the steps, I took a hop
“Hello sire, lemme help you”
He looked up, a bright smile
“Oh, goodness, my son, bless you
i had been on the road for miles!”
The evening was cold
A storm was on its way
“Please do come inside
And I shall bake you some cake”
The face brightened the more
And thru the steps I led him
Taking our time as we head to the door
The sun sets, the clouds dim
And then the winds blew
Snow balls fall in drunk circles
And the road was full of white hue
I set the little brown kettle
And soon it was whistling
“Sire, you can stay the night”
I saw the hope in his eyes, dwindling
“Thanks for your hospitality”
He smiled again with some pain
The bulb up the ceiling kept shining
And I see glares of the old man
Take a side look, once and again
After tea and very hot shower
He lay on the bed, with his eyes on the ceiler
I sensed the unease, and made for the bed
“Sire, is anything the matter?”
He grunted and calmly shook his head
“Nah son, but I kept watching
This little light shining up there
I prefer to sleep on something
Afar off this little Sun up there!
I dont know what holds that”
He pointed to the bulb, carefully
Trying to let me see
Why the bed should be moved
Fearing should the hand
Holding the bulb decides to let go
What might become of him

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Poetale: Story of Faith

Once upon a time
In a land separated
By a peaked hill
With clouds gathering
On its highest tops
The other side of the hill
Nests the only stream
Which serves all, cattle, man
The villagers must then
Climb the hill which was hectic
A whooping half days trek
To get to the stream
To walk around was easier
But then the forests weren’t friendly
It reared beasts
And people do lose their way
There lived a young man,
Always praying and asking
Believing that a miracle
Must come one day soon
On one night he thought
“What if the hill moved
What if it moved away
From its position?”
He was full of hope
On the morrow,
He was already at the town centre
Crying out to townsmen
To come, gather for prayers
A strange prayer, it seemed
He told of his plans
And people wondered
Pondering on the dreams
Of the young man
“I believe there’s One
Who hanged the hill
Up there, who kept the stream from us
I believe that he can
Take it away from our way!”
“Oh foolish one, oh foolish dream”
People ranted openly
Jeering at the young man
“I shall pray
Even though you won’t with me”
He courageously declared
On that night he stayed awake
Praying, calling unto God
“Oh master, hear my voice
Hear my voice…”
All his broken soul could say
He slept off after, peacefully
As the birds twittered
The next bright morning
He heard shouts outside
And knocks rammed his door
Shaking its hinges ferociously
He got out, and all about
Where people raising their hands
Shouting, all talking at the same time
Pointing towards the hills place
He ran off, swiftly towards the hills
Breathing hard, pondering
And lo, as he raced
He saw governments bulldozers
Ploughing the hills
The government was to build
A road through the hill
And so God truly answered him!

I needed to say a word of  encouragement to someone tonight. Tonights piece is straight forward, and self explanatory. The poetale talks about Faith and Believing in yourself. Take sometime and always ask God for all your needs. Trust not on human standards, or back talk. Some things might look impossible, unrealistic but God works in mysterious ways. Believing and positivity(faith) decides if you will succeed or not in lifes struggle. Prayers might be all we need for success after a hard work done. Stay safe, pray always.

Oiroegbu Halls

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Poetale: The Tortoise and The Dove

Before I tell this poetale let me describe the nature of the Tortoises character in African cultures. The tortoise is a reptile that lives on land. In African tales the tortoise is perceived as a cunny creature that finds a way to trick others. Now in Africa we sit beneath a trees shade listening and looking up anxiously to the tale teller on a moon lit night. Now your task, dear reader is to pick the moral(s) and make sure you don’t sleep off before the end of the tale. Nice reading.

Once in a land far away
There lived a Tortoise and a Dove
The two became friends
Living together, feeding together
And the friendship grew more
Now, it came to pass
On a quite sunny day
The tortoise made a law
“Before you eat, you must say your name”
Now the dove was a stammerer
And for this he couldn’t say his name
So the night came
And it was porridge
The tortoise called out his name
Rushed to the table and started eating
The dove tried saying his name
And it came out funny
“Dovovo, dovosk, dovod and all
“Oh try harder” tortoise jeered
Till he ate up all
On the next day
The dove came with his own law
“If one must eat, hands must be washed”
On the night it was soup
So the dove washed and flew up
To the foods stand
The tortoise rushed to wash his hands
He did, but alas!
He soiled them as he walked back
He tried again and again
But all was the same
He sat back and cried
After that day, they lived peacefully

Oiroegbu Halls