MAD MAN, MAD MAN

He lay down on the walk way in rags, his uncut, unkempt hair clogged together in dirt, something amused his big bright eyes that lay wide open, not blinking, as though he saw spirits. His dry white lips didn't move, his hands formed a pillow on the concrete floor. His nostrils didn't twitch, neither was he irritated by the smell of the green garbage cart that lay in front of him. Onlookers walked past and I could hear the mouths of every heart call him 'The Mad Man' but we were all wrong! To the mad man, we are all mad; dressed in fine ironed suits, skirts, blouses and shirts, hurrying to work. Too afraid of our bosses, too concerned about our monthly stipends. With faces littered with scars of sacrificed passions, lost to jobs we took for money or to kill the common boredom of a societal unemployment. Like ants, we rush to our sugar coated jobs, we are all sick, thinks the mad man, who's too petrified by our delusions and illusions, too petrified that if he called us 'mad men' we would look and laugh, point and spit, shake our worried heads spitefully at him and call him 'Mad man, mad man'. - Melchizedek has spoken

WHAT IS LOVE?

WHAT IS LOVE

She's dazzled by the fine pack of heart-shaped chocolates, the cream cakes and bottle of Baron de vals. A big gift of red furred Teddy bear, an expensive perfume, even a pack of new clothes and underwear. Then to KFC, the beach, the Cinema with popcorns and a cozy hugs, then to the night party. Inflated, confused by the uncontrolled rush of adrenaline running through her body, errodding her mind and making her say again and again 'He Loves me, This is Love...'

Finally, she's in the five star hotel, Radisson Blu, the lights are reduced to bed side lamps, the air is cold, they let the window open against the waters. He walked up to her 'I love you' he says. Kissed her gently against the lips and gradually robbed her of her red val gown, then her white set of underwares, she's too petrified, her heart beats faster as she tries to catch her own breath, she couldn't wait for him to explore her, breathless, she let him in, skin against skin...

Then the night passed slowly and days, weeks made her want more of him: 'My val' her heart recalls, as she sits on a metallic red painted bus station bench; bitter! He's gone and here is another man, with such promises; 'Is this love' she mistakenly asked the man, the stranger next to her. 'Excuse me' he asked. He was actually lost in the tought of his last val too, how she walked away on him.

The bus arrived and they both had similar thoughts: love is not in the box of chocolates, red outfits, wine, outings, sex, kisses... Love is a commitment, it's a personality. If you don't have it and live it, you just can't give it.

Greater Love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his brothers. Jesus is Love; do you have Him? Happy Valentine. 

Our CHANGE Will Come

She sits at Postponement Bus stop  

Our Mother of many children and large natural breasts

Her malnourished children crying; frustrated by the conduct of the conductor

Whose claim is that, Our driver would not start Our Bus

We her troubled children with righteous restless spirits

Demand an explanation

We have threatened to puncture the tyres, break the wind shields and burn Our Bus

But We know too well it will do us no good

“This is Our Bus, not Our driver’s” We chant in one accord

Our weak mother sits back with sunken eyes and pleads

Her grey hairs on bony head, dangling as though it would roll off,

No longer fits in her tattered Green Gele

Her skeletal frame, held loosely her wrinkled black-pale skin,

Covering her shame in her already stained White Buba

Her thin long legs, like Pharaoh’s dream cows, no longer could carry her

Reaching to her kneels, her Green Iro, attempting to uphold her honour

Our Mother yet mutters amidst gasping breaths:

“Although this bus would not start

Although this driver would not move Us forward

Although corruption thrives and evil drives with pride

I’ll hold on a little longer, no matter how long

I’m certain, most certain

Our CHANGE will come!”

-          Kayode Michael Melchizedek ©2015