meaningful ramblings

its only ever been you. I know how saying this might seem incongruous to you dear reader, pitiful perhaps, but see it as you must. Saying stuff like that might imply that you have been with someone for eons. But when you've had years of something different, one other thing seems like a lifetime. Perhaps therein lies my favourite question, "where were we before our lives began?". This life not as you would think it to be, say perhaps the existence of breath in one's lungs. But the life which you start when u feel something in you has changed. That point when you feel something is different. Lest I stray too far from my course, hold on tight. I am lying in my bed, naked and its past midnight. I'd put the time to be somewhere close to 1am, due to the number of times the generator has gone on and off. Yeah #lightupnigeria. Anyways I'm here struggling for sleep and just before I drift off, the words "its always been you" came to my mind. And I have this u...

It is 9.30pm in the city of Lagos as I walk down the steps of my office building on the way to the parking lot. Outside the sky is like black satin with occasional flashes of lightning in the distance signaling the coming of rain to the island. As I settle into my car, I am grateful to God for this night, like every other night. For although I have seen over eight thousand nights in my lifetime, each one is different from the last, and each one ushers in a better morning. Each night tells a different story, some days the stories are funny and other days the stories are serious. Some days, the stories are wistful and filled with longing, and other days the stories are hurried. But in every night are some things that do not change. For at night I can see what others may never see and hear what others may never hear. I see the weathered faces of the gatemen and their relief because at last they can rest their tired bones. In my imagination, I see the mischief on the face of the white cat ...

i love it when people love what i write. I love it more when they can identify with the stories i tell. the little things that make us human. i may not always put together a coherent sentence,nor always have d right words. but from d pen that writes those words flows blood from my heart. I write what my heart asks me to write. words that rile and rape, savor and soothe, a melody if u can hear it. i write words that plunder and caress, sometimes lacking in form but never in fit. Always telling, and showing, never confusing nor misleading. Let me write words to frame your soul. Let me write words to sift through your pain. Let me write the things you cannot say. i'll take your hurt and make it mine, for in that way they'll flow through this heart of mine and out through my words. For in that moment, when i write, you'll heal. Thank you Abi

~do you really want to live forever~ The last line of that amazing song by Jay- Z and Mr Hudson. Lately I havent been myself. Depression? maybe, maybe not. But i have been thinking about the futility of it all. Of loving and living. We are all gonna die someday right? Either by being hit by a bus, by being shot, by eating poison, being sick, or dying of old age. Everything we strive for, ending at death. Man must eat, man must die. But even if I had the choice between dying young or living forever, what would I choose? When I thought about writing this post, I didnt know what to write, or how I was going to write it, perhaps as with most of my posts. Anyways i took a poll on twitter. Thanks twit fam. And perhaps 90% of the people that responded wanted to live forever. And my question is why? Although I cannot answer for them, i can say that I dont wanna live forever. I'd rather die young thank you.(if those two are my only options). I'd rather die young because I'd al...