Series. #journeytomanhood#habits#changes#, Uncategorized

The Shackles Of Habit.

He is a young man having the normalcy of most of his contemporaries with no claim to any real talent, not even one to boast of. But he is known, very well known for just one thing. One could tell this by just one encounter with him. Unfortunately, this created impressions about him that even the devil would hate, so he is determined to root this habit out and reduce it to embers.

This, he knows is going to be a battle. If for no reason at all, his ignorance was immune to the reality that huge, old trees have roots that creep deep into the belly of the ground. This habit he intends to break is an age old tree that has been nursed by nature himself. But if he must succeed at life and have at least one good thing said about him, then he must be willing to bend his back and endure the sun’s heat.

Friends have made mockery of him. Teachers have been rude to him. People in authority have denied him opportunities. Employers have threatened firing him. He has lost valuable things and chances, been in the wrong places at the wrong times. Some people he looks up to have been disappointed in him, some making it plain in words and others with painful stare.
Hurt and disappointment in self, attempts and discouragement, regret and lack of enthusiasm towards life.

This habit, together with all that accompanies it was growing with him and he hated it. Things had to change. He was becoming a man, but what kind of man?

This is his story!

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The trip, The sleep.

What see’th a dying man?
What hear’eth a man half alive?
What say’eth an expired soul?

It takes just a moment,
The smallest unit of a microsecond.
For man to notice how short life is.

Mistakes can’t be corrected,
Broken hearts can’t be mended,
Sorry is a difficult word to say…

Life is coming to its end.

Laughter means nothing.
Tears change nothing.
No words are ever enough.

What is it a dying man sees?
What does he hear?
What are those words he says?

His life flashes in his eyes…
He hears the words we said to him, kind and harsh.
He says to the living, “let me sleep now. I’ll meet you when all things are made anew.”

A path we shall all travel.
A sleep we all shall drift into.

May we travel gently

And sleep peacefully…

(C) POLO 2020

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My journey. Our journey.

I get it now.
I understand why life is likened to a journey.
You meet many people,
You get to know some of them.
They become family..

And some hardly become acquaintances.
You don’t even remember their faces…

My journey is less than three decades old
But I have met some of the best people
Some have watched the sun rise and set with me
And others have counted midnight stars by my side.
They’re family.

Lately, my path has crossed with a number of sojourners.
They looked like they were headed my way.
This journey can be lonely so I joined them.
But when the road had gotten darker and scarier,
they bid me farewell. They had gotten to their destinations.

This journey is a story
A story we shall one day sit in the moonlight and tell
When all is said and done,
and our lives flash across our very eyes for the last time.
Would this story be worth telling?

Time will tell..

I don’t know how long more my journey will take
But I intend to make the rest of it worthwhile
To keep those who say they’re here to stay and actually do in my heart.
The few ones who smile upon the thought of my nobody self
Who spend a few more minutes looking at my pictures in their gallery

These ones who say silent prayers for me.
And in their hearts, are pretty proud of me.

To the ones who came to play their parts
and have left,
I’ll find a place to keep you.
No! Not in my heart. Sorry.

Thanks for the lessons.
Some of you met me whole and you left me whole
Others met me whole and left me broken
A few more met me broken and left me broken.
Those who met me broken and made me whole never left.

Do I ever cross your mind,
you who broke me?
I don’t feel entitled,
but who forgets thier achievements?
Anyway, I am glad our paths crossed.

I wish you well.
Find happiness wherever you are, all of you who broke me someway, somehow..

(C) POLO 12/10/2020

Series. #journeytomanhood#habits#changes#

Shackles Of Habit. Episode (3 ) Three.

This teacher, on his first day in the school did a good job shoving so much fear down the throats and chests of the students.
It was a reopening day but no one expected a new teacher, at least, not his kind.

After a great deal of the work had been done , the senior boys, as usual,  organised themselves and it was game on. There was no better way to begin the term than with soccer. Everything was going on so well and the players begun wiping streams of sweat from their faces. Some of the girls watched on as their “crushes” dribbled and we’re dribbled. Others engaged themselves in the “customary of women” stuff. If they were not playing “ampe”, you’d surely find them tearing someone apart with words. Likely, the victim and subject of the gossip must be a man or a rival.

Everyone was warming up to the term.

Then it all happened out of the blue. The football was kicked out of playing it went all the way to where this man was seated. He got hold of the ball and placed it under his right foot. Game over, it was, or seemed. Taking his stature and countenance into consideration, no one, even if backed by the entire student body would dare to permit the thought of going to beseech for the release of the ball run through his mind. So we all stood there. But there’s always that one person who dares to dream beyond the walls of his skull. The habitual latecomer was that dreamer. With what looked like good courage and obvious support from “stakeholders” of the game, he felt the combined powers of superman and spiderman. Even Merlin would be scared at his courage. He was the Michael Scofield in this case. So off he went, taking strides as though he didn’t want to hurt an ant. He looked like someone who was sneaking into the chambers of the devil “himself.” You could feel his heartbeat under his feet.

Eventually, he got there and greeted the teachers who were seated near. But he had already greeted them early on. His left hand behind him, over his belt. He then greeted the man with the ball. There was no positive feedback. But if he could walk all the way, he had better get the job done. He pointed to the ball and concomitantly said feebly “Sir, please the ball.”
As if to reinforce his diminishing courage, he looked back at his friends who even looked more scared. Suddenly,  even before he could face the teacher, a yell landed on his face. This yell was enough sign to tell him that he had failed. He could only retort by saying “oh!.” Then came another yell which was an explicit insult.
His friends who were supposed to be sympathetic burst into scornful laughter. He had to look as if he found it funny too, if the pain and humiliation he felt would not be betrayed.

That was a bad note to begin the term on, if you ask me.

Why all these flashbacks? Well, if he could prepare for the worst, a reminder of his first encounter with this man could ready him for anything. He had never liked this man, who later became the Maths teacher. Habitual latecomer begun to sweat profusely. Then the teacher cleared his throat and said “you’re late to school again, aren’t you?” The answer was a simple “yes”, but that would be followed by “why are you late?” If he said “no”, the next question would be “what’s your roll call number?”

There and then, he begun regretting no waking up at the first command. More regrets poured in as he stood there, saying nothing. Or rather, finding no words.
“If I ever get through this storm, I would never be late to school”, he resolved.
But another part of him reminded, “that is what you said the other time, that’s what you always say. Can you ever be punctual?.” He could not answer himself.

In the meantime, he had to cross this bridge. That was the most important thing. What was in store for him?

The next episode has it…

(C) POLO 19

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What Happened To Love?

I’ve witnessed a man ask his wife to leave the house she
suffered to build with him.
He threw a few of her belongings in a “ghana must go”
bag with no straps on it at her and yelled “go away and never come
back here, you witch.”

Is it not this woman to whom the man vowed to love
before God and man?
Didn’t he say with glow in his eyes,
that for rich and for poor, in sickness and health…
He’d love her as long as they both are alive?

Today, that woman is a witch…
She is a witch because she can’t give him babies.
Does she produce her own eggs for cyesis?
She’s fertile. He’s the problem, but he doesn’t know…

What happened to love?

Again, I’ve seen a woman leave her husband and children.
Her own children. They wept and begged.
They held the fringes of her dress, but she looked
at them with pitiful stare, pushed them away
as though they were a dreadful disease.

Didn’t she bore them?
Was it not her who felt the pain of motherhood
and childbirth? But today she leaves them behind
because their father, her husband has lost his job and
can’t take care of her needs. He can afford her luxurious wants no more.

She can’t be with a poor man.
She has designer cloths and expensive jewellery to buy.
Society must respect her for her extravagant dress and grooming.
And if it means leaving her husband and children, so be it…

So what happened to love?

Do people still love because of love?
Or because of what they stand to benefit from each other?
Is it the case that when the condition is perfect, there’s love?
And in the absence of perfect conditions, love dies?

Marriages and relationships fall apart because of love.
The irony!
One day, when I get there, can mine stand the test of time?
Frankly, I worry.

What would happen to my love?

On behalf of my many contemporaries
who may be as confused and worried as I’m,
I ask, “is love enough?”
“If it’s not, what is?”

We don’t want to learn this the hard way.

(C) POLO 03/01/2020.

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Goodbye.

The ones we don’t see coming,
Those we are not in the look out for,
Are the best friendships.
And they are forever

But sometimes not forever

You came through the door when I was shutting it,
For the room had become a mess.
I resolved to keep it under lock and key.
But you, you had me change my mind so I allowed you entry

Your words and actions were assuring
You helped me clean the mess and
re-painted the room.
And took custody of the key

You deserved it.

But why now?
Just when the room is taking shape,
you leave me all by myself?
When you stopped sharing your thoughts on how things should go,
I developed palpitations. But I thought you’d never back off.

Then you had the keys sent to me
You did not even bring them yourself
And you stopped passing bye
I didn’t know you were saying goodbye

What’s the use of beautiful room to a man who’s broken?

Everyday, I read the letters you wrote me
And I see the writing on the wall
But it’s too late to avert the catastrophe
I’m messed again. Even more..

But I wish you this,
Find happiness wherever you are.
I may be a mess,
But we are not enemies.

I do not hate you,
I just love you less.

If I ever cross your mind, remember the mess that you made me…

Goodbye.

(C) POLO 19

Series. #journeytomanhood#habits#changes#

Shackles Of Habit. Episode 2

Hmmm. Today I am finished, he thought aloud. He arrived at the school premises with a lot of fear and regret. He regretted not waking up the first time he was told and even coming to school. He attempted to avoid the Eagle eyes of the teacher on duty and a particular teacher who takes pleasure in the pain of students, a sadist, he appears. Surreptitiously, he walks into the classroom praying that he meets the others idle. Thus, not being engaged by any teacher.

But again, in one day, he learns that prayers sometimes are replied in the negative.
The sound that comes with his shoes as he walks makes it very impossible for him to go unnoticed. He is sweating profusely and his handkerchief can only spread the sweat over his face, not wipe it, for it is wet. This made it so obvious that he was now coming to school putting aside the fact that no one ever expected him to be in school earlier that that, not even himself. He rushed to his seat but before his lazy backside could touch the dusty desk, a message from the teacher on duty flew to him which said “come and see me in the staff room”.

His heart skipped a beat and the sweat on his face pour onto his chest as though he had just had a heated argument with death. The teacher who had already started teaching won’t let him go out even if he gave the message he received as excuse. It would be worse if he doesn’t go to see the teacher on duty. He had become of figure of dilemma. When men prove themselves unwise, advice does little to get them to reason well. He could have averted all these troubles by waking up early. In the meantime, he had to find a way to get out this mess.

“You are late to class and you want to go out again, for what?”
This is what he got after summoning enough courage and rehearsing what he’d say for permission.
He held his tummy and raised a piece of crumbled paper hoping that’d be enough to touch the teacher’s sense of compassion and kindness. Well, it worked. So off he went in the direction of the place of convenience. When he turned he saw the prying eyes of the teacher watching if he was really going there or just a tactic to do something else. The teacher had reason to because of the reaction from the students when he asked for the permission. They knew what he was up to. Besides, why didn’t he ease himself before dressing up for school? The teacher shook his head and smiled. “Students, we’ve been like you all before” he said, pointing to the rest of them in the class. He resumed teaching

After a few minutes in the place of convenience and being sure that no one was watching, he went straight ahead to the teacher on duty who was in the staff room. The teacher on duty was in the company of other teachers. He knocked and entered upon hearing a voice commanding so. “Aha, what it is?” was the response to his feeble and almost inaudible “good morning”. This response formatted his brain such that he could not find the words he had planned to say as excuse for being late to school. While he scratched the back of his head for words, the English teacher asked, “have you submitted your homework?”. “Sir, homework?”, was his reply without giving it a second thought. With that, he gave himself away. One person, late to school and failed to do his homework. Even the wisest man on earth can not provide enough excuse to save himself from this web of troubles.

Then the teacher on duty cleared his throat. He was a man, well built, with the veins on his arms big enough to kill a snake. His shadow inspired the kind of fear that 4 men couldn’t stand. He could pick an inflated soccer ball with one hand and when he shakes hands with you, your palm gets missing in his. That is to say that he has the kind of palms that renders yours very insignificant when you shake hands with him.
He hardly smiles. Whenever he does, it means there’s trouble in the offing. Someone is about to cry. This man, even the headteacher has so much respect for than any other teacher.

It is this man that he has to face.
What would happen to him?
We will see.
(C) POLO 19

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The Way Ahead.

The only way is ahead,
We say.
But with the occupant in your head,
Turned backward, is there any other way?

Sometimes I look back
Where my heart used to be.
Why? Perhaps I would see
Open arms. But I only see ominous figures in the dark

So ahead I will go
What lies therein I don’t know
But still, I will go

This path looks shyly traveled
The trails I see have no return steps
But there’s no light where I am going from
-where my heart used to be-

I don’t come chasing fireflies
I am way too ambitious to ratrace for falling stars
Aiming for the moon
Seen enough darkness

So ahead I’ll go
What lies therein I don’t know
But still, I will go

Come with me if you want to
If it’s safe to say you’ve seen enough darkness too
Come let’s go
Let’s climb mountains, sail on oceans and on deserts let’s treck

Sing with me if you will
The journey seems shorter with you
Everyone I met fed me blatant excuses
But it’s okay if you won’t come along.

Perhaps someday, I will find where my heart belongs.
And that won’t be long
My chest has kept it long enough.

(C) POLO 19