My Inspiration In Life
Ojo Victoria Ilemobayo
© Copyright 2022 by Ojo Victoria Ilemobayo
Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
Nine weeks old, mama spewed honey honeycomb and milk to me. Daily she watered me like a plant in a nursery. Mama oiled my hair with supplication,yes she & papa dined words with the Great Old at Dusk. I eavesdrops- Doctor said "She". She I'll be the ocean, sky, lushy greens, unfeigned,bold, daring, lioness,fruitful vine, Queen, Fighter- yes Fighter,a fierce one.Nine months- I bask in mama's bossom, suckling and mending our sole hearts- my tinny weeny fingers ever searching! I saw the image of a tender toodler crawling with four legs, babbling and mimicking, mincing, murmuring voices echoes from the west wind. At one my feet firmed upon sandy soil, my hands razzed tables,silk cottons and my mouths wide open like a running drawl seeking for a thousand meal.
Yesterday, the little foetus who hids from the sun begets two ironned sleek feet to embracing the bittersweet sun and it's shades,hands handling over hundreds hinds and barks at a thousand. My eyes greeted grief in a length,I drank from the golden cup of anguish, some days I eat bliss, somedays I eat biles- my cell clasps in white thistle and I bow to red- like thorns. Yesterday, I became a fugitive wanderer- my life is a breath,like a hireling- my days. I'm like a garment that is moth-eaten. I trod this path to assuage my pains. I wandered for a thousand miles,I climbed up the hills with no heels,there I saw the hallowed sunny sun in it's glory. He wore a hot flaming crown and held on to this shinning swords;
Sun; Hi- yeah pretty damsel,why is your face meshed in distress?
Why have you taken up this route? What do you seek for? What do you yearn for?
I: Hi- yeah holy sun,my days are dark with ice. I am six troubles. I am a fugitive wanderer-seeking for my world's end!
Sun: oh! Dearly dear, you are not alone. For I am pain and served sweet smites. My anatomy is like an aroma of trash to you - to all(Terrans) somedays I am yellow and loved, black and bitter,yeah sometimes I am whipped out of my throne by the longest thread! Am I sad at dusk? No- I bath in a lengthy siesta,and when you rise up at dawn- I'll be the first thing you shall surely see- my rays sipping joyfully at your blinds. Yes! a little cry, a little weeping- keep pushing, keep pounding hard- keep living.
My dear end Not your world- till the Great commander says so..
I appluaded the sun, took another lane- kept wandering till the scent of mama's meal aroused me. The last words of the sun kept replaying, repeating, replaying.
The Next dawn, whispers of wind gathered and keep spiraling at me. I wandered through in cold,hewn stones,frozen zone. I came in a knit contact with the Ms.Rain- adorned with a flowery purple-like gown, a ice cube crown on her head, and a tight treaded threads of waters as her hair plus a spark of lightening and thunder webbed in her mouth;
Rain: "little damsel, why do your feet trod this frosty lane? what do you seek? why is your heart ticking solemnly?
I: my days are numbered- my sun is darkened & my moon refused to give her light. I am solitude- seeking for my world's end!
Rain: oh, poor you. scoop your ears of their wax and filled them with my utterance; I am rain, I am ruins,the world runs into their shell when I reign- I am but lonely, forgotten, mono. Terrans give tributes to the fiery moon - though he smites them. Yeah, sometimes, I fall in love with him and we walked in heavenly love garden- making magical rainbows, and sometimes he serves unleavened breakfast & as I woman I be, I razored him- lightening! thunderstorm! After a while- I go, that I may weep& win. So girly, the circle might be headstrong- heed not into it! Seek not the end of your world,there's a river of sparkling gold implanted in you..... I shook my bag, found some kola exchanged hugs with the rain and walked on, as I walked, the whirlwind wiggles.
Days after, I stared at the portrait on the wall- the occupant- Old soldier. Yeah old soldier never die- he lives and keeping in deafening hush. I took a step closer and closer and closer till I vanished into thin air. Old soldier sat on a bent- begging -for- aid 'pako' sette. His pipe reminds of mama's ember- ash scent that fills the atmosphere each time the pot screams. By his left- khaki,boots, helmet, belts, riffle, the evergreen pictorial album all awaiting revival greeted me when I walked in. My shadow betides me- running to the album.
I saw my hands flip page one, old
Soilder full of spirit- prince charming in his prime.
Two, my eyes searching for one head- for they are many heads.
Welcome to Ijesha Division (three)- life is a journey,with stops.
Birds of same feather, labalaba together in 4,5&6.
7 breeds perfection- in cap,boots and riffles mixed with smile
eforeti, iya, ebi dances to the melodious limelight in hateful 8!
......9 lives- on a line. Life's a gigantic battlefront.
Bitter is that, that runs through and through my eyeballs- cos at man's ten
soldier whispers as he evaporated; I'm delighted my offspring can
spring meaning from my dark world- chew it,munch it,digest it, drink
all never miss a drop. Lo ko fi rarare toripe aye o le but aye le. Ni
gbayi mo fe lo simi pada. Odigba! my tears cascading like a river as
I knot Old soldier's fruit of wisdom.
Most times,at the break of dawn- I'm at whiteman's cage. Ink flows, pages after pages, elites in screens,erudites in prints. Dr Cole, Dr Smith, Dr Bello, Dr Gab, Dr Hunjo, Dr Oyegbade, Dr Adedoyin; when would I be a Dr? I on my kneels in a chit-chat with God; God give me, mould me a Dr. How I hunger and thirst for the bliss that overshadowed; '(Dr. Ilemobayo).
did I tell you about the office &air con & drums of
Yeah I want to have a chubby chubby skin like Dr. Adedoyin.
I want to cook and stew words like Dr. Oyegbade.
I want to be a prof like Dr. Hunjo.
I want to be adored like Dr. Gab.
I want to be smart like Dr. Bello.
Make me a god of transcription like Dr. Cole.
Make me eloquent like Dr. Smith.
Each day I want to smile to the bank
Have a fleet of the whiteman's wheel- limousine.
I want to be in the midst of brainy
Hear my cackling voice, oh Lord.
I said like a three-year old would. Nevertheless, inside the belly of the whiteman's cage, Dr. Adedoyin took me hook and sinker when he spitted; "look not down on yourself", "stay stupidly smart", "fight to finish" and many more. So the moon is up, giving her little and listening to the rhythm of the sparkling stars, now my candle is on the edge- eyes bags, running hands, ever dripping face, white and blue combat, nature and man tiffs. My head is buried white in screens and pages. I sworn to the west wind, from the whiteman's cage to the whiteman's cabin! Day in, day out, I ate and drank 'Achebe' 'Adiche,' 'Wole', Adebayo', 'Osundare,' 'Plato', 'Clark', 'Socrates' 'Shakespeare', 'Rotimi', 'Aristotle' and ten thousand others.
The rains are late and not weeping as they do, tenderly I saw the sprouting plants, dancing, waving to the tune of the wind. Some dressed up in green,grey, yellowish gowns ranging in styles and sizes. Just the other morn, I watched papa exchanged pleasantries with the soil, now all tinted with hue. I eavesdropped;
Baby: "mother, when shall I be you?"
Mother:"you shall be you when you are you".
Baby: "what year shall it be?"
Mother:" I see you thirst to know," you'll be you,when your route is rooted,when your feet fit the soil".
Baby: "How do I know these?"
Mother: "Time and tide would subscribe to that, and Aftermath".
Mother: yes, I was given whips- my back for warmth, my hands and feeble feet for meds, my hairs for beautification by he who first shoved me in.
Baby: "mother, will these happenstance be my lot?"
Mother: "surely,and more, for I was bleached by the sun and rain,yet I, I was a covering to them.
I wasn't creamed each time I shed my skin, creeping insects roams like a landlord in my kingdom, I, an abode to them that have wings.but yet in my discomfort, I am but a firm foundation."
"In some moons, I was wore short and pale, while some moons I trimmed tall. I am me, because I chose to breathe.
Baby: mother, you're my heroine.i wouldn't stop gasping for breath to be like you".
screwed all into
Once upon a time, the whispers of papa and mama's prayers rose a thing in me. Their day was hard like a ice and night they fight in tongues like a nut. Beads and bobbles of salty water tilled the tiles. They restlessly chosed to fight- kneels down. One minute they are interceding,the next sweetly flipping this book. I strained my eagle's camera for the sight of the one they call, invisible was that which came hither.I choose to solemnly investigate.
I: "why do you hurt your knees at night as a ransome for nature's bliss?"
Dad: "How do you know this?"
I: "I am full of sight and sound".
Dad: " well, we are sowing".
I : "sowing?"
Dad: " we sow prayers to harvest baskets of blessings". "We sow prayers to annul black days".
I: "Dad, black days"?
Dad : "the days when you might be like a sheep without shepherd, the day the thief comes to fiddle in full length with you, the day when your flesh is worn out". The day when the aroma of darkness jumps in glee. The day.....".
I: " how do I sow like you?"
Mum: " here, take this guide, an interesting map, also toe the footpath of the cross".
I: "how do I eat of this book and cross?".
Mum : "relax, for tommorow shall tell". " I can tell from afar that you would be fierce, when the unction is upon you".
Dad: " with the cross, you'll be able to cross all crusty crust and deadly deals".
hurriedly chewed this as I left to unravel this book.
Today, I rose up before the sun and sundry,the image of this book grasp me.
I took it, fell in love with the wool. I peeped at a page and I saw sixty- three stops(thirty-nine doors, twenty-seven steps). The Genesis of them had a unique Revelation for me, health to my bones, inexhaustible and sweet to soul.
I'm propelled this lawn- I held on to the fingers of God as I marched on and swallowed this;
It was true; (in Genesis) seven days makes one week.
Jealousy slays the simple,
Trust is like spider's web.
Indeed, confidence breaks insunder.
Sin breaks you, breach upon breach,
Weeping and crises may endure for a night, but Joy cascade like a sound of rushing waters,every morn....
Dwelling in the midst of all,as a fugitive wanderer-
I longed to be baked one day, like Pishon, Gihon, Tigris and Euphrates.