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Burgeoning Blossoms - Sprout

Preface

The Burgeoning Blossoms series (don’t mind the name), is a collection of carefully crafted literary works – writings, poems, short stories, and other pretty things; a compilation of intelligent stories, fiction, poems and freestyle that would leave you wondering, smiling, inspired or doing all at the same time!

If you love reading, have an imaginatively creative mind, and don’t mind taking some time off to relax, you would love the Burgeoning Blossoms. Containing concise morceaux bundled in volumes with strange nomenclature; Burgeoning Blossoms will draw you into the pages and keep you glued.

This first volume in the series features five titles, and is an introduction to what’s coming next.

Have a lovely time reading Burgeoning Blossoms vol. 1 – ‘Sprout’.

An Eagle Still

I wasn’t homeless, but was hungry; my masters were cruel – inhuman, if you please. Powerful, invincible and at peace, that’s how you would describe me – I was an eagle after all.

Then came The Expedition, they were all gone by the time I became me again – the opposition won, squished my masters like a worm, but I was left, face to face with a good looking young man – he was the Prince.

How lucky I felt, that it was finally all over – the reign of tyranny was gone, the Prince would adopt me – still a bird of prey, yet his choicest pet.

But he wouldn’t put me in a cage, no! He had me roam about and savour my freedom, but I would always come back bruised all over; you didn’t know eagles fought each other, did you?

Something I didn’t tell you: I wasn’t the only one with my former masters, I was in fact, the weakest of all; my survival was all thanks to how well I could embrace defeat and never raise my head.

Here we’re at peace, the Prince doesn’t have many a wars, he is a gentleman; felt like he had all the time in the world, we would play into the night, laughing hard as we both had the might.

I thought he loved me, thought my world was perfect until one day I awoke flightless – works well for ostriches, but not so an eagle; ‘the glory of an eagle is its wings’ they say, but I lost mine, my wings were clipped, fastened to my sides by clasps I never knew exist – the kind an eagle’s strength would not twist.

Maybe they’re all the same, people are wicked; I should have known better, I was such a fool. Would that he had put me in a cage, I would a free bird yet remain, not a useless flightless bird by metal clasps restrained.

He left me in the fields to roam like a hen, he served me freshly killed meat, he was still so tender – I could still see affection in his eyes; he had me confused, I was angry yet loving him, he was far too kind.

Wish he would just talk, open his mouth and tell me why; why he had my wings clipped, why he made a chicken out of me.

I am flightless, without my six-foot wings, without my pride; but yet powerful, invincible and at peace – I am an eagle still.

© De-paule, 2015

Fugacious Quandary

I’m hearing voices… A voice in particular, but… I think t’is voices, or not.

They’re… Rather, it’s driving me… Am I going crazy? Maybe I’ve overworked. You know what they say: “too much work…” there it goes again…

I think I need help, or not… What’s happening to me? Something… Everything is changing…

They echoed ‘deep, deep, deep’, I don’t know; I think I’m transforming into something… Fear of the unknown? Maybe!

*****

Don’t judge me; I’ve not done much, not ever. I feared everything that changed, change itself was my bane.

You’d think with how much I’ve had to put up with I’d be stronger; how wrong!

Asking me not to worry is like telling me to breathe without air, I thrive on worries.

Yes, I still hear the voices; why else do you think I’d go on and on talking about me – the self I turned out to be?

I’ve lived in confinement so dark so far, I had no idea how miserable a place this was; the very comfy seat I’m on is rottenness… Oblivion was my worst nightmare, but now the light scares me.

The voices, they’re getting louder, becoming more in unison! Perhaps it’s one all the while.

This would be the toughest decision I’d have to make, second-ever decision next to the one I made to remain in the shadows. “Deep, deep; turn, turn”, the voice persists.

Definitely, I’m transforming into something… Maybe I need help, or not… But where is this going, you asked? Darling, I wish I knew!

*****

No, it’s not my first time… I’m used to hearing voices only that the kind I’m accustomed to, would tell me what to do. I’ve lived subservient to many masters; I learned the foolish wisdom of keeping my mouth shut while choices were hurled at me, decisions made for me.

But this voice… It speaks something different; and that’s what scares me…

Yes I entered a pact, a wilful… Or compelled pact, I don’t know… It was like a force drew me, it assured me yoke would free me from yoke.

But I like my yoke, nothing describes pastime than the life I’ve lived… Never had to push, never had to step… Or maybe I never had a life.

Nonetheless, something kept me.. I weathered storms, waded in throes, pangs as of death himself; history talks about the death pact long ratified anyways; oh, what I would give for a minute or two with Ish!

But who am I to complain, you don’t choose how you’re born after all…

I’m powerless against everything, and everyone takes full advantage of that; why then, I wonder, would a force so strong still beckon? I mean… I’m all for the taking!

The raging storms said something to me, but who expects something so small after something so terrible? I didn’t!

I can feel myself so light on my feet, like I have no strength left in me… Am I going to fall? This voice will take me over for sure…

Come to think of it, I’ve never felt so comfortable in perplexity! I think I even let off a smile or two.

What bringeth this change? I want to know. I will wait till this storm passes, and do what I’ve not done in a long time – hope, that I won’t be swept yonder in it…

I can hear the voice, he’s still voicing some, small and soft, the voice goes on – I can feel him nearing me, but my fears are disappearing…

Maybe I’m changing after all, or it’s just a wild, wild dream – side effect of my isolation? I don’t know!

*****

There are a lot of things I don’t understand, I never complained; complacence, you think? No it’s more like mediocrity.

What would you do if you’ve struggled in vain so hard? I was like a kid stuck under a rock, I struggled for so long, but could barely move an arm..

I mastered pain, or so I told myself… But the thought of the day of reckoning tears me apart like a terrible cataclysm.

‘Do you believe?’, Still asked me. Is he kidding? I’ve never believed in anything but disbelief. I contented myself with the thought that if you don’t expect much in the first place, you’d never have to go through the pain of disappointment; how wrong I was!

Now I know, the D-ses have no regard for the timid. Disappointment, dejection, diseases, downcast-liness, even death.

I’ve lived in this condition… I’m a product of experiences, if I could start all over, I would change everything.

That I can survive without worrying? That I can be more than the shadow I’ve been? That I can thrive in the light? Hold it please! Just like Shunn, I’d say also, don’t raise my hopes with fantasies – this is not Utopia you know.

Yes, I was there once… The bliss, the ambience, the stillness, the precious bubblings… It’s all like a dream now.

I want to, I want to believe… Give me a reason to believe, a reason to live.

I hate this place, despair is all I know, I hate myself, because love is spelled ‘stake to the heart’.

Yes!

I want to leave; this horrible misery has eaten me too deep, like a zombie virus… I want to, I really want to… But it’s hard; it’s hard to believe… It’s hard to accept, that all isn’t lost.

Save me! Save me from this drowning mire. Somebody! Anybody! Please, I want to be free from all of this…

‘I know’… Still responded…

I’m changing, I’m less scared, but I’m weak, so weak… I know I need help; now I want it… If belief will solace afford, I say Yes, I believe!

© De-paule, 2015

I’m Not in Love with Her, Or Am I?

Our first meeting was nearly uneventful;

Two perfect strangers who happened to meet.

Her second advent was divine, incidental maybe,

And I was glued, believe me, butterflies fluttered!

But it was nothing special,

Or at least that’s what I told myself.

I’m not in love with her, or am I?

When she reached out, starting a conversation with me,

I could literally feel electricity run through my system,

I was crazy happy,

If you asked why; I had no idea.

I returned the gesture, held out my hand of friendship,

Oh was I so happy she took it!

I’m not in love with her, or am I?

I don’t talk much,

“You bore my brains out”, Patricia once said;

I just run out of what to say too quickly.

Not so with her! There was always something to say,

I probably wore my record longest smile in one of our discussions.

“We’ve become very good friends”, she retorted.

I’m not in love with her, or am I?

Truth be told, she was literally mine.

First few eons of our friendship,

No day passed that I didn’t think of her,

She became my waking thought!

Honestly, I thought of her every day.

But she’s not my ‘boo’ or anything like that.

I’m not in love with her, or am I?

Walking with her I’ve learnt love,

How to put other people first and how to care for another.

I prayed for her, felt joy at her happiness, suffered anguish at her pain.

No, I’m not engaged to anyone.

Oh, she neither is; I would know – she tells me everything.

See what I’m saying?

I’m not in love with her. Am I?

© De-paule, 2015

None of Us Are a Finished Article

Unbreakable yet broken, unshakable yet shaken, father to many yet father of none; fire is in his eyes, thunder in his voice, one man army winning battles without soiling his mantle, greenery is parched ground after him, feared by men and held in high esteem by the gods, but he’s such a mighty man – such as can be disheartened by one so physically inferior, by such a one so infinitesimally significant in comparison to his driving Force, he gave up on life itself for threat’s sake. He is Elias of Tishbe.

Flawless yet flawed, fearless yet a chicken, intrepid yet timid, hardy yet fragile. He’s made of stone, his heart hewn from the rockiest of all; ardent in his resolve, his eyes blaring like new torches, courage is in his wake, but he’s such a rock – such as can be blown away, shaken as a reed moved back and forth by the mildest of flows. He is Petros, son of Jonas.

Strong yet puny, lawyer yet in chains, mighty yet disdained, admirable yet detestable. He’s a god one might say, pestilence fellow always at war, would die over and again for what he believed; deserted family and friends for so much a mirage, but he’s such a stonewall – such as can be stoned and left for dead, such a one weakened by his own self, one often battered by the undead in him; a man of woes, hated by most. He is Paul, the tentmaker.

The strongest of all is only indeed strongest, the fairest of all is only indeed fairest, the wittiest of all is only indeed wittiest, the richest of all is only indeed richest; when they cease to be human. None of us are a finished article, not yet.

CREDIT: @tosynesther
© De-paule, 2015

Life’s not fair

Snake for fish

Stone for bread

Thorns for a crown

Gall for nectar

Life’s got it all upside down

Downside up

Wrong over right

Evil atop good

Grief for hope

Life’s such a cruel one

Life’s no bed,

A home for roses

Yet life’s beautiful

For its maker bids it be

He makes it worth living.

© De-paule, 2015

Closing

‘De-paule’ if you’ve noticed, has shown very much at the end of each piece; well that’s because ‘De-paule’ is my nickname and any title in the Burgeoning Blossoms bearing the copyright sign is an original work of the attributed copyright holder.

Thanks to Folorunso Oluwatosin Esther (@tosynesther), she names the volumes.

Credits:

kitanDavid | Hanun | ShawyBee | ‘Brinkle | Debby | Rhodes | Chilabics | XtremeLuv | Horpy | Goket

I’d like so much to entertain your hi’s, comments and views about this work. If you wouldn’t mind checking on me, here’s how to:

Email:            [email protected]

Twitter:      @mpdepaule

Instagram:      @mofesolapaul

Table of Content

  • Preface
  • An Eagle Still
  • Fugacious Quandary
  • I’m Not in Love with Her, Or Am I?
  • None of Us Are a Finished Article
  • Life’s not fair
  • Closing

Burgeoning Blossoms - Sprout

The Burgeoning Blossoms series (don’t mind the name), is a collection of carefully crafted literary works – writings, poems, short stories, and other pretty things; a compilation of intelligent stories, fiction, poems and freestyle that would leave you wondering, smiling, inspired or doing all at the same time! If you love reading, have an imaginatively creative mind, and don’t mind taking some time off to relax, you would love the Burgeoning Blossoms. Containing concise morceaux bundled in volumes with strange nomenclature; Burgeoning Blossoms will draw you into the pages and keep you glued. This first volume in the series features five titles, and is an introduction to what’s coming next.

  • Author: Mofesola Paul Banjo
  • Published: 2016-02-24 12:40:07
  • Words: 2363
Burgeoning Blossoms - Sprout Burgeoning Blossoms - Sprout