Evolve, Star

-

The earth does not apologize for shaking.

The rain does not ask permission before it falls.


We invented guilt.

Painted it on our ribs like a second skeleton,

Then wondered why we couldn't stand up straight.


Child of stardust and supernovas—

You were not born broken.

You were not assembled from other people's disappointments.

There is no manual.

There is no correct way to bloom.


When your own mind becomes a courtroom,

When the verdict has been rehearsed before you even speak;


Ask yourself:

Who taught you this script?

Whose voice is this, wearing your mother's tone, your lover's disappointment, your own childhood fear?


The dung beetle does not despise its work.

The flower does not hide its roots.

What you call waste, the tree calls wedding feast.

What you call falling, the universe calls arrival.


So let them keep their rules.

Let them keep their sharp-edged words,

Their tidy boxes,

Their hunger for your shrinking.


You are not theirs to diminish.


You are the witness and the witnessed,

The question and the answered prayer,

The one who has always been arriving.


Evolve, my wild and tender one.

Shine until your light casts shadows on their certainty.

Sparkle like you still remember the explosion that made you.


You are the star.

You always have been.



Now, 

Live like you believe it.

Laugh like forgiveness is oxygen.

Love like the earth before humans.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ìjàpá ọkọ Yáníbo (Ìjàpá the husband of Yáníbo)

-
Image
Ìjàpá ọkọ Yáníbo Tortoise the husband of Yáníbo We eat to live, we shouldn't live to eat. As this reminds me of the ancient Yoruba folklore that my grandmother told me about Ìjàpá the husband of Yáníbo. She said, "Yáníbo couldn't conceive, and because of the great importance attached to procreation, Ìjàpá and Yáníbo were greatly disturbed." I know that even till today in our society, women are mostly blamed for not being able to conceive. A very wrong assumption, men are mostly the cause for this anomaly. Granny explained that Ìjàpá consulted a herbalist (Babaláwo) as suggested by his wife, and the man gave him the concoction he had asked his wife Yáníbo to come and collect earlier. 'Don't taste it Ìjàpá, it is solely prepared for your wife,' the herbalist told Ìjàpá.  On his way home, Ìjàpá got enticed by the sweet aroma of the concoction and fell for the temptation. He ate what was not meant for him to taste. And when he got home,...
Read more

Becoming a God

-
Image
Across from me, beyond the iron jaws of the prison gate, He stood—tall, gaunt, eyes deep as forsaken wells, Grey whispers of hair pleading against the creeping void of baldness. With hands weathered by death’s cold touch, he poured liquid steel, A silver vessel birthing oil onto a stone slab, His fingers twirling round the severed blade, A lover’s caress upon the guillotine’s wicked tongue. Doom shadowed me, a false charge branding my soul, My devotion to the throne now but a fleeting ember. Xerxes, blind to the truth, deaf to my cries, The palace council—wolves in gilded robes— Sealed my fate with whispers sharp as daggers. Had he forgotten? My king, my lord, How once I shattered the goblet of venom, How I snatched him from death’s coiling grasp? Yet now, his Empress, Cassandane, draped in silken malice, Arrived before the baying hounds, eager for the theatre of my demise. The headsman grinned, his glee a blade as keen as the one he honed, Steel kissed wood—a plank sundered like wind ...
Read more

The Puppy Love

-
Image
The Love Before The Altar .  This is for the kiss that thought it was a covenant, For hands that linked as one, yet were called disparate. For the garden we planted in the ignorant snow, Where our puppy love , bright and shameless, could grow. It grew past the teasing, past the first foolish fight, Past the secret sweet nothings whispered into the night. It thought it was a tree, deep-rooted, vast, and true,  Until they brought the lightning no sapling can construe. The Junction . Here, the maps of bloodline and the charts of caste were spread. Here, the cold slide of a lab report sealed all that was unsaid. Here, “maturity” meant letting go, not holding on. Here, pure love was a language the pragmatic world had shunned. We stood there, you and I, with futures in our eyes, Watching our fierce, fragile thing meet its swift demise. Not by our will, but by the stern, unyielding hands Of genotype ’s grim verdict, and social class ’s demands. You left to build a life upon a stabl...
Read more