Archives for posts with tag: Purge

Journey Through Eternity Wall Photo

Waging war against tears.
The borderline
The enemy shall cross not,so I thought.
Preacher persists with peace talks.
The night stole my bliss.

My heart hollow,sorrow hovers around.
The pain sunk in teeth and stays clasped.
The fire within,finds friendly it’s doom.
How does he not give in? He withers within.
Death; a hound profound in gloom,in theft of life

Life kept concise,hassled off land of the living.
In wavelength with the dead,leaving behind ripples of regret.
Rhetoric questions reasoned,riffing response received;
Sympathizers with answers to my loud thoughts.
Reality reckons my loss,wreath shall grace your abode soon.

While you lay lifeless in bed,your child in his cot.
You gave to him life and left me void of support.
Shed blood on him and bled to death.
He throws tantrum,craving milk from your breast.
A boy denied his first love from the onset.

Six feet beneath the surface,all earthly possession surrendered.
Crying cousins witnessing your confinement to a coffin.
Growing giddy gathering gravel,shoving aside sense;
Wailing while women weep like men.
Rest in peace dear wife,it hurts to see death do us part.

Ex- ghoul is male, a Poet, a Wizard and Genius. he blogs at phonicphoenix.wordpress.com

Follow him on twitter @_l3kan

 

 

Manickal’s Purge

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I actually intended to tell a fictitious tale. And then I realized I’d told too many. Maybe this time, I just have to be real. Reveal a bit about my true self. LOL. I always tell myself that maybe one day I’ll find that person who I can pour out myself too. Even shed tears a little while doing that. Release the weight that has burdened me for so long. Let myself go. Oh well, what the heck…

The first time I contemplated committing suicide, I was 13 years old. I was in boarding school. The story behind it makes me laugh till this day. I had been the usual quiet guy in boarding school, talking only when I needed to. Spoke only when I was spoken to and the person speaking to me needed a reply. I never talked to girls. Even when they tried speaking to me, I would shy away from them. I liked being on my own, so I could think dark thoughts and draw a few of them on whatever plain pages I could find. I never liked to offend people. I wanted people to either be indifferent about me or not care about my existence at all. As long as they were not angry at me for something I might have or not have done, I was cool. I wasn’t a friend to many of my mates, neither was I to any of my seniors. And they’re the last folks in boarding school I wanted to offend. I’d seen what they did to students who offended them. It had put great fear in my heart and mind. I didn’t want to be the one exexperiencing such a grueling form of punishment.

A day came when we had to go for lunch. In the dining hall were different tables. Each table had eight students assigned to them for the week. And out of the eight students, one of them was a senior. The school had begun four years before my arrival. The most senior class was the Senior Secondary class 1. Or SS1. The senior on my table was nicknamed Tega by his colleagues. It had nothing to do with his real name. He just loved to be called Tega. Tega hadn’t come for lunch that afternoon, so I assumed Tega was not hungry, so I shared the food among seven of us that were present. That assumption was wrong, and almost cost me my life. Tega came into the dining hall with some of his senior pals when we were just about through with the food and looked into the pot. The pot was empty. Tega’s face became one that I, at that time, identified with pure evil. His face twisted into a malevolent scowl as he asked who the person was that had shared the food. All eyes settled on me, but no one spoke. Tega didn’t need a deity to tell him who the perpetrator of such great travesty was. I had stopped chewing a while back when he walked in and there was still food on my plate. Tega walked up to me, stared down at me for a few seconds and the next thing I saw was his right hand slapping me across the face and throwing me off the seat. I fell on the floor and I didn’t want to get up. There was a ringing in my right ear. I felt I’d gone deaf in that ear. But Tega wasn’t done with me, he dragged me by my day-uniform and brought my face to his. I could smell the terror emanating from him. He looked like the type that would kill me and throw my body over the school fence. But students were not allowed to kill other students. They could only punish them. And I knew Tega. He was a sadist. And the School’s assistant senior prefect.

The rest of my day was a horrible one. I had lain under Tega’s bed until it was time for dinner. And the dinner wasn’t even mine. For my portion belonged to Tega. The prefect allowed me to just one meal a day for the next week. Breakfast. Lunch and dinner was his to do what he pleased with. A few mates who were compassionate shared some of their food with me. It was a terrible time for me. The hours of starvation were coupled with hours of punishment. Washed his sheets. Fetched him water. Made his bed. Did his weekly school chores. All because of one stupid assumption. Some of my mates told me to report him to the school authorities or to my guardian then. But I had seen such happen before. Students who had been badly maltreated had reported their oppressors to the school. The school had disciplined the Senior involved, but that only angered them more. And made them do worse. We could all remember the tale of Gbenga, who had left the school with a broken neck, and never returned. A senior student had pushed him out of a first floor window, and was expelled. I couldn’t report Tega. I was scared of him. I just wanted the whole ordeal to be over. I even prayed about it. Maybe God heard, maybe He didn’t. He could have prevented what happened next if He did, yes?

It was a Friday morning, we were about to have breakfast. Everybody liked this particular meal. Even I. I was so happy my oppressor could allow me have breakfast. Just as I was about to take a bite into the Agege bread and fried egg, Tega holds me by the neck and tells me to drop it. My whole body went weak. From fear, my mien transformed to anger. That day, I decided I’d had enough. I’d missed lunch and dinner for six days because of that guy. I’d begged for scraps from people I wouldn’t even talk to. I’d suffered numerous punishments and embarrassments all for his sake. And just when I was about to enjoy a meal I loved so much he tells me to drop it? I stood up, looked him in the eye and told him no. He looked shocked at my reply. He tried to hit me but I blocked his hand with mine and pushed him away. Tega never thought a JSS2 student could stand up to him. He was flabbergasted. He drew his belt and was about to use it on me before the school Guardian halted him. He happened to be in the dining hall at that particular time. He had been watching our little scuffle. He ordered Tega out of the dining hall and told him to match to his quarters and await punishment. My bravery drained from me quickly. Tega’s last scowl at me before he left felt like it was death staring at me. But I knew I wasn’t going to die. I knew I was going to suffer so much I wish I was dead. Tega couldn’t kill me, but he would make want to die.

For the next few hours, I kept thinking about what Tega would do to me when he returned from the Guardian’s place. I couldn’t think of anything else but every possible form of punishment that the sadist could think up and use it upon me. My body shivered everytime I thought of one. All my mates pitied me. They even talked about how they saw the Guardian punishing Tega, him crying and begging for forgiveness. The Guardian had learned about Tega’s oppression of me for the past week. He was meting out the deserved punishment for such inhumanity. The thought of Tega begging for crying and begging for forgiveness made tears flow from my eyes at the prospect of what he would do to me when he returned. I wanted to run somewhere and hide forever. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I wanted my parents to come and take me far, far away from this school.

I wanted to die.

I had heard about suicide before. I had images in my head of people hanging from ropes around their necks. I remembered Judas. I wondered how I could do that. I thought about other ways to kill myself. I also had once heard about a girl who had slit her wrists with a blade. I went and bought a blade, and I opened it and brought it to my wrists. I imagined how it would be to die and leave this cursed world. I didn’t have any friends. Nobody cared. And Tega would be the least to care when he returned from the guardian’s quarters. There really was no reason to live. Nobody, except my parents, would miss me. And it would serve them right for bringing me to that school which I had hated. I looked at the blade and looked at my wrists. I was the only one in the hostel when the other students were in class. I would be dead when they returned and there would be a huge uproar in the school. After a while though, I realized I didn’t have the heart for it. I dropped the blade and closed my eyes. I found resolve in myself to accept whatever was coming. Let Tega have his way…

Tega returned. And the first thing he did was call me to his corner. He was lying on his bed and looking into emptiness. I stood there looking at him. The whole dormitory was quiet. They waited for what was coming next. Tega apologized to me, there and then. He told me he was truly sorry for what he did. He told me he would never do it again. He asked me to forgive him. I couldn’t believe my ears, and tears came to my eyes. The only thing I could say was “okay”  and he permitted me to leave. I went to my bed and I thanked God. I laughed a little. I was relieved. I didn’t suffer, and I didn’t die.

I’m Michael, known as @ManickaL on twitter. I’m a mel-phleg personality I think. I’m a socially-awkward, very quiet type of guy who writes for fun. Its kind of a hobby for me. I blog at musedminds.com and  mykaliztales.WordPress.com (personal blog)

Hi Readers,

I know the weekend wasn’t so pleasant with all the terrorist attack. And I find it hard to believe Kofi Awoonor died in one of these attacks (sometimes I forget these people are human).

So, Remember how I told you about a funny story on Friday? Well, This is it; It’s Moskeda’s Purge, and I hope it cheers y’all up. Enjoy 😀

Send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com hola me on twitter @sunkit1

got_suya_spaghetti_top_tshirt-r4abc510c205b4361a65a3f7a69e64a04_8nhmm_324

Suya of Revenge

Aaaaah! Suya!

This story cracks the hell out of me each time I remember it. Okay, so on this particularly evening, I was with my sister, my cousin, my aunt and my dad. In those days, my dad was a terrorist and I mean this with a big grin. He terrorized us for a while until we learnt the art and switched it back on him. That was to be years later, though.

That evening, we were just from church. My dad was driving and on our way home, he stopped at this junction to buy some stuff from a store across the street. We ladies sat back in the car but whilst waiting, a nice aroma, scent, smell, whatever you call it, came wafting in and invading noses. If we were cartoon characters, we would have floated right out of the car and followed that aroma. Our heads followed though, and turned to a suya spot which was just beside us and we all began to salivate.

“Let’s buy suya!” someone said. I can’t recall who. But we all agreed and put our kobo-kobo together to come up with N25 which was something in those days. Being that I had plans to sample the product, I got down and went a’buying. I sampled and waited as the guy cut and wrapped the order but as I stretched my hand to pay, I heard my dad’s car start and before I could turn my head, I saw them driving off. I was surprised but I did not panic. “They will come back,” I said but as I saw the car zooming off far away, the tail lights going further and further, I was like, “wait o, these people have forgotten me.”

“No, it’s not possible,” my other voice said. “They will come back.”

I waited for like two minutes and when I didn’t see the car heading back up from the darkness, I allowed myself to panic. My next emotion was anger. I was angry at my fellow suya lovers in the car for not informing my dad that I was not with them, I was angry at my dad for not noticing my absence, I was angry at the long distance I had to walk to get home and the fact that the only cash in my hand had gone into the now useless suya; but I was angry most of all that no one would tell my dad that I was not in the car until he noticed my absence which might probably be when he got home. Long and short of the whole story was, I was screwed.

I started heading up home, the once lovely street not looking so lovely anymore. In those days I loved busy streets at night. They gave me hope that one day I would grow up and live independent like the adults who roamed around them with no care in the world. But for that moment I had to settle with being an adolescent and slapping the street alone. I hastened my steps and started nursing thoughts about eating the whole suya spitefully but I held back and decided revenge would be a suya eaten cold.The plan was to go home, eat it slowly in front of my not-helping accomplices without sparing them a piece and after I was done, I would painfully relate my trekking ordeal.

So, with a renewed purpose I urged on, even looking forward to walking by the lonely and creepy cemetery road that led to my house. I walked for like seven minutes (wasn’t really checking my watch) and got to this bridge that meant a landmark for me. That’s how I do in my life. If I want to walk from my bedroom to the kitchen and I feel it’s too far, I pick a landmark. When I cross it, I feel elated and find strength to finish my journey. The landmarks are just mentally marked points though. No soul searching or any weird thing happens there. Please, it’s just from the bedroom to the kitchen.

I crossed the bridge landmark and from afar, I saw my dad’s car racing towards me and I was like“this does not look good.” My dad drives like a movie star. I love that man. When he’s mad, he and his car become Fast and Furious.

The car scarcely made a turn as the passenger door flung open for me. I got in and my dad, without a word, snatched my precious Suya of Revenge and flung it over the bridge. I swear, I could hear it splash into the water. I looked at him aghast and my anger was refreshed but I said nothing and went into heavy sulking mode. I exuded heated fumes from my pores and hoped he choked on them but for where? The man was still driving like 007 oblivious of what I was thinking. Throughout the ride home, all I thought of was my suya, my suya, my suya of sweet revenge and malice. I wanted to strangle somebody. Dad first!

We got home and I stormed out of the car and slammed the door. Now, why did we slam doors in those days? Did it help our point? Nope. But just last week I slammed the door at my husband. It felt good, suffice to say.

So, I slammed the door of that car and went to my bedroom. All the culprits were there… looking very guilty and I think, very foolish. I had a picture… no, a recording in my head of me lining them up and telling them how it was doing me. But I didn’t. Instead I asked them why they abandoned me.

“We told him you were not in the car but he didn’t hear us,” my sister said.

“You couldn’t shout?”

“We shouted. We were saying, ‘Sally’s outside, Sally’s outside’ but he didn’t hear.”

My dad had hearing issues. He can like to be deaf for Africa.

You can be going like:“Daddy, please can you pass that spoon.”

And he’ll be like, “Ehn?”

“The spoon!”

“Ehn?!”

“THE SPOON!”

“Why are you shouting?”

And you reach for the spoon and take it and he goes, “What were you even saying sef?”

So they may have been right. The old man didn’t hear then. But I wasn’t letting them off easily. I still told them my mind sha. Trust me to always say it how it’s doing me. I told them. I can’t remember what I said but I said it and went to sleep angry. The next day, we brought the incident up and it was all laughs. Later on, my dad and I laughed about it too and he explained why he did what he did. He said he was simply pissed. I understood. I made him pay me, sha. I think he’s still paying; it never ends.

What pained me most about what happened that evening is that I missed that sweet suya.

LESSON: Don’t go buying suya unless you’re sure of your transport back home.

Sally is a writer and that’s all she basically does. She’s Phlegmatic but would prefer to be known as Melancholic. She is just trying to make sure the world reads her work or she will set its citizens ablaze
she blogs at www.moskeda.wordpress.com
follow her on twitter @moskedapages

Good morning.

Hope we had a good weekend cos I sure did.

This here is Dunni’s Purge. A realistic piece that goes to confirm that trust is really a box of chocolate and you never know what you’ll get.

Please send your entries to loonpurge@gmail.com

Hola me on twitter @sunkit1

dunnie

Sacrifice

I was doing the dishes when my mum announced, “Feyi, you know you’ll be going to the university in few months’ time and I’ll need someone to assist me around the house so I employed a house help.”

“Okay. Male or female?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“Male. He’s arriving next week from Togo.”

“Ugh, Mum! You know I don’t feel comfortable around male house helps. Moreover, how are you going to deal with the language barrier? Both of us can’t speak French fluently.

“See, we are in the twenty-first century”, she informed me, as if I’d just stepped out of a time machine. “Not many people are willing to be menials anymore so I can only take what I get.”

“Yeah, and luckily, it happened to be a boy,” I retorted

She sighed exaggeratedly. “Honey, the thing is I don’t trust the female ones. They’re so naive and gullible. Remember that girl that lived with us when you were ten? I never told you why I sent her away she got impregnated by the barber that works in the next street. I don’t want history to repeat itself. Moreover, boys are more hardworking. Oh, and about the language thing, the woman that helped me get him said he can speak little English.”

He arrived the following week. I had just returned from a friend’s house, when I saw him sitting in the parlour, with a ‘ghana-must-go’ bag on the floor beside him. He was wearing a white robe, like an angel bringing good tidings to my family. He was swarthy and seemed to be of average height.

“Hello, you must be the new house boy.” I said, forcing a smile.

He nodded. I decided to switch to French.

“Comment t’appelles tu?”

“Placide. Je m’appelle Placide.” His face lit up immediately. “You talk French?”

“Um, yeah, I speak little French.” I was about to mount the stairs when an idea occurred to me. “Hey, let’s make a deal. I’ll teach you English, you’ll teach me French.” He nodded his head obligingly, smiling faintly.

Placide behaved like his name. He was placid and meek. He was very diligent and got a hang of things pretty quickly. He took initiative and didn’t have to wait for orders before knowing what to do. My father was usually apathetic to every helper my mum employs but when Placide returned the three thousand naira he had found in the pocket of my dad’s jeans when he was about to wash them, my dad took a liking to him. Honest helpers are as rare as real diamonds.

I kept my word. My mother had neatly stacked my primary and secondary school textbooks in the bookshelf in my room, so I fished out the ones for English and French. He possessed an enviable alacrity and aptitude for learning, which helped him master the English language faster than it took me to master French.

The apprehension I had earlier concerning him quickly vanished, and a bond began to form between us. I became comfortable around him, and would converse freely with him whenever we happened to be together.

“Placide, you seem really clever and dexterous. Why aren’t you in school?” I asked one day, when we were cleaning up the kitchen.

He sighed, “I dropped out of secondary school when I was about to enter the final year. My parents got involved in a car accident few days before school was to resume. My father lost his life, while my mother couldn’t walk anymore. We exhausted all the money we had for her surgery and wheelchair. I couldn’t continue my education.”

“I’m so sorry. But don’t you have siblings or relatives that can be of help?”

He shook his head. “I have an elder brother but he doesn’t live with us. He’s very selfish. He works in a business firm but never bothers to send money home.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I’ve been doing odd jobs since then, so that I can save up enough money. I’ll send some to my mother− my aunt takes care of her presently– and I’ll use the rest to further my education.”

“That’s good. What do you want to study?”

“Computer Engineering. That had always been my dad’s dream for me.” His voice sounded husky, as if he was crying, but he was doing the dishes so I couldn’t see his face. I walked over to him and hugged him from behind, not knowing what else to say. Comforting people was not my forte.

Days turned into weeks, and then months. My mother successfully persuaded Placide not to return home at the end of the year as he was now part of our family. He celebrated New Year’s Day with us.

The first week of that year was very tiring for me. Due to the previous strike ASUU embarked on, the University of Ibadan ended up starting a new session in January, instead of September. I was to leave the following week, so I was busy buying all the necessary items and packing for school. Placide was somber through out that week, and I had to promise to call him often just to put a smile on his face.

Ziiiip

The sound of a zip being drawn down stirred me one night. I could feel a movement on my legs. Something was tugging at my underwear. “Oh my God, a rat,” I thought. I started and fully opened my groggy eyes only to see Placide over me. He was half-naked, clad in blue-checked boxer shorts, and was looking downwards into my skirt as if he was searching for a treasure between my thighs.

I was bewildered. Why was I still in my clothes and not my night wear? Why was Placide on my body? And then everything started falling into place. I had got back home late the day before. Out of fatigue, I had slept off, forgetting to take my shower and change into my nightwear. I hadn’t bothered to lock my door. My parents had mentioned that they would be attending a vigil that night. Placide had surreptitiously entered…

“Oh my God. What are you doing?” I cried

He looked up at me and blinked, as if he had just had an epiphany. “I…I, um, came to get something.”

“On my body? Jesus. Just get off me and get out!” I said, tears already streaming down my face.

“Feyi, please stop crying. I’m very sorry.”

I looked around me, and picked up the glass lamp, that was on my bedside table. “I swear I’ll break your head if you don’t leave my room this minute.”

He scrambled off. I hurriedly locked my door, and turned my back towards it as I slid to the floor. The tears gushed down in full force at that moment. My mind was whirling with agonizing emotions− Anger. Disappointment. Shock.

The person who I called my brother had tried to… what was the appropriate word for his action? Indecent assault? Attempted rape?

After all the love my family had shown him, he had chosen to repay us with evil.

What exactly did he expect? That I’d not wake up while he tried to sleep with me? Or I’d wake up and give him a go-ahead? Or maybe he was sleep-walking. The more thought I gave his action, the more obfuscated my mind became. I always made sure I was dressed decently at home so as not to seduce him. I could not remember ever giving him the impression that I was attracted to him. He always called me his sister so I never had the slightest idea of him being attracted to me.

I was angry at myself.  My usually keen instincts had failed me. No warning alarm had gone off in my head. I had let my guard down.

I got up from the floor, and got onto my bed. A green wristband beside my pillow caught my attention. It had the letters WWJD imprinted on it. I sighed. I had no idea what Jesus would do, but I knew how he would feel.

Jesus, this is how you felt when Judas betrayed you, right? The difference is that you’d seen it coming. I hadn’t.

I was in a quagmire. Was I supposed to tell my parents or pretend like nothing ever happened?

Hypnos emancipated me from my thoughts, as he cast me into a deep sleep while Morpheus formed dreams of half-naked men in blue-checked boxer shorts.

I opened my eyes, looking into the worried eyes of my mother. “Feyi, are you okay? It’s noon and you’re still asleep. Or did you observe your own vigil at home?” My mother was like that– always trying to joke even when she was worried. I smiled faintly.

“Seriously, are you okay? Your dad and Placide are really worried about you.”

The events that had occurred in the early hours of the morning flashed across my brain. In that moment of truth, I made a decision that seemed to border on folly. I decided not to inform my parents or anyone at all. It would break their hearts, and my father would definitely send him away. I knew how much they needed him. My mother needed him to help her around the house. My father had taken him as the son he never had. I remembered when they’d play table tennis together and discuss sports for hours. I thought of Placide’s mother in the wheelchair. I thought of his late father and his hopes for his son. He needed this job.

I knew that reporting his actions would not take the pain away. Instead, it would cause more pain for everyone involved. He had not actually defiled me. And I was leaving for school in few days so the opportunity would never arise again. I would suffer in silence, I would endure the pain. Time would heal my hurts and perhaps enable me to trust again. It was better for my parents to dwell in blissful ignorance. It was what I thought Jesus would do he would sacrifice himself for the joy of others’.

I smiled at my mum and said, “I’m fine.”

Placide has returned to his country. The world can finally hear my story.

Oluwadunni is an 100 level Law student of OAU. She is a PhlegMel who hopes her laziness will not hinder her from being a great writer. She only gets enthusiastic about the Word of God, good books, like-minded people and fine guys. She blogs at dunnidoxa.wordpress.com and is @I_am_doxa on twitter.”

I have to say thank you to every writer that has responded, I really appreciate your entries. Y’all make me happy and to everyone that comments too thanks. Other writers out there, Please make me happy and send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com or hola me on twitter @sunkit1
This is Ehi’s purge.  Another deep piece which I’m honored to have on my blog.  All rights reserved.
vanessa_place_40
                                                                                       “Dorothy’s place”

She was in her favourite room in the house
Surrounded by the distinct smell of stale urine and antiseptic
Tiled walls echoing her silent thoughts
Running water masking her tears
Here in her refuge there was peace
Here in her foul smelling harbour there was serenity
Here in her bathroom she didn’t have to think
Not about her past
Not about having to explain why her brother is sitting on the restaurant floor
Not about why her brother has to use the girl’s toilet with her
Not about why her brother is ten years old and still wears diapers
Not about why mommy cries at night
Here in her bathroom she didn’t have to think
Not about her present
Not about why her fourteen years old brother can’t wear his shorts
Not about why daddy can’t look at his boy sober
Not about why she has to be her mother’s mother
Not about why she can’t be her father’s daughter
Not about why tears are streaming down her face even though she’s not thinking
Not about why….
“Dorothy!!”
“Yes mother”
“Your brother wet the bed again you need to change the sheets”
She grudgingly left her cocoon
Staring at the bed
Sheets stained milky white
“Oh mother” she said
“That’s not pee”.
Ehi Enabs doesn’t get much sleep at night, she uses that time to save the world but when she’s not doing that (on laundry day when she has to wash her cape and tights) she tweets at Twitter.com/ehienabs and occasionally she gets published on wahalacentral.WordPress.com. She also takes long walks in her head.

Hello Everyone,

Thanks for reading through week 1 and now we made it to another week. Especially with Serena Williams winning her fifth US Open Grand Slam and her 17th in total. Okay enough.

This is Telelola’s purge and I love it because it is the poem I never got the courage to write! VERY DEEP! I hope you love it too. Submit entries to loonpurge@gmail.com or hola me @sunkit1 on twitter

plea

The Plea

 

Hey you

you with the funny hairdo.

You with the curious eyes

you that is fluent with the lies.

Look at me; I’m talking to you

Do you want to be my friend?

Beauty and brains, a perfect combination

Beauty and the geek, we’ll cause admiration.

Beauty and the beast, a poignant misconduct

Beauty and deceit, weapons of great destruct.

Step up, silly, I am not a fiend.

Answer me quickly, will you be my friend?

Lend me your ears, you should not miss

My dearest southpaw, riddle me this.

What do you want but cannot have?

What can you have but do not want?

If you need ask, you’ll never know

If you know, you only need ask.

Come on, shorty, put me out of a bend

Dance to the fiddle, please be my friend.

They swoon, your face so comely

Your strength, you smile so warmly.

Little fair dolls are your prize

Take me, sugar, it matches my guise.

Don’t ask, you know I won’t dance

Lest you maim with your prance.

The die is cast, this do not pend

Decide now, say you will be my friend.

You bastard, you fool, you coward

By you I am flustered, for you I am forward.

You turned, you schemed, you hated

I followed, I slept, I loved.

You seethed, you wounded, you laughed

I burned, I licked, I cried.

You give me only pain, only anguish

My love for you will wane, it will vanish.

All this will see an end

I won’t chase you to be my friend.

Hey you

you with the funny hairdo.

You with the curious eyes

you that is fluent with the lies.

This is it, the delta

I have elected, I will not falter.

I guess you chose the way you would wend

I guess you were never meant to be my friend.

Teleola is a melancholic sanguine who is recovering from impulsive behaviors. She is christian and wishes to better herself each day and affect everyone around her positively. She hopes to be a great writer someday. She is a girl who strongly believes in love. She can be found at aljanusi.wordpress.com and on twitter as @teleolaonifade

I love this piece by  DankarO ShintO, I hope you love it as much as i do…

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Purgatory

A lonely soul, swimming in a sea of seething pain.

A lonely soul, soundlessly crying out for help.

A lonely soul once reveling in primal urges, torture by visions of sins pasts.

My lonely soul….. Begging to be saved.

Rescue me from purgatory, free my bounds that I may right the wrongs of days bygone.

Enlighten the light within me that it can once again burn bright.

Gird my heart that it shall never again take flight from the evils of men and demons alike.

Take my soul to thee, that I may experience inner peace.

Take my thoughts to thine that I may catch a glimpse of thy face.

Your gaze soothes like a flood of cool water on a burning stone.

My soul steams forth its evil intentions even as my heart cracks and my back breaks.

Sometimes my soul revolts, tired of this seemingly endless wait.

Sometimes my heart despairs, rending into ragged pieces as it cannot bear this pain.

But still, Still yet I sojourn in purgatory, knowing that one day thou shall descry my

plea….. Knowing that one day my soul shall know peace.

Heed not the scornful laughter of my foes

Hearken not to the vituperation of those I’ve hurt.

Retire to your revered throne and be adorned with thy crown of mercy.

The scepter of salvation be at thy side even as my case be called.

I stand before you as empty as can be.

I stand before you even as more emptier than the day I was born.

Creator, I stand before you unburdened. Less of a man than the day I died.

A stitch in time is said to save nine. My time I spent as loosely as the wind.

Like the pharaohs of old, hubris was my everyday companion.

A lonely soul, standing before you,

A lonely soul, waiting to be judge,

A lonely soul, hoping for undeserved mercy,

My lonely soul…… begging to be accepted.

Fin.

Twitter handle: @Volturi_Lord

Fareed Zakaria: DankarO ShintO is a err… weird personal friend of mine who has no idea who he is and hopes he never does. He dreams of a better world though, where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned. Also he likes hitting things with sticks. He scribbles at WahalaCentral.wordpress.com and hopes y’alll pays him a visit soon.