invisible chains

torn between following 
calls of my faith
and the calls of what
today young girls and guys 
frolic in

trying to find a balance
a compromise
between two worlds that
were ironically created to 
share in each other 
but today there is a divide
that stretches across an ocean
right in the cavity of my chest

looking to my right my family
looks up wondering why im
not what they raised me to be
the left, to the left i see my friends
mixed bag of emotions
she's too much for us
stop over thinking
why can't she just let loose

if it's always been about truth
who am i supposed to be truthful to?
don't say to myself
because if i had that choice
i don't know if i'd feel this guilty
i haven't even done anything wrong
i haven't even given anything away

if i go to a counselor
and ask her to sort out my head
should i be asking my father in heaven instead?
or am i just tormented to live with a divide
my whole life
what if i don't agree with him
what if i have to say something i don't think he'll agree with
why am i so chained down by
a force i can't see
why am i so lost in following 
being obligated to 
listen to
something
someone
i haven't even met yet

He's done so much good for me
but why do i feel like breaking away
ruined inside
ruined outside
i'm getting ready to leg it away
hesitating, lunging within my heart
trying to reach for what i want
but seems like i'm on a leash
faith is meant to set you free
but it's relative
convenient to context
sounds good sometimes
sounds like a burden other times

so where is this common ground
can i have common ground
am i allowed to ask for protection
if i don't offer allegiance
is it fair trade if i believe in different things
and i won't agree to a contract
written in somebody else`s blood
long before i was even born

unable to let go
unwanting to be an idol of hypocrisy
and hidden choices
unable to be free
little boxes for me
a dismembered body
and yet,
look at me.
you wouldn't even know.
i look whole.

over my shoulder

in time, i've realised that growing up and becoming more mature are two different things.
in fact, i've seen so many childish adults i used to think this is what was attractive to people as they aged alongside each other. the ability to talk coyly or emphatically put your opinion across, always be laughing and giggly and up for anything. of course, this has nothing to do with how you've really advanced in your pursuit of happiness *winking suggestively*coupled with how wasted you got over the weekend, but check you out, still managed to make it to work monday morning cribbing about the traffic, looking like a star. 

maturity on the other hand, i used to always confuse with nonchalance. but that if anything is absolutely not what it is. to be mature is to be able to let go; dealing with the truth no matter how hard it is. like the times when a conversation is dying and you really don't have the time or need to drag it out longer, to know when a person is pensive and wishes to enjoy the presence of your company rather than the echo of your words, to know when an event occurs that it will pass and that we constantly go through this cycle of regeneration, playing back things that really don't and will never change. 

we can barely keep up with ourselves as we get lost in our feelings and thoughts. and then, like a wisp of smoke, the fourth cigarette i really didn't need to have vanishes, taking with it the fleeting exhilaration it brought  and as soon as it came, i need another tug at the fancy cinnamon stick. i ponder on times when our words flow out our throats unceasingly, never stopping, so excited to enjoy and describe the grandeur of that passing second of fame and utter bliss. and then 3 months down the line, that second is almost worth a penny, collected in a rusty old tin that gets scrimmaged in once in a while, important enough for taxi money at the least.

if i were the adult i'd want to be, and i'm not there yet, but if i were...i would look at each moment like it was going to pass. and that way i could enjoy it for the 5 seconds that it lasted. i could watch it disappear with content, knowing that if i sat pretty enough, another one would pass me by too filling in the void, soothing my anxious trembling to be occupied in mind and satisfied in soul.

honestly, these years between broad waistlines and meagre paychecks, i want to be able to really pick and choose my colours. character is built and not granted. i want to be able to grow up with elegance, and humility. maturity is something i hope God gives me the grace to pursue, because it really is an effort to be confident enough to correct ourselves, our old ways, manners of speech, fears. i realise we have always had the answers clenched up so tightly in our fists, but often lacked the courage necessary to untangle our intentions from our insecurities, to raise our hands up straight and clean, and ask the question anyway, "ma'am, will it all be over soon?"

truth is it never finishes. we either grow bitter or we get better. at ourselves, or the whole world; we all end up wanting more. how different would it be if we knew we were going to get where we needed to go anyway, we just had to work at lasting through the seconds, the minutes, the days, the weeks until finally...we can look back in months and years and know, we did the best we could with what we had.

abide with me

I was 5, dressed in my dancing colours.
That day as everyday, you picked me up from pre-school.
Everybody laughed when I said,
"I forgot everything daddy, but I didn't cry."
You just hugged me tight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

in lieu of today's crowd,
clinging on to dry-cleaned arms
of suits and shirts
accessorized with sturdy watches
that tick us closer to the days
where we have to live without each other.

today, i remembered the smell of your perfume
how no other man smelt the same
used to be angry at you for so long,
thought you lost your stripes
you didn't bear your fangs like the others
but now i see, you were there.
silent fighter 
fighting battles i couldn't see.
i yearn for the days
walking beside you,
up to you,
sitting by you,
laughing with you
crying for you,
the words do not amount
to how much
but here i am
rings on my fingers,
words in my mouth
years in my eyes,
missing you.

a father's love is like no other,
and as all those girls and boys wiped their eyes
derek redmond at the 1992 olympics
tore strings in our hearts
as he crumbled 250 metres before the finish line.
400 metres away the projector screens can't tell my story
the way they told his,
no one's documented this
us and our struggles
to make it by

a gradual discolouration,
as the colours fade,
the voices die
and i'm left with dreams of
bmw x5s
caricatures of our faces
rolling down out the door
our ages collide as we try and set things straight
the war out in our minds, the debate never wanes.
fighting harder to show you
the truth,
daddy i'm getting by
i'm living this life without you,
and yet if invited, you're by my side.

turned to look at mama and she was lost.
searching for her father too i guess,
imagining him,
the tree of life beareth fruit today
abide with me, abide in me
don't let me go to waste
6000 miles away i can hear you say
don't let me go to waste,
abide with me, abide in me
let me stay.

walk into my door
an old man of 64
crowding the hallway
grandchildren giving him the love he never had
he's finishing a race his father never ran.

quit the rules

quit the rules man, the don't kiss on the first date rule,
the don't call her for 4 days after she gives you her number rule
the rule that says you aren't allowed to text him first
or the one that says he should be the one asking you to dance,
but what if he touched you first,
and she loved you first,
no i'm not talking about dying for you love,
i'm talking about she loving what she sees,
and the way he loves what he feels.

i know you don't want to do anything you regret,
but those connections aren't easy to get,
so why you trying to front
so quick to fret
based on what the last guy did
or the last girl said.

if you got some beautiful goddess in front of you
and you got this classy sexy beau double-checking you
and you know it's good because you feel it's clean
they're those decent vibes that you can see and feel,
and when you move closer,
why don't you just show him what you feel,
having a conversation with your bodies,
but you're worried about what the word on the street is
about what you do, and whom with
man who cares where the street is
you're here right now
hold the defense
coz he's transporting you to another planet with this remix,
humble like a soldier
fighter with his guns wrapped around you like corona
baller yes, you can take me off the floor now
let's do it to our own beat
coz you deserve that kinda honour

see rules, just complicate things
under the disguise of protection
some of them just make you feel shit
you deciding something before it even happens
just go with flow and if you like it,
tell him, don't make that boy feel like
a fool for being a romantic
respond to each other
and you'll know when it happens
coz you weren't blindsided by some captions
looking somewhere else like you got lost in translation
no.

so tonight my ladies and gents,
if you find that strange connection,
just do your thayng,
no questions.
smile, walk up to them,
coz in more ways than one you're attractive.
so let yourself have a taste of that magic.

a letter to pressure

let me remind you of something as we speak, tentatively, cautiously, focusing so hard on being politically correct, politely forgetting the tension as we speak our tenses perfectly trying to breathe softly as our hearts beat furiously against a box we are dragged up to fit in, every day they try and every day they fail. we come to the door and we stop at the steps, we see the crimson across the landing and we must confess, we are not fools, we are not entitled to hear anymore of this.

keep quiet, because we know what we have to do. we have to figure it out as we go along, so don't crucify us for making mistakes, don't hurry us so you can hurry us into the life you want to see us live. don't try and sanctify a sinner's soul when you're a born sinner yourself, when you're a thief, robbing yourself of the freedom that He meant to give us. Not the rules and the limits you set to trap us, no.

we stand in defiance, we stand because we reach up to laugh in your face, we choose to hold it together, even when it's falling apart, we will choose when to let go, when we're ready enough. we're not polishing your shoes so don't tell us what to do. we're young people with purposes that we will find in time, so right now, we will focus on thinking with light, brightening our minds, with music, art, science and culture, intelligence we create, mysteries we debate, evil we subjugate. we promise to stay awake to enjoy our young lives so even when you try and find us again, try and prey on us in the disguise of friends, lovers, opportunities cloaked in venom, know that we are wary of your tricks, we are not victims, we diminished our false pride in the thick hide society made us grow, against the poisoned whips that wrap themselves around our throats. you'd love to watch as we bled, drops of dignity on the steps, washing away the integrity in our defense.

consuming us you think is the answer. well, we welcome the challenge and we see no comparison, no sense in besting each other for the fleeting chance to win. what? our ends are all the same so we seek better things, we will define what success truly is as we fight for better days, moments of self-praise not afraid to face ourselves in our mirrors, a subtle embrace as i say keep your head up bright eyes, because there's a reason why life takes a lifetime to create and a moment to destroy, listen to me for people die unsatisfied, paralyzed by their own devices, unbaptized in the blessings of this life. if you tell me it's a meaningless existence, then i choose to reply: the beautiful sad things i fill my life with are the reasons i survive, they give me reasons, i've realised not to give up, or to give in to these demons i despise.

watch us blaze up the sky. 

age

chords strike hard,
like they're segregating me
and for what?
i'm tired of not knowing any more.

with every song,
with every note,
you sing me to sleep.
but i want to stay awake,
and you're drugging me to silence.
you're drugging me away.

you want a mute to love.
and i want my man to stay.

the minute i tried to work this life out for us,
i became a threat.
i became a threat for trying
because i filled in for your incapabilities,
trying to complete you like you completed me,
not judging you, just loving you.

but there you sat,
burying me further under the pile 
of paperwork you wanted me to sign.
while i buried in the bills,
in the kids,
while i'm down under,
with the whole department at work
holding me down for a prejudice that belongs to them,
a prejudice that has nothing to do with the way i work,
i'm sorry i can't take the colour of my skin
away from the way my hands move
as i teach the victims of your pasts to
speak the language you sinned against them with.

i can't stop this from taking over.
and i hope i awake,
because my life means nothing without you.
but here i am, the happy fool,
living with a ghost,
while you've been living with a host
as a guest,
in your own home.

everything i did, i did it 
out of love.
and everything you did, you did because 
you were rushed.
all our battles were fought,
without us knowing enough.

now everything i do,
i do to survive.
because my love,
this world is much bigger than just the two of us.
our children live,
and they deserve better than
our example of love.

we're growing old,
you forgot i was still young inside.
you helped me to be young all those years ago,
and now, i've never felt older.
age is what happens when i'm separated from you.
age is what happens when you don't protect me.
age is what happens when we're no longer close.
age is what happens when you say things should have been different.
age is what faces us at every step.
and today,
age is what you reflect.

invictus

mama i'll be on in 3 minutes,

i know i left the house slammin' the door,

but it's my big game,

and daddy, i know you can't stay mad at me

for doing something i love.

i got all ready to play, won't you get up to

look at me go,

red and black,

french braid in.

walking tall like

i made a personal deal

with God that day

to say that if i won

i wouldn't have to surrender to anyone.

see, we're a different kind of brave.

we know what's coming.

and yet we still behave

like we've got all these blessings

but we know all we got

is that jersey on our backs,

the wind at our heels,

the team,

the figures and the stats.

you've got 3 minutes

3 minutes to show us, kid, 

what you trained 52 weeks

and 10 days to win.

yeah the trophy looked nice,

but when when the pain kicks in,

everything else fades,

and all the panic starts to melt

the core of your fibre

as you start to repent,

as you start caving into the ground,

there's scream out your mouth,

and faster than a heartbeat,

you lost something you just 

found.

i know what it's like

and that's why i'm telling you this,

when we make the choice to play

we play to win.

so don't sit there feeling sorry for yourself,

don't do what i did,

get back out there,

get help,

get back in.

we're tough girls,

but we ain't stupid, oh no.

so sister to sister,

let me give you the respect

you deserve,

for standing up to more than

your parents, or the whole world

that asks the same question:
"why were you even playing you silly girl?"

i know what drove you,

and i'm telling you this,

when we make the choice to play

we play to win.

not to be defeated,

or consecrated,

be laughed at,

debilitated.

so you hang in there,
may your pride survive

with the humility this game

teaches us not to deny

because those 3 minutes

they missed,

was the time you owned the field,
making up for all the bruises you couldn't see

but you damn well could feel, 

the one time you proved it to yourself,

that when you made the choice to play the game,

my sister,

you made the choice to win.  
God bless you, and keep you safe.

Get well soon, Amen xx

skinny dipping in your love

there've been times
when i've imagined what it
must be like to have a lover.

when you're so deep in it,
you've memorised the way his neck looks
when the sunlight hits it.
when you know the exact location of that dimple in her cheek,
and when it'll appear, even when it's moments
before she begins to smile, or laugh,
or cry.
what about after all those years,
you still can hear the crack in the air
before his heart breaks
when you've said something horrible to him.
or the time
when you try to get out of bed
almost blowing off the covers,
that ridiculous 'O' made with your chapped thirsty lips,
'cause you're trying so hard not to wake her,
but she still shifts,
searching for the body 
that left behind the warmth
she's still lying in.

but does anyone remember the first moment?
when we go back to adam and eve.
when he doesn't need to undress you with his eyes,
because there's this one beautiful pause..
where both of you have reached the raw point,
where you haven't touched each other clothes,
but you've touched each other souls.
you've moved each others fears
so that they face each other.
your vision suddenly 
is limited only to
the space in between his eyelashes.
and your hands are glued to your sides
for at his touch,
you can almost drink that emotion.
you get so lost,
watching her transform
at your embrace,
enveloping you with those warm
chocolate brown eyes.
you
and 
her,
in the flesh,
soaked
beyond your toes.

the world carries on,
disguised by each other,
on a park bench,
cross-legged on cold stairs,
looking out across the city,
i'm skinny dipping in your love.

thank you mr skype

today you asked me whether you could speak to your son.
i'm not even your wife.
you're not even my husband.
but i won't get involved.

take me back, to when we would laugh as the kid
walked out the door, in search of mom
who had left to look after her ailing father.
once, twice, thrice a month.
but we're okay.
because you took care of us,
we laughed at the kid.
who thought she was so far away
that she was in australia.
his "australian mama".

fast forward it a couple of years.
the faithful husband feels like the faithful extra.
the wound deepens as the money gets stuck
like a bone in his throat,
piercing through every time he speaks.
he rasps and cuts
with words in between his teeth.

one day,
she says i don't know what to believe,
he'll sell me for money,
he'll sell me real cheap.
so back we go, scarborough fair moved from down the road,
it's a live auction,
for what cannot be bought with gold.

i remember you washing toilets,
cooking lentils over a tiny stove,
your huge frame hovering over us,
making us eat, so you could watch us grow.
polishing our shoes till our faces shone in them,
brushing my hair, so the whole world could see
my face.

then i remember you defeated. pulling that knot of silk away from your neck,
a marks and spencers man, walking in shoes,
that previously we'd have to sell our souls to afford.
you'd sit down and simultaneously, a hand would extend,
the tv zaps on,
and you move from one world onto the next.

you never picked up a brush again,
and you certainly never scared me.
you got old,
and weary. and i could not give you anymore happiness
than a stamp of that A on a piece of paper you never had.
but i had other plans.
see i wanted to see the world, beyond the two extremes i had known.
i wanted to fly away like her,
and i want to feel what some feel,
when they discover they were made for more,
than living the stationary life between the strings of newton's cradle.
i was suffocating,
under your silence,
and yet you were unable
to snap out of your trance,
between the western unions,
and the local masters,
you tried to brave the whip,
but the lashes came.
bottle to your lips,
the lashes fade.
we remained,
we remain.

today you asked me whether you could speak to your son.
it'd been so long since i heard you.
i don't wear shoes that need shining,
my hair is always in my eyes,
my heart is hurting.
but of course, you can speak to him.
please, please, just don't ever ask,
me that again.
my friend,
my light,
my strength.

voldemort

i burned all my diaries.

i tore up anything, 

anything that held you accountable for what you did.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i close my eyes.

swaying my head from side to side,

my limbs follow,

my hips too.

all of a sudden, 

i'm rising away high above the dull grey ground.

flashback,

clock ticking, ten twenty

sweating bullets, as it's getting heavy

burden like a leash on me,

it ain't on my back,

no they took i by the neck

leading me into the dark

with only a tug here, a tug there to follow

my feet don't stop

they take i 

they take i again and again

till the blood drips 

and i cry.

then i look down.

i left that behind.

i left them all behind.

and now, i'm flying.

i'm free.

but the cold air sweeps across my naked back,

and i'm reminded how metallic that concrete pavement tasted,

the day they threw me out.

for trying to help.

for shouting for peace.

i realised then

that i was too small to understand.

i was too dispensable.

because even in the grand scheme of things,

all that mattered was the way they treated each other.

every time they argued,

that leash would tear at the back of my neck, 

making red streams of tears flow,

tears my body cried

against the confines of my mind.

my arms are stretched away from each other.

i lift my head up high, and even though,

i'm losing altitude,

i'm plummeting,

i want it to end soon.

i know i'll meet my old friends again.

but i want them to know,

i'm no longer what they knew.

i take no sides,

i have no say.

i just want them to see,

that i'll be okay.

i'll crawl on without them,

they can leave their chains on me,

but i'll move on with them.

all that matters is how they treat each other.

because my life will go on,

i'll learn to fly again.

but they'll be left there,

alone on the ground,

if they don't learn to pull each other up,

to the skies,

to our eternal home beyond the stars.

where the greyscale of our lives,

the mundane existence we have lived,

ceases to exist altogether.

the scars left by your chains will heal,

but until then, 

when will you rid your own demons?

when will you join me?

i still love you.

i can't help coming back for you.

and every time it ends, with that metallic taste of blood and concrete in my mouth.

can't we make it different this time?

try harder.

please.

in the morning when i wake.

i'm willing to wait,

wait for love.

i realise the curves of my body

don't match the curves of my mind.

i realise the strength of my conviction

doesn't amount to the time,

or dedication and commitment

he'd deserve.

not yet at least,

i don't to keep anything in reserve.

i want to be able to pull it out,

like a love letter on a bridge,

handing it to you,

with all of me within

it.

i want to be stronger than i am now,

to know that not every moment is special.

moments happen, but there are some only that are special,

some only that stand out.

i want to be able to appreciate them,

without trying to sap them of their magic.

i want to be able to wait,

wait for someone to press play again.

i want to be able to be okay with waiting.

right now,

my impatient young blood

still has a lot to learn.

i need to be a little less kind with my time.

i won't ever get these years back.

i want to lose myself in trying to 

discover all the hidden parts of me,

scattered all across this city.

i want to say with confidence,

i love you.

not to the silhouette of a man against a wall,

a paper curtain reflecting the sincerity of the moment.

no no, i want to be able to say that to myself.

so one day when i look back
9 months heavy,

9 months thin,

i'll be stretched over the depth of those memories.

i'll tell my kid i lived to see myself grow up.

how many adults do you know that can say that?
how many adults remember when they grew up?

that's the thing.

i want to be older, wiser, calmer, better.

but i don't want to be bitter, lonesome, jealous and hurt.

i want to say that i gave myself the time i needed

to grow into a relationship, mamahood, and that 9 to 5 job.

i want to be happy whether i'm average or super-sized,

i want to be happy where i am.

right now,

i'm too discontent.

i can't stay in the same place for too long.

so i'll move, like a vagabond with a secret,

i'm journeying far beyond all my years, and yet

i'm standing awkardly, two feet curving into the

pull of those broad shoulders, those scarred knees.

i'm here, i'm taking myself along with me, on this road i'm on.

i made a promise not to be deserted a long time ago.

but what about the promise not to desert yourself?

what about the time you need to give yourself?

to wait,

to be willing to wait,
for love.

Str!ngin Along

www.sefaliwo.wordpress.com

this blog has been a constant source of inspiration for me. it will be your daily dose of positivity, compassion and peace, should you commit to reading it. not only have i enjoyed its content, but i've been impressed by its organisation, its clarity and its diversity in representing all forms of expression: photography, art, videography, and creative writing.

please check it out, help a fellow blogger and be inspired always.

fightersalways xx

Keep faith

Where do we go?

When we know the gates of heaven

are closed.

And the lights that shine on Broadway are far away,

and our hopes and dreams,

a feather to blow,

in the wind.

What do we see?

When we look into the faces of our children,

Do we promise them of life faithfully?

Or do we smile at them and tell them,

We will go.

And the gates of heaven'll be

standing ajar.

And the lights that shine the world, they're not far.

And our hopes and dreams

will always set us free.

Can we feel the wind

on our faces as we

fly across the seas?

Do we remember old and new

and their to-be's?

Do we sigh and smile

as nostalgia breaks

the evening tide?

Where do we go?

When we find the world's

a dark and scary place?

When the life that brought the August springs are far away.

And the petrified trees whisper to us,

as we walk.

What do we fear?

Have our friends just left us hanging on the shores?

And the bells that set the doves free, they're no more.

When family completely turns away?

Seems like yesterday.

But you should know

that there is hope

because there's tomorrow yet again.

And through death,

another life enters in.

And there's love for each and every turn away.

Just keep faith . . . keep faith

looking back #tbt

I didn't understand why everyone was feeling so disconnected after Frosh. For me, a new time had begun, I had so much energy, I knew so many people. I was buzzing with excitement, with the need to keep up a fantastic start and continue to do more for the college I had so quickly grown to love. Being recognized, being known, and being seen meant so to someone that thought they'd just remain a someone, a melancholic face in the crowd, so far away from home. I was challenged, I was driven, and sure enough, the fall came masked in many ways.

Just when I felt I got to grips with things, or started to get a grip on getting a grip, life pulled the rug. There I went, twirling sideways, whirling all the rationality out of my decisions and like a spinning top,  I was dizzy, directionless but always in motion for some weird reason. Every atom of my body appeared to be in collision with something, constantly fighting the urge to give up, or to give in to nostalgia, to negative emotion, or to the erratic currents of thought that tried to take the best away.

I had packed away 18 years of my life into two suitcases to move into my sister's downtown apartment first semester. The second, I moved to Newmarket into my new family home where I'd be eagerly waiting for summer- my whole family would eventually be making the big move from Dubai to Canada. It seemed like change was something constant everyday. It is when I look back that I realise that everything I knew about myself had totally changed.

I lost my fear and apprehension at Frosh. I found it again soon enough when I started to really get into my studies here. The fear of making it through first year with a 3.0, getting into my subject Posts, the fear of another failed midterm. The apprehension to connect with people again was fuelled by the cold unsettlement I started feeling because I missed home. I missed the security, I missed knowing what it was like to have my best friends around. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. The house felt empty, it felt temporary.

My life had gone so far in such short time. The university helped guide and encourage my interests; singing at open mic nights and the WW art showcase, helping out with the UTSU, reading poetry and articles in various college papers, and following the debate on the survival of women's varsity rugby in UTSG to name few. Just as I started the semester, I was already running for the First-Year student director, being exposed to student politics and so many extracurriculars, juggling my studies and relationships, and I was out of breath.

I got so tired because I was actually trying to get the little things right: get to class on time, deliver on my deadlines, ask questions, keep in touch with friends from home, and hold my own above all.

If I had to say anything to my fellow first-years, it would be this: first year ran right through us leaving holes in all of us, some managed to get theirs filled, others still walk around trying to figure what the means the most, what will bridge the insatiable gap between silence and action. Do the little things, get back to the basics. Go to a poetry slam, visit the greenhouse or check Queens St. West out. Do what makes you happy because if there's anything that UofT's drilled into my brain, its that time is so totally irreplaceable and your sanity is too.

If you want to know if it ends, it doesn't.  YOU get better though. How? You have to stop, and when you do, take a breather, and look back to work backwards; its a good way to know how much time you have left and how much time you need to move forward. These next few years are all about you. Make them worth remembering.