To this summit, unwieldy path.
Oh, yes! Long and tortuous…
Though smithing to its core,
Through those many years of arduous trek,
It was a journey to refine and revive!
And like the sheen on those faces,
Thousands of sepals passed and
Category Archives: MyDiary
I’m in a mess. ASUU is on strike. Again. For the umpteenth time, that is
“I find that the great thing in this
world is not so much where we
stand as in what direction we are
moving: To reach the port of
heaven, we must sail sometimes
with the wind and sometimes
against it – but we must sail, and
not drift, nor lie at the anchor.” –
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
(29 August 1809 – 8 October 1894)
The name, Musa Parad Isiaka, is that of a fictional character that I intend to be the protagonist in a novel. I’d been nursing the idea of this novel for some time now. For lack of ideas at the moment however, I have elected to gloss over a short period in the life of one Nigerian academic, who goes by the same name. Hence, whatever narrative you read below differs greatly from that of my novel protagonist, at least in their conception.
This period, I innocently wish (like a child is wont to) would ultimately become somehow inculcated into the novel, as events that constitute a major telling bulk of the novel. And when it does, it may just come up as a dream that can’t either harm or make (I’m not here referring to a prophetic dream, mind you). I plead, no one should spank me for all I’ve said and will say, especially for having a “head full of cobwebs”, like my mentor would say, if you know what he means.
If you must know, my usual reaction every time he said it was to gently rub Continue reading I’m in a mess. ASUU is on strike. Again. For the umpteenth time, that is
Today is her birthday and she’s Ifeoluwa Salako a.k.a. Ifelatu
My name is Love
like the mat that gets dirty
that the feet of many may get clean
So, I am…
like the tyres that convey the vehicle
to and fro the journeys of life
but rarely gets washed and noticed
So, I am…
like the moon, one bright mighty moon,
standing alone right up
Continue reading Today is her birthday and she’s Ifeoluwa Salako a.k.a. Ifelatu
“Live your everyday as if it was the last” “Die empty”.
The dying man doesn’t have to worry about anything.
Not even the fears that crumble others and prevent them from stepping out onto those terrains that they love to tread on but who’s fears serve to prevent such a venture.
The worst frame of death to the dying man must (since I’m afraid I’ve never been in that kinda situation before) be child’s play.
His own death he must fear the most because still filled with dreams and hopes (not dying empty but full) is enough to make the ghost of the dead man hunt himself till he probably dies the second time (death in death). 
Continue reading “Live your everyday as if it was the last” “Die empty”.
MY QUEST@ The Tipping Point
In the year 2013, I stood at the top, the tipping point of a precipice located somewhere remote, almost from world contact but for the cyberspace that connects.
Almost sloughing off self, almost falling off, I stood giddy from stress and lack of sleep and weak from hunger, protracted. Below is a dagger eagerly waiting for the jugular and behind is a team of aggressors, ready to reach out and push, slowly approaching.
Where did I come from; how did I get here in the first place? Had I dropped off the back of a flying (and dying) bird? Maybe it was that I escaped the crash of an aircraft. Or could it be that I was born here…right here on this precipice, never been anywhere else and without a plan to be anywhere else? Something tells me it was my mother, (aside) the best in the world, who blew me here to safety, with the wind, from the reckless claws of those zombies, who killed baby boys in our ancestors’ time.
This must be our lives
Today, I woke up on the wrong side.
Or let me say, I woke up on the wrong side the day before
And didn’t forget not to today.
Yesterday was brief but, like a dwarf with full pregnancy, loaded.
It was the concluding part of the day that seemed most loaded with intrigues to say the least.
It was a fun-filled day, but like a white linen stained with the tears and blood both of joy and grief; it was laced ultimately with a drop of sorrowful tear.
One may wonder what that tear or sorrow was about, but truthfully it wasn’t just about the recent presidential pardon of the former Bayelsa State Governor. Neither was it just about the unceasing killings orchestrated by the notorious Boko Haram.
One may also wonder, how about the recently announced death of Africa’s foremost storyteller, Prof. Chinua Achebe? Well just like the others, this also forms a part of the ingredients that make up a salty meal.
It was that I went into a reality coma, scaled up the fence and brought down warm airs. What if I’d not gone up? “Then cold air is yours for keep. And you won’t believe it if I say you never learn to sing like a bird or fly like one until that very moment when you become a bird.”
I went into a palace of dreams and my emotions deserted me. And in their hiding, they still had a way to betray me. But Olodumare has his way of doing things. It is that betrayal, like that of Jesus, that was needed to bake dreams.
I went into this palace of dreams. But hey, what if I’d not gone into the palace? “Then, the doldrums is for you to visit. And trust me my good boy, that’s not a good place to live, of course, as dold.”
The dream I had in that palace was so sweet that it collected volumes of tears from me, but they were all channelled into a hungry drainage that emptied right back into me.
What’s this dream? I don’t think I know. I may only have an idea at the moment. It unfolds…for the next…
lAkUnLeScReWs 