Daily Archives: November 9, 2012

Lagos

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LAGOS

The sign says “Welcome to Lagos” and it is interesting to read it upside down.

I know it is time. But it’s OK because I am thinking about you. I am not sad. Well maybe a little. My life is not flashing before my eyes, but I am thinking of a lot of things. I am happy you forgave my sudden journey into unreasonableness. You truly did, or didn’t you? And it was good that it wasn’t due to another woman. That would never happen.

There is always being one of the 144,000 to look forward to: but maybe not, can’t remember if it’s strictly Israelites only.

“Welcome to Lagos”. I have always wondered why don’t the sign tell the truth? I guess that’s not good for business. That in Lagos, you will be robbed and robbed again. That you may never leave? That all you earn you may lose and more?

“Lagos” I am reading it backwards. I can read it as “So Gal” – “So Gal, will you think of me from time to time? When there is a lull in your busy schedule?” I think you will – even if only because I am gone.

I can hear the sirens and I can see some feet in the distance. Looks like they are coming this way. They need not bother. I will be gone long before they get here. I know. I hope I am actually writing this and not just gibberish. I can’t see too clearly to tell, so if it is not all legible, please forgive me for the very last time. I should see you sometime, but that won’t be true: I won’t be around.

I should have told you I was in pain that day. But I sucked it all up, took the pills, smiled, laughed, and even managed to tell a couple of jokes when all the time I felt like the devil was up my behind with a blowtorch and a demon horde out of hell. I wasn’t myself and I wasn’t thinking straight for several days afterwards. That is an excuse – but it is the best I could come up with for my behavior – because even now I can’t explain why I acted the way I did.

I can see the Police describing it as a single car accident. I let my thoughts wander too far off the road. I didn’t see the plank of wood on the road until it was too late. Everything after that is a blur. But thankfully my diary was within hands reach when the car finally stopped moving. I know I am broken beyond repair because I can see certain body parts that are not supposed to be visible. I should round this up now because the pen is slipping out of my hand and I can barely control it.

I don’t see the white light – maybe it only appears at the last moment in which case I won’t be able to write about it.

Say me well to everyone. Be good.

(Editor’s note: The rest wasn’t legible partly because of the blood smear, but there may have been the word “mum” in it)

NOTE: this was written several months ago.

Monday

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“Wicked” – “You are wicked.”
Three little words, the longest no more than 6 characters. Combined, the sum of all hope – dashed.

“Time” – I have asked Chronos to raise his hand,
and still the tempest that is time matching on,
sweeping all and sundry before its unseen fury,
and leaving broken limbs and sorrowful hearts in its churning wake.

“Wish” – I have begged Chronos to roll back time
till just before anger wrapped its unreasoning fingers round my delicate brain,
costing me what I had not lost because I did not own,
but sought by words, deeds,
and a certain look in my eyes that I didn’t see
but neither did you till I had wasted 2 months and lost it all.

“Chronos” – But Chronos is the figment of fearful men’s imagination,
who knowing not hat to do with the vagaries of nature,
ascribed power to chimeric figureheads in order to still beating hearts near bursting point.

“Pray” – So I turned to God and prayed,
asking for a miracle of gargantuan girt.
“Selfish request! Pharaoh’s bones long since dissolved to nutrients beneath Jordan’s waves! Does God still harden mortal men’s hearts or soften them because of prayers raised by earthly beings?” screamed the “devil”,
whose name should be spelled in subscript letters to dishonour his base nature, vile and to be reviled till hell freezes over.

“Alas!” – he was right.
Would a mere mortal command God to put love in another’s heart?
Would God deign it fit to answer such a prayer were it said upon bended knees
rubbed raw by rough-edged stones
coated in amber fluidly flowing carrying plasma to replenish the patched earth beneath the scorching Sun?

“Monday” – just like any other day …
But wait! A chance to think less those thoughts
that weigh like leaden weights on burdened brain
and rob the eyes of peaceful sleep.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Who cares.
Not the man who just lost the family’s food to the one-armed bandit down the road while seeking 3 cherries that unleashes the flood of unlimited income.
Not the fellow dying slowly on the bridge over the River Kwai.
Not the man you smile at.

“Monday” – Just another dreary day in an endless sequence of days in weeks in months in years in wandering the featureless desert of hopelessness by lost souls seeking forgiveness and deliverance where none may be found. Monday.