Follow your dreams

Follow your dreams. You might not take life seriously but life takes itself seriously and she will continue with or without you.

Your words are your dreams. Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. Countless thoughts rage through my head daily, so impolite they are as the next one doesn’t wait on the last one to end…they pile up – one on top of the other.

At every conversation I partake in a practice of letting them loose, I have to watch my tongue and be careful whom I might insult and keep watch, safeguarding what I promise – I need to practice what I preach.

I’m singing a song about the day and it’s troubles, where are the victories? I’ve left them hidden and chained – at this rate depression is inevitable.

My words are my dreams and we had a conversation the other day, you asked who I wanted to be and what I wish to achieve. I spilled it in fine detail like a work of art because that’s my favourite kind of talk – rambles from fantasies that have no consequences.

Oh but how I was wrong. The Price to pay for every spoken word is the result. If only I had known that the difference between reality and dreams lies hidden in the power of the Will – the action that leads to innovation.

Talk is cheap, the death of the mindless. Wise words bring life, healing and comfort. Wisdom is my insurance, assurance of good judgement – that’s what I seek.

Speak of the devil, the bastard shall appear, in time to devour. Don’t say I didn’t warn you – your words are your dreams.

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Right my Wrongs.

What is it going to be this time? It’s with this question that I open my mind – I’m currently in the mood to write something that’s motivated by this burning eagerness to right my wrongs.

I spent countless hours and precious brain cells dwelling on the things I did not understand. I spent so much time thinking my talent was a crime that was holding me caged in a cell of creativity when what I had to do was finish my notes on objectivity, impartiality and judges and the Law.

I spent so many days in so many ways allowing a book and it’s author to write my life. I’ll probably hate myself more because I could write a book about my life, dedicate it as a present to my future with lessons from my past.

I’m sure it would help me when I need to get around certain obstacles that I don’t need to get tangled in, like that time when I thought I needed to write a rhyme on each page just to make my story sound right.

But I’ve still got time, I’m far from my prime and my youthfulness has given me a drive to survive and every time I come across as flooded by useless thoughts I’ll remember to dive straight into my words, write them down and just hope I don’t drawn in myself and my mind – which is probably what had me feeling so encaged in creativity, neglecting the opportunity to write my life.

Now I can right my wrongs, I’m feeling blessed because I can write my wrongs with precision and persuasion and oozing a creativity that has set me free from the cage where the books and their authors and judges had me convinced and convicted and sentenced to a life unwritten.

Stop Writing.

I need to stop writing because I might just be good at it. Okay maybe that’s too extreme, maybe I can just stop publishing my blog posts – they might be better off as drafts.

Yes maybe drafts are better, I can pile up all my thoughts and they will never be seen and I would never revisit them just in case I get tempted to post them and let the whole world see.

I’m surely no Shakespeare, my English is far too simple – but oh how convenient, people cannot handle complicated, they don’t even understand my previous post.

Oh snap I need to stop writing. I might just be good at it and I’ll get what I wish for; write some books and get rich and famous – then my biggest fears will come true and I’ll end up like my beloved Avicii.

Many times I never stopped to think what the consequences of success could be. Everyone who’s holding my secrets might just come and spill the beans just to get their name on the community mop and wipe away all my innocence and privacy – I don’t want to be rich and famous.

So maybe I should stop writing or maybe I can just stop making sense, I can never try being boring so I’ll start now with the mathematics that birds don’t dwell on and neither did I when I passed through the tunnel and became man and then boy and then faded into thinking – yes surely I’ve lost them and they’ll never read me again…I can continue writing never to be famous today.

The Boys in Africa

I couldn’t believe in time travel until I realised it was simply being explained the wrong way. Numbers and fancy science sound smart but look around you it’s all in your face.

Heritage and culture are vital. It is shameful to forget these principles, if you do – you are lost and we won’t waste time letting you know. You’re African bro, you need to behave like It, sound like it and be proud of it.

There are no boys in Africa, only men. You need to provide bro, there’s no time to “find yourself”. Come to the city, up the street and downtown the gents hustle. Your friend might make a fortune and you cannot afford to fail. One way or another, you need that money bro.

BOOM! It’s Globalization all up in your face bro. Hollywood and Wall Street have taken over. “While I had no money I still had Sauce. If you ain’t got no sauce then you Lost”. So we run up to the College to get these degrees – but we can’t even afford these fees.

It’s no use writing these truths, or even having the consciousness to see it…because as along as I cannot get the rhythm and beat, I’ll never afford something to eat. The Boys are into Fashion these days mama, success is measured by Instagram Likes.

I’m beginning to feel out of place and unwelcome, because I started treating women with respect and they started calling me weak. I tried to help prevent the same fate for the next generation and then my grades fell…but for some reason it came with no regrets because I don’t want to gain the world while losing my soul.

O’ mama, maybe if Daddy never left us the boys in Africa would have had a back-bone, a role model to hold onto, a prototype to imitate. But I guess he too was lured by the changing times, the freedom to follow his dreams, practice his Constitutional rights and “Find himself”. And then you had to work overtime to school us and win-some-bread.

You left us home with a gift though, entertainment on television to keep us happy. That’s when Lil-Wayne became a father figure and Facebook my playground where I downloaded so many friends who wished me happy birthday – none was there to share my cake…but that’s nothing new, it’s just the life of The Boys in Africa, “Thank you Tata Mandela”.

In the Dark

Hidden in the dark are my fears and regrets and secrets of shame. I remain in the dark to keep a close eye on it all to make sure none of it escapes, to make sure nobody gets to see what I am and what I am not.

It is Dark in the Dark I cannot see no hope, nor faith and the truth is no different from lies for in the dark it is Dark. I cannot see and neither can you.

It is quiet in the Dark I close my eyes and I begin to dream. There is light in the dark and I can see the grass is green and the skies are blue. You don’t need to tell me twice, I can see that the birds fly – with mighty ease they reach for the clouds and nest on the trees…this is my dream, my dream of light in the dark. There is light in my dreams, in my head, no – there is light inside me.

In me there is light. O’ light spread all around, to my hands to touch and my legs to stand. I reach out and touch you and you awake and click the switch, there is light in the room. I can see your eyes in the light and they shine so bright, just to think all of this started with a little dream – a little light in the dark.

My fears and shame, they remain in the dark – I don’t wanna go back to the dark. There there is no hope and no spark. I’ll remain in the light, I can see it all, you don’t have to tell me – the truth is true. I am what I am and not what I am not.

I dreamt about you

I dreamt about you last night, I don’t know where it came from but it reminded me that true Friendship is more powerful than distance and time.

It’s been a decade since we bid our farewells on our last day of high school. You and I refused to admit that it could be Goodbye, so we agreed on “Until I see you again”. How young and foolish of us to think we could get the better end of time’s harsh stick of reality.

Anyways, I saw you in this dream and you finally had it all under control. You made it out of college and your career was waiting for you on your porch and you’ve been alright ever since.

You fulfilled your promises and got your mother that house on the countryside where she can grow her daisies and tomatoes…she sells them in a street corner in their quiet retirement town every Thursday as an excuse to get her nose into everybody’s affairs. Your dad is even more stubborn than he was in those stories you used to tell me in English class. He refuses help from the local boys when he loads the stock into the Ford you finally bought for him, but it wouldn’t be wise for me to undermine a man with such gray hairs sticking proudly out of his shinny scalp.

I assume you are now finally over Quinton, he put you through so much and almost had you giving up on Love. You have those perfect twins just like your favourite singer Beyonce and I’m actually glad your husband found you because now maybe the rest of us guys have a chance with the ladies. You guys seem genuinely good for each other. You rescued him from alcoholic habits and he saved you from yourself. Yep I definitely think you’re over Quinton.

I remember your head was just as messy as mine, but now you’ve got your head thinking straight. You can actually concentrate now – there’s no more little flower and heart drawings on every page corner in your book and no you did not end up creating your own comic book…and your emails did not convince cartoon network to bring back “the good old-school cartoons like FlapJack and Chowder. And now I wonder if you really wanted the cartoons or if you were just hungry.

We did bump into each other the other morning at Starbucks though. You ran up to me like nothing’s changed and you gave me a hug I can carry into next week. I struggled to hold a decent conversation, cheap ques about how your life has been were all I could afford…but the smile on your face brought back no change and I had no choice but to let you run off to collect your beloved “fresh muffins and coffee for breakfast”.

There’s a lot I should have asked you for old time’s sake, but it wasn’t a dream about me…so you continued on as you made life seem so easy and I guess your faith in God paid off. You always worried about how you would survive in a world where everyone else made you feel bad for refusing to go out on Friday nights, I hope you’re now realising that you did well to stand out – even if it cost you many lonely nights.

I however don’t know what happened to my life. I tried to live right but I was always in inner-battle between a heart that seeks God and a Mind that had been corrupted by the world…ah and look now I’m back to talking about myself – that’s always been the case – that’s the lack of self-control I’ve always suffered from and the need to always be heard which I now believe is a disguised cry-out for help in the hopes that somebody who has been through the same thing can just reach out and guide me, bring me in from the cold and tame this beastly brain…

Ah see now I’m losing focus once again. So let me stop myself because this wasn’t about me, this was about you. I dreamt about you.