A DREAMER'S PRAYER

Part 1

After a toil and hunt for the bread, daily I sit upon this creaking bed, sick and weary, the uncertainities, consequences and possibilities of tomorrow leaving me shaken and dreary. If these dreams come with a price, I trust I am committed enough to pay. If this life comes with a risk, then on death I'm willing to lay. Bless the mind that dreams and bless tenfold the hand that does. These dreams look to be dispatched and dispensed to the world and a print to be left by each word.

In these puny hands is a task, a task that has to be done before dusk. I'm sick of putting on a mask. True, I seek humility but let me shed some wight off my modesty. Not that I want to be a brag, but rather proclaim to the world the fact that I am no drag. Whether I live this dream by mouth or hand, I don't mind, but from this moment on, I lift the blind off this raw mind and let the dreams that had been hidden now be the guide I live by and abide.

Patience is a virtue. I'm willing to accomodate a delay, but don't let the despair that come my way fair better than I. Having walked the lowest streets of existence, Lord don't let me bring me back into that being. Books, knowledge, passion, fooling, cursing, learning, living all don't amount to much but if ever, by a strong pull of the fates, these dreams never amount to much, then let me be able to let my children also be called 'a rich man's children'. Let their loins also be dressed in a rich man's scent and that the footprints they leave be made of gold. Let it be that on their every walk, around them, be people willing to kiss the ground that they walk. Yet I still pray open these eyes, that they may not just visualise the dream, but be the dream, that the dreams cease to just be dreams, but become the very existence, the very meaning of life, the definition of living and being alive

It is my sincere hope that my insistence isn't a bother Dear Lord, for this is just the beginning. You never tire and my prayer is that upon me you may cast your undying and tireless spirit, that if I am to die, that I may die in the battlefield, that I may bite the bullets and still rise. That I may avoid suffocation in squalor owing to my yawning pockets and screaming wallets. The coin I toss, and ready I am to count my loss, all so that I may live the life I dream to live. Bold, ready to face the demons of my repose and cast aside the overwhelming doubt, ready to meet my destiny, who will be waiting on me with open arms and a smile, I suppose.

Before me I see beams. The spotlight upon me shines and the applause behind the splitting white beams die down. Is it, that my mere appearance, just the fact that I have shown up, is to be celebrated more than the show I put on?  That is more like it, it seems, that fortune upon me never gleams and that I should let go of these pesky ideas and give up these silly dreams. If I had reality at the mercy of my whims, Dear Lord, it would have been my dream to cast away these dreams, but a purpose beyond personal gratification beckons, and I am no longer too selfish to ignore. I have grown sick of constantly fighting this war, forever on the fence, not sure whether to stay or go.  So, I say now, as I have said before, I fully embrace my valuable valour and let this dream go, so that I may at last put to rest my ambivalence with my life. Now, I hope to keep up the work, consistence, and keep pushing my limits, persistence. I ask for strength, Oh Lord, that even when I am questioned and doubted, I can keep a stable foot and hold my balance. I pray that I may find solace in solitude, quiescence, that I may find bright ambience even in the dimmest of nights.  ...

To be continued.

TO MY DEAREST

In this reeking lair
Seated on this cold creeking chair
I write
Write to you
With hope that you stop your wander
Write about you
With dear candor
Write for you
To celebrate your honour

In abject squalor
I have been
On empty stomach
I have slept, on clammy concretes I have l lain
My back washed in pain,
I have bent and kissed the lowest ebb
Of living and being alive
Take this scribe, my dearest
As a frank contract
A bold commitment to my utterances
That when you indeed rest in my arm
You will be peaceful through the night
And see the day just how you find right
At no one moment
Will you walk over the shards of glass
That malaised my entire existence
No longer
Will the soles of your feet be mapped with blisters and swells
Forget being famished and malnourished
With me dear, you are and will be forever cherished
Upon your head
I commit myself
All this struggle is for you
That you may know trouble
But not in its crudest element, misery
That you may cry
But not offend your face with a deluge
That you may fear
But no be paralysed with terror
And that you may smile
And break your ribs when laughing
Because I know that with you
My dearest
I have a reason to do more

'The Writing Of The Collosus: A Poem Anthology' by Kiraka D Mugatsia

A VOYAGE OF DESTINY

In a castaway land,
A land of thriving murk of poverty
A land where everyone was no one
Someone was born.
Through every wrong and right,
Through the thick and lean
Through the shrewd dealings of reality
A legend grew.
To blaze a trail, they sought
And the sky's enigmatic allure,
So fetching, blissful and pure
Beckoned
And who is the legend
Not to respond to the call to duty.
Never,
In the land where everyone was no one
Shall it remain the same
The stalemate has been broken
And cast atide on the dhow
Is Destiny
On the uncertain waters
Over peaceful depths
And unsettling shallows
It will float
Through the waves and the tides
Through the gentle waters that lap on its sides
The vessel will heed no divergent calls
As the wind fills the sail
No more shall it all be in vain
The voyage of destiny
From view in the periphery
Is set to dock
I advice you make merry
For from the castaway land
A land where everyone was no one
Someone has risen.

Photo from www.travelphotosforyou.com
Courtesy of Anna Andersson