Poetry

Sand castles

Sand castles.
The same humanity runs in all
from Africa to Europe
East to Asia, west to the Americas

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Sand castles,
kids know their fate
their castles will topple and fall
when the waves break in

Sand castles,
Adults build it now
we build without solid foundations
and get upset when they crash.

Sand castles,
we must learn from the young
to never quit playing
though all is lost.

{I’m breathing hard from the effort of posting twice in one day. Hmph. The words flooded my head when I saw this sand ‘hut’ – image and post credit.}

 

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Little things

When you suffer …

Living as I do in the mire of a crossroad of many cultures, my plan was to blog about ‘true polyglots’. That will come later.

‘I just read’ a man’s heart-pouring account of his wife’s death by euthanasia.

I started this post some weeks ago but couldn’t continue. I felt so heart – broken for his loss, for his bitterness and even more for their outlook on life. I’m back at it again.

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When we suffer, we can either wallow in the valley of the shadow of intense, indescribable pain; or we can take one little step out to the light and appreciate the flowers and fruits of our suffering. I’m back to finish this post because I read Jonie Smith‘s story where she describes in broad strokes how she takes this great little step every day. It’s  not an easy step for being tiny and here the Christian faith helps as it is helping Joni.

Through these challenges, God gave me an awareness of what so called ‘mercy killings {Euthanasia} were stealing away from the sick and elderly. The ‘culture of death’ mentality was trying to steal us away from an intimate walk with Jesus Christ. His loving sacrifice that he had waiting for those who suffer. This world wants to steal our peace, our joy and our uniting our sufferings with His. This world wants to steal our chance to love like Jesus. Jesus taught me what it was to ‘offer it up’. All we need to do is to ask Him to pour out His grace on our brothers and sisters and to offer up our pain and illnesses, our disappointments as well as our joys for the sake of others. God loves us so much that He wants us to share in His loving sacrifice of His Cross. The instrument of His Love and grace, His peace and life in us. The mystery of his Most Sacred Heart.

If this sounds like Greek to you, I’m available to explain further. Just let me know, ok! Meanwhile enjoy this from  ‘The Father’s tale’.

It struck me recently that God wrote a large story in the lives of the people we read about in Scriptures, and it was usually for reasons beyond their understanding. He did so for several purposes, but one of them was to teach and illumine others who would not be born until thousands of years after the events. Is it possible that He is ‘writing’ our lives as well, for purposes we cannot begin to understand, and perhaps may never understand in our lifetimes? Our inexplicable sufferings, especially the blows of injustice, may be far more valuable to other souls than we can now guess. Thus the necessity of thanking Him for all our trials, adversity, unjust sufferings, because the fruit of these may be of incalculable worth, though hidden from our eyes.

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Fiction, Little things

Stucked!

The elevator was about to leave

‘wait for me’  I cried, running to the bench to gather my possessions.

My laptop bag, a big novel I was struggling to finish and another bag – a hand one. They pressed ‘OPEN’ and waited, smiling as they usually do. I love these classmates of mine; it seemed they were born with a smile. Perhaps, one requirement for admission was a smile surgical transplant in the clinic. Who knows. Now I am in and just as we are about to ascend, Prisca zooms in, hitting the lift’s metallic side. The closing process is interrupted for a millisecond and then the door glides shut.

‘what a speed’ I remarked , clutching my laptop and  holding on to the big novel. She smiles exultantly at having made it. It’s not so easy after the day’s work to trudge up to the highest floor where the rooms were. She is still smiling. The others resume their conversation. We are still on the ground floor.

‘Looks like the lift is stuck’ I commented, sending a casual glance to the half opened door. Thing was, the outer door was well closed, cutting off air supply and giving the impression of all being well.

‘Hello! we are stuck in here’

Another voice answered from the floor

‘oh no’ Chinwe’s British accent floated to our ears

‘poor dears. Stay calm.. I’ll inform the technical crew’

meanwhile, someone had pressed the alarm button from within

‘tell jokes’ someone advised ‘meanwhile’

‘no, better not to talk to conserve oxygen’ said another, concern etched in their tones.

‘I don’t think we are in any danger’ and Ziria started a joke or something like it.

‘once a lady was asked what her favourite colour was.

“fuchsia” she replied

“Fuchsia? please spell it.”

“well” the lady said “it’s red. Red is my favourite colour”

Even Prisca managed to ease her taut facial nerves.

‘another joke’ someone called.

‘you know’ I started ‘we have this character, typical comical character called ‘Akpos’ in Nigeria …

‘Hello…’ a voice cracked on the speaker. Fran´s.

´stay calm’ she continued ´we are on it’

I continued my joke

´so Akpos was in this school where he wasn´t doing well. The teachers invited his dad to discuss his poor performance…

Fran again ‘are you touching any button? Please don’t touch anything. Just stay calm and stay put’

‘Fran, can we touch the wall?’

‘How funny’ Prisca said, more distressed than ever.

‘Here, let me help you with your book’ and she cradled and hung on to my big book which I had been struggling to finish. If the lift was doing a pendulum dance, I would have understood…. But her action in the face of a still lift… well, I’m glad to have the weight off my arms.

‘Back to Akpos….’

A sign of relief greeted my words as simultaneously, the lift started descending to the first floor, underground. we came out hastily and when I suggested that we take the lift as planned to the top floor, everyone uncharitably thought I was sick.

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Hear the waters laughing past

The trees whistling merrily

See the gaily coloured birds

Hopping from branch to branch

Joy, gaiety, gay

It’s so good to say that word

No fear of being wrong

Political correctness my foot

Feel the vibrations of peace

Deep down in your soul

As you become one with nature

The gay creation of God

Inspired by The daily prompt

Amzi Java

© 2015

Poetry

Laughing waters

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