Literature

A Trialogue Ludwig Feuerbach still has that long beard he wore while he was alive. Albert Camus, is wearing a pea coat, and he has an unlit cigarette in his mouth. They are sitting in the room quibbling over something I can’t decipher. What this place is, I don’t know. Where this place is, I didn’t know either. My brain is somewhere on earth, probably a hospital, trying to recuperate from the damage. Ludwig sees me. He starts speaking…with his German twinge of course. Ludwig: Ah! Willkommen! What brings you here? Me: I don’t know. I can’t remember exactly. The …

The time has come… For the mountains whose peaks penetrate the skies to recognize the soil that holds them fast For the vapors in the heavens to acknowledge the lowly tepid waters from which they were borne For the Sequoia whose branches scrape the celestial canopy to remember the seed it once was, and to praise the roots that hold it in place For the gold on the crown of English kings to remember its impure beginnings beneath the South African soil For the butterfly in its colorful majesty to acknowledge the caterpillar it once was For the diamond on …

I want to know you, not sexually but actually mentally, importantly, sharing your thoughts thoroughly, I carefully want to draw you closer as we approach a state of tête-à-tête. I lay in wait as our heads unite and we move in perfect rhythm, exploring your mind in a gentle movement , sometimes we reach a schism, but that’s the reason, I want to reason with you. We could differ on opinions, but still value division in views. I want us to engage in dialogue, unplug the clogs of social blocks, and talk about stuff not supposed to be said on …

      The kids in the playground do not like me. Just yesterday, we did the “Knock, Knock” joke.   Me: Knock, Knock They: Who’s there? Me: You are… They: You are who?   ….The straw that broke the camel’s back.   Me: I am the spawn of sultans and the progeny of princes. So it’s no fault of mine that I crave to be crowned the king. I am the dream, that Martin spoke off, the chair that Rosa sat on, what Malcolm X was shot for. I am the freedom for the negro. See my ancestors and …

  My Son, if you’re reading this, two things are for certain: One, I’m dead and two you can read and understand the things I’m about to tell you. There are many things I would have loved to say to you in person, and trust me I tried. Fought dearly, but I lost that battle to cancer. So this was my backup plan, a testament of the advice that will get you through this mad-man-circus called life. Please don’t disregard this as trite “Self-help” advice. These are things, I would have loved to say in person over the course of …

We sat together in the room listening to Pachelbel’s Canon in D. He considers himself way smarter than I. I spend my existence trying to prove him wrong. …..“Well every rule has an exception” I retorted. He had stated something and I whimsically just chipped in that remark. That little remark opened the floodgate. He seemed disgusted by my use of the trite remark. “I expected more from you! How would you resort to such platitude?”  He squashed the butt of his cigarette and flicked it into the bin. “How do you mean?” I asked quite warily. Choked by the …

This is a guest write up by my dear friend, Funmi Ogunlusi I run my fingers across the warm plastic. Across the flatness… Across the ridges… Letters, numbers, symbols… Literally at my finger tips. Yet, I lift my eyes and I am confronted with blank whiteness. It mocks me. It’s been thirty minutes. A wise person once said “Life is a bitch”. If that is the case, then writer’s block is Eve, Jezebel and Cleopatra rolled up in one. She is the totality of all femme fatales who have ever lived, and she strikes with a vengeance. When she comes, …

My name is John. I am a 42 year Old man. We don’t need to voice it out, our love is mostly implicit. Just by looking into our eyes, we know that we love each other. Our love runs deep. But why can’t people see that? It’s not like they know about our love, nor will we tell them, but why, oh dear God why do we have to hide this beautiful feeling? If I had my way, I’d scream it from the mountaintop that we were having sex: Beautiful and passionate sex. I don’t mean to be crass, but …

Ugly I am, Ugly I will be With a face only a mother will love Spawn of Ogres, progeny of Beasts I walk amongst men if they’re fit to be called A pariah amongst my clan, deracinated for the way I look Laughed at and derided, because my genetic code wasn’t written with a pen but charcoal But… When you’re falling off a cliff and need one last rope. When you need an extra hand and something to hold. Does the presence of my grotesque grace fill you with fear or fill you with hope? Now, you will touch me …

Grandpa laid these thoughts on granite just for me. Senile minds cage evergreen memories Wrinkled fables of Old cronies and juvenile follies Tucked neatly in folds of skin, a library of tales The mouth needn’t speak, for one to know details Wear and tear, Sweat and tears, rust and dust These eyes tell of a love once lost. Most likely lost to lust Old minds hide a fountain of youth; Parched skin hides a well of knowledge If you care to peruse, you find these cannot be found in college Hair is grey; life isn’t black and white anymore Gleaming …