I write to you with a heart full of serenity, for the mere thought of you stills my otherwise bustling day. Countless clouds have gone past the sky since I last breathed in the aroma of your company. And what charming days were those spent walking beside you along the silent stream of spring.

I have missed you with each morning and every sunset and would do all in my power to see you again and to speak with you. Tomorrow, I shall send you my royal escort to cordially bring you to me. I sincerely wish that you would oblige to my humble request.

Yours,

Lucius Psellus”

Princess Celina finished reading the letter and gazed down the vast corn field spread across the horizon shimmering in the golden sunlight of the drowning sun. The evening wind blew across the field and rattled that piece of paper in her hands. A smiled lingered in her eyes and a song of joy and contentment started whistling on her lips.

She had met Prince Lucius a few months ago at one of the Gala of Spring in Provence . From the moment they laid eyes on each other they fell in love. Spring in Provence brings clear blue skies with spotless white clouds, a calmer ocean and a melodious air. Intoxicated in the beauty that surrounded them, the prince and the princess spent many a days and nights strolling along the silent shores; conversing about each other and falling in love ever so more deeply.

She felt the soft but firm touch of his hand on her hand as she glared down at the letter once again. She started smiling again. It was a beautiful evening. Tomorrow, when the sun loses its pinch, she will leave for Greece , the land of the Prince Lucius.

“ Nicaea Ducas,

I write to you with a heart full of distress. I believe somewhere in my heart I always knew that one day I shall write this letter to you. It has been three years since we had been together. You have been kind and amusing. But I guess my heart always desired for more; something that I have found in another man, an escapade of a life. By the time you read this letter, I would already have departed to Greece . I am going to follow my heart; I hope you find it in you to follow yours.

Thaleia”

The jester finished reading the letter and laid down an idle gaze on the dusty road that vanished into the hazy evening that was spreading across the horizon. There was an unwanted silence in the air; for once he wanted to hear a human voice, any voice, any words.

Nicaea met Thaleia during one of his performances in a town some 100 miles away; she was a theatre student and apparently had loved his performance. For the first time, he had strayed away from his regular comic acts and played a lone musician whose work is continuously stolen by his closest confidant. From the moment they met, they felt a spark, a strange energy between them. He could feel her presence on him physically whenever she was around; but he never physically felt her. With all the chemistry between them, there was always a hint of a distance between them.

The jester stared down at the letter in his hand; the silence had finally broken, in the distance he heard the sounds of horses’ hoofs getting closer and closer.

The prince had read the letter over and over again, reliving all the memories of her moments with the prince. The royal wagon was rolling up and down the countryside as the shadows started stretching themselves and the sun lost its battle against time.

As the cartwheels hit a ditch in the dusty road, the jerk caused the letter to slip from her hand and fly out the window. The princess ordered the escort to stop and stepped out of her wagon to look for the letter herself.

The jester saw a shadow lurking around in the haze; a wave of jasmine fragrance wavered along with the evening breeze. As the shadow got closer and came out of the haze, he saw the princess clad in a white and blue dress, hair tightly tied on her back, with a lost look on her face, approaching him. Before he could stand up, the princess had approached him and was staring at the letter in his hand.

“Excuse me sir, that letter would be mine and I would like to get it back” she said with a straight but firm tone.

“Pardon me my lady but I believe you are mistaken; this letter belongs to me” he said while standing up.

“How dare you claim such preposterous claim? I demand the letter be given to me. Guards!” her guards approached him and took the letter away from him and gave it to the princess.

As the princess started reading the letter she realized it didn’t belong to her; a soft smile appeared on the jester’s lips. The princess looked at him and gave his letter back to him, “Please accept my apologies”.

He smiled and looked at the princess’s worried face; he offered her to look for her letter, which she approved without paying much attention to it.

“A special letter/” he asked while searching for the letter in the haze of the departing evening.

“A matter that does not concern you” she replied with a stern tone.

He smiled again and kept looking for the letter.

After a while the letter was found but by that time the night had opened its wings; her royal council advised her to stay overnight just outside the town. Once the station was made for the princess, she occupied her seat beside the fireplace and started reading the dirt-ridden letter again. The jester, who was offered a meal in favour of his efforts to search for the letter, sat at the farthest corner and stared at the princess.

Her face glowed in the shimmering flames that rose from the burning pile of wood; a lock fell down on her shoulder and a faint smile rested on her lips. She felt his eyes constantly staring at him; she looked at him with lost eyes, and while thinking of something else, kept staring at him.

“I have seen you somewhere, from before” she finally said to him.

“I was the court jester” he said with a painful smile.

“Was?” she needed explanation.

“I wasn’t funny anymore” he said with a wide smile appearing on his face as he enjoyed the statement.

“Not a good trait for a jester” she said with a smirk of satire.

“Most definitely” he said.

“So what do you do now, except for sitting on a deserted road outside the town at the dying hours of the day?”

“I perform at theatres” he said with an unintentional pride in his voice.

“Are you any funny there?”

“Tragedies only” he said while the smile still accompanied his words.

“Interesting” she had nothing to do to kill time, so an interview seemed like a good thing to spend some time before she would retire to her tent, “The letter you were holding in your hand, is that a part of it?”

“The beginning and the end of it” he said.

“Why did she leave?” she realized she shouldn’t have asked that question but then waited for an answer.

He looked at her, smiled with a squint in his eyes and said, “I wasn’t funny anymore”

She smiled, “What’s your name?”

“ Nicaea Ducas”

“Strange name” she said.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be funny”, he replied.

She smiled again and then rose up to retired to her tent. He stood up as well.

“Goodnight Nicaea. You shouldn’t need to travel back to town at this hour, ask my staff and they shall arrange a place for you to sleep”

“Thank you your highness and good night to you” he said.

He could hardly sleep that night; the moon month had lost twenty of its days and could hardly light the night through the roaming clouds that travelled through the night. He didn’t want to think about Thaleia so he started thinking about the princess; and her letter. The night finally landed onto his eyes and he fell asleep.

Next morning he woke up with the sun and was about to head out toward the town when one of princess’s staff brought a message that the princess had sent for him. He was surprised that the princess was up this early.

As he received permission to enter the royal tent, he stepped inside. The princess sat in her chair, dressed in a serene shade of green.

“You send for me your highness” the jester stood at the door.

“Yes. I have a proposition for you” the princess said without looking at him.

“I am all ears your highness” he said.

“Accompany me to Greece” she looked him with a slight tilt of her head, a sine in her eyes, a smile on her lips and utmost confidence in her voice, “as my royal jester”.

He smiled a big smile and politely said, “I believe you have a very short memory your highness, I am not much of an entertainer”.

“I am not convinced of that yet” she said, “prove me wrong, prove me right, either way, I command you to travel with me and entertain me”.

“Your wish my command” he had a feeling there wasn’t much of a point to continue arguing over a decision already made.

As the journey began, the jester, in his head, started roaming through his old tricks and comic skits. All he remembered were scenes and dialogues from the classic tragedies he had been playing lately. The comic skits he used to perform as a jester, all seemed lame. Still, he tried.

The princess herself had some tricks up her sleeves; so it wasn’t as difficult as he had earlier imagined. She hardly ever laughed at his jokes; and whenever she laughed, he couldn’t tell whether it was on the quality of his joke or the lameness of it.

The journey to Greece lasted for nine days and during that time, the jester found a different person in princess than what he had imagined. For one, she worried a lot; were they travelling fast enough, had the horses had enough rest, was there enough food, was the cabin cleaned or not; she would obsess about everything. It was a relief for the jester; since half the time he didn’t have to try to be funny, he just had to listen and console and more importantly, agree.

“Why do you worry a lot?” he asked her one day while strolling along the hillside as the escort had stationed itself for the night.

“I don’t worry” she said firmly.

“Well, you obsess about things” he adjusted his statement.

“I care about things, there is a difference, you won’t understand” she said with a mischievous smile.

“Oh please, I can tell the difference between caring and obsessing” he said with a frank choice of words.

“So you are using this opportunity of travelling with me to pass judgement on me?” she asked with that tilt of head and a smile.

“No. But admit it, your ride wouldn’t have been fun with this boring escort of yours” he said, hoping to hear an agreement.

“Oh, so that’s what you think? I believe it’s the other way around” she said, “you were all lost, now at least you are going somewhere; learning things on the way”.

“I don’t think so. I am the one offering good company here” he said knowing that a retort was coming his way.

“Do you want me to leave you here? Because rest assured I will and will bid you the longest and slowest possible farewell while going uphill”.

“No you won’t. You can’t. I am the only interesting thing happening in your journey right now …”

“Blah blah blah …” the princess brisk walked away.

He smiled and walked after her.

Nine days had passed very quickly and they had reached at the palace of Prince Lucius Psellus . At the Gates, the jester got off the wagon to leave. The princess followed him out.

The jester stood in front of the princess and stared right into her eyes; a smile still on his face. The princess looked back with a hint of smile.

“It’s been a pleasure” the jester said.

“I know, I am a joy” the princess said.

He laughed, “You are”.

The jester leaned forward a little, still staring into her eyes. The princess realized what the jester was going to do.

Her smile fainted and a sober look appeared on her face. “Don’t look for another tragedy” she said in a tone which was nothing but a loud whisper.

The jester stopped; his smile vanished and then reappeared again. He took the princess’s hand in her hand and kissed her cylinder fingers. They exchanged a smile and the jester turned around and left.

As he walked down the road; he realized, he had long lost Thaleia’s letter.

She lay in the darkness, motionless – but the pattern of her breathing gave away her peaceful demeanor – ragged, semi-awake.

She turned on her side to emit a series of hacking coughs.

The form shifted back into its original position, having emitted an SOS through Morse code – each cough followed by a jerky ragged breath.

The room was pitched in reassuring darkness, except this girl. There was no light anywhere about her, yet a reel seemed to be playing in her head… Eyes sealed shut, while her eyeballs seemed to roam under
the tightly shut lids.. Almost as if seeking escape, respite from the things they were being forced to see.

The girl emits a moan, now getting restless… The horror of the images in her head unfolds.. They had started peacefully enough.

A mother, her three children … two girls and a little boy. Visions of sunshine and flowers, the mother stretched out with two sleeping children in both arms, and rocking the third in the car seat with her
foot, on the little gondola out on the river.

But as the girl watched, the only peace in the lives of the people was when they slept – which ironically was the one time she was troubled.

The mother struggled to deal with her three children.. The eldest who was, even at 10, riddled with anger, and violent – the mother assumed the child was in one of those phases. The second, aged 3, who refused to go to the stables with her daddy, and when she did…came back hysterical, and sometimes bloody – this was chalked down to being afraid of horses, and “scrapes” children got when they played. The third was her little boy, aged 1, who took more time and energy than she could humanly muster.

The reel started to play faster – almost in fast forward. Skipping scenes. The girl now breaks out in a sweat, her hands tremble at what she sees. Her feet have a mind of their own, they kick about wildly.
The scenes in her head are relentless.

First light of dawn. A robed figure creeps into the room. The two girls sleep soundly. The elder daughter’s eyes fly open – a hand is sliding across her body. She opens her mouth to scream. A hand presses her mouth shut. Delivers a sound slap … and another … and another. She struggles, and struggles. The nightlight falls to the floor and goes out. Tears roll down her face. The hands are relentless. They do things that she doesn’t like. She fights. The hands start to hurt her. She tries to scream… Her voice is clamped shut, but the screams echo in her head. Over, and over, and over.

The next scene cuts to the stable. The girl has tears streaming down her face. She cannot bear to dream any more…

The horses whinny at the approaching sound of footsteps – The way the twigs snap signals to them that the hands of cruelty approach. The Master of the house appears, smoking his pipe.. The trembling little girl comes forward, clutching her nanny tightly- she had been tricked into coming to the stable, lured by little bunnies, and sugary cookie treats. No one could understand her fear of horses, and how she became so bloody. At seeing her father, she burst into tears, and held on to her nanny for dear life. The father lifted her up, took her in his arms, and said “thank you, that will be all”. The poor child kicked
and screamed wildly, and the father smilingly carried her towards a stall, softly murmuring, “look at all the nice horses darling”. The nanny reluctantly turned away, knowing in her heart something
wasn’t right.

She crept around to the side of the stable, the distressed shrieking cries of the child clearly audible well in the distance.. She peered over the top of the stable wall.. The father had her pinned down in the hay, he was doing the most terrible things to her… He was struggling to quiet her, yet the vandalizing of her childhood, her innocence screamed in the surrounding silence… The defenseless child struggled… red in the face with effort… the blood appeared on her thighs… The nanny covered her mouth, and ran… Unable to control her tears… or her urge to throw up.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The nanny was on her knees, praying for the children. She knew respite would not come unless God willed it so.. She prayed the mother would discover what was going on. She kept silent for the fear that the harm inflicted on the children would get worse. The images kept flashing in her head. She had bathed the child, dressed her wound, at least the ones that could be bandaged. The fever had subsided. Finally the nanny lay down to rest next to the child… and sleep came.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the darkness, the girls face was awash with tears, eyes squeezed tightly shut, her face anguished. Fists clenched bulk of the sheets. Her body was tense.

The mother couldn’t understand why her elder daughter was being so difficult, throwing things about, moping in corners. Or why she had started to slouch, and refused to come to dinner. Sneaking food out of the kitchen, eating relentlessly… why did the dark circles under her eyes prevail so… Or why she locked herself in the bathroom for long hours…

Speaking of bathrooms, she couldn’t understand why the little one refused to go to the bathroom with anyone except the nanny, why she seemed afraid of dark, closed spaces, and why she shrank from all
forms of affection. The child cried all the time, there was no respite.

Even the youngest one was teething, so there was no peace. There was an overall state of anxiety running through the place, she could feel the vibes in the air. The nanny seemed to always stare at her
disturbingly, as if trying to tell her something, her eyes seemed troubled.

She tried to dismiss all these thoughts, and went to sleep. Alas, a dream within a dream, within a dream. She saw vivid images, she saw her children in danger. She saw all that had been happening under her
very nose, only faint glimpses of the real horrors. . She awoke gasping, she had to go see her children.. The corridors seemed never ending, the curtains billowing in the passageways. She rushed to her
children’s room…

She walked in, and stopped in horror – Her mouth formed an O of shock. A figure crouched over her eldest daughter – the hands in places they shouldn’t be… The tigress in the mother came alive – She
launched herself at her daughter assailant. She scratched, clawed, tumbled, struggled, finally pinning him to the ground. . he had been taken by surprise… She looked at his face, and shrank back – screams
echoed the entire premises. The screaming went on and on. She held her child close. The man she called her husband turned and ran. But was stopped by the guards, who since a long time had known, and wished this man be brought to justice.

The police were called. The child was hugged close, finally the silent grievances of all those years were voiced by howling tears.. The nightmare was finally over. The man who had wrought so much horror in
their lives was finally gone. .

Later, they lay together, holding each other, the mother and her two daughters while her son slept.. She watched their peaceful sleeping faces. . Tears trickled down her face. . She now understood why her
children were lashing out… why the younger one was always bloody when no scars were ever visible… she now understood their fears, their tears..

But she knew everything would be alright. He was gone.. and she would never ever leave her children with anyone ever again….

Sunlight streamed into the room. . The girl opened her eyes. . At last, there was justice in the world. Her tears had run dry while she slept. And her dreams had delivered the victims of her dreams to safety..
She wondered if God had willed it to be a happy ending. . . Her health had improved, the cough was almost gone.. her breathing now normal. . . She wondered if these dreams were significant of the Original SIn. . . and if this happy ending meant the shedding of her burden, out of the slough of Despond, and a successful journey past the Wicket gate . . . Perhaps after conquering all, she now stood at the peak of the hill of difficulty… Perhaps this is how God wanted it to be…

The End

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Author’s Note:

There are some elements present of the theory of Calvinism – such as the original sin (which is the sin committed by Adam, when he ate forbidden fruit, and now every generation carries some of the
burden of his sin, which is far more than the burden of the sins a man actually commits in life). There is also the use of “the will of God” – Calvinism said, no one could help any situation unless GOD cast a
kind eye, and willed it so..

I have also used references from John Bunyan’s Pilgrims Progress -

1. The slough of despond – the pit wherein lie all sins that mankind commit

2. Wicket Gate- reference to heaven

3. The hill of Difficulty- The name speaks for itself

There is also the symbolism of light and darkness- darkness considered bad, and light is used in Genesis to depict all things good, and enlightenment.

The amber light of the sun Shot high into the air obscured by an overcast grey sky. Everything was once again coming alive with energy. Every breath in this morning paradise was a pleasure. The crisp fall air filling my lungs with its sting; only to be released again as a obscure fog. The leaves on the ground crunched heavy under my footsteps. Some still held the place on the trees blowing in the wind. The colours were transformed from there usually peaceful, placid green into an absolute passion of fire. Reds, oranges, yellows & browns. Exploded on every branch. When finally it came their time they fall to the ground. There they would rest until they returned their nutrients to the soil. The water of the lake lapped gently against the rocks that broke its surface.

A small stream flowed into the lake causing ripples and bubbles to form at its mouth. The sun was higher now. Melting away the fog that had once held thick over the lake. The surface in the middle of the lake was as smooth as glass. A mirror for the sky and sun to enjoy their own splendor in. The dew was fading quickly off the grass. I knew this feeling couldn’t last forever. In a short while all this splendor would melt away in the advance of the day. For this was a rare beauty. One that could only be viewed for a certain amount of time on certain days where all the forces of nature came together to paint pictures on the very canvas of the earth & sky. Something must be given up to enjoy beauty like this. Whether it be time for something else, or sleep we all crave. Beauty such as this comes at a personal cost.

Anyone can afford such a price; if they are willing to. Everyday we are given time, no matter how we choose to spend it. It will never come back. Each second ticks by only once, and each second we can spare must be enjoyed to the fullest. Such beauty cannot be captured by any modern means. Only mere phantoms of their former beauty can be held onto. Pictures fail to express the beauty that an early morning sunrise is. After all they only have a thousand words. Even this tribute to their splendor falls pitifully short of expressing what all your senses can feel when fully allowed to. Mere words can only cast images into our imaginations. How could they be expected to conjure up all the works of nature. A novel wouldn’t tell the story of a sunrise; that nature could tell in but a few minutes. Enrobed in all its beauty. One should stand humbled that one stands in such a world at all.

As to project an air of confidence, and seeming self-assurance? Did they use words larger than necessary? How many words did they use? Was it a reasonable amount? Did they shoot off on a tangent, as to avoid the subject at hand? Did they give you a straight answer? Did they answer at all? Did there eyes dart from side to side? To the left, to the right? Did they look up, away, down, into your eyes? Did they fidget? Look repulsed? Shock & awe? Satisfied? Nonplussed? In the time before they answer what were they doing? Taking a deep breath? Looking away? Trying to stare into your very soul? Trying to search out the answer you seek?

Whether or not it is the true, or a fabrication of fiction. A bare thread of a lie, or a neatly woven tapestry spun into an elaborate picture of chivalry, daring, self sacrifice, and atonement? Can this person be trusted? Have they always been telling the truth? Are there lies just so grand and majestic that the mere fiction of there truth seems to actually be an irrefutable fact. Why would they lie? Lies like ripples in a glass resonate, and overlap. If you asked them if they were lying how would it be done? Directly right then and there? What if the truth was the answer present, and you are now they fool? What if the don’t confess? Most won’t lies trigger more lies. It’s not true, not all lies hurt. Everybody does it.

Everybody. Whether it be the lies of our childhood, teenage years, or adulthood. When people have mastered their craft sunk so deep into a web of lies it becomes easier than truth. Even when the truth is an easier answer. One day everyone must attest for the lives they’ve lived.

e-book by Chris Cade

Review by Keith Beasley

Spiritual Stories may be a comparatively new genre, but as more and more of us seek for meaning in our lives, it’s an important and rapidly growing one. It’s also one that really enables and encourages those new to writing to have a go: it’s healing and it’s liberating. In this guide, Chris clearly and enthusiastically helps us to create . . . and grow.

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The idea, originating from the Kremlin many suspected . . . in the days when ‘The Kremlin’ had generals and politicians from Warsaw to the Whitehouse trembling in their boots. Now, of cause, it was the Beijing back-rooms from which germs of ideas would spread . . . that would have NATO chiefs scratching their furrowed brows. But I digress.

The plot was also simple: Instead of firing expensive guns or rockets to annihilate your foe, or even nuking them from space, you simply get the population that you want to suppress to eat the stuff. With such well know and impressive benefits, would could resist? And with all developed countries genuinely scared of the spread of obesity, all the Western health departments would welcome the wonder substance: eat kefyr and get thin! And so they would! All the little Candida plants would munch away inside the guts of the populous, helping the digestion . . . and however overweight, you could carry on eating all you wanted!

And by then, the conspiracy went, it would be too late: it wouldn’t be the gut that would have been affected: the other, lesser known, parasites within the organism would have established themselves too: in the mind. And here, those who hatched the plan, had to smile, the effects they’d intended were doubled by the shear inertia and lethargy that afflict all the obese folk anyway! The Russia plotters had calculated that by the time the opposition had caught on to the fact that this stuff had originated in the USSR, the zombiefying effect, as they liked to call it, would render totally ineffective any call to arms. From commanders in chiefs to rookies who shouldered the guns, they’d slowly shrug their shoulders, say they couldn’t be bothered and eat another plate of McDonalds . . . washed down, of cause with milk shake made from Kafyr!

But the best laid plans of men, if not of mice, as the saying goes, rarely allows for the reality on the ground . . . amongst real people and real politicians . . . the two groups, as any Buddhist, Yogi or other wise person will tell, behaving in vary different ways:

The Western politicians were too intent on their empire building and party squabbles to notice their citizens getting so fat they could hardly fit in a car seat, let alone walk. By the time they did, these same folk had already become so lethargic they couldn’t be bothered to take the wonder cure! Oh . . . and whilst all this was going on, the empire that was going to rise again and turn the world Communist, had been dismantled into a array of tiny states incapable of any offensive. And why? Here was the irony: in the early days of the plot, all the loyal party workers had been given the kefyr to test it’s effectiveness . . . so when the time came to nip the emerging ‘people power’ in the bud . . . they were too zombiefied to do anything!

Meanwhile, on a little green planet, way out on the Western arm of the Milky Way, the dominant, ruminant, bovine-like inhabitants were meeting. We say, dominant, because they liked to think they were the ones in charge, but we’ll come back to that! They’d been watching the progress of their invasion force with interest, pleased with their strategy: get their cows in place before the predominant species, mankind, was aware enough to KNOW it was an invasion. OK, so it took a few more tens of thousands of years, but what’s a few more centuries when you spend all day chewing the cud?

Now, the plan was paying off. Not only was the world turning vegetarian. . so their own offspring weren’t being eaten, but milk and cheese were consumed by pretty much everyone . . . and with it, their ultimate weapon . . . the kefyr. Long before the KGB had ‘found’ kefyr and realised its potential, the scientists of the Taureans had seen how this friendly, helpful, parasite could help them take over any over planet with the fields and grass their growing population needed. Now they could assemble the bull-ships and get the invasion underway. Or so they thought:

Throughout the collective consciousness of the kefyr was laughter. There was no outwards sign of this to the trillions of cows, humans and millions of other species around the many parallel dimensions within and between which it existed. But the kefyr just smiled inwardly to itself. It KNEW. Slowly but surely it was being digested or ingested into each and every other life-form. Parasite indeed! Had these folks not watched ‘Star Trek Deep Space Nine’? Symbiote. Please! It wasn’t the fault of the kefyr that all these other species were so arrogant it didn’t dawn on them that anything living within them might actually have some sort of sentience! In fact, the kefyr was so much more aware and mentally developed than man, that practically no-one on earth, for example, could begin to comprehend how wise and all-knowing it was.

So wise was this wonder being that it actually wasn’t going to interfere with all these plans of it’s host species . . . why should it!? Why make trouble for itself? Why take CONSCIOUS control of a world or a nation? Who needs THAT sort of hassle!?

Migration has become a mere money play. If you’ve an urge to migrate to the best college, then be prepared to have fortunes in your arms. There are many students who wish to migrate to the best college, but, very fairly they could find one, though they deserve. This is has become an increasing concern for the students.

As a student, I’m also planning to migrate to the best college for my course, aspiring to have the North Campus, University of Delhi degree. Few years back, based on my academic record, I thought that I’d be able to get admission in the North Campus. However, watching the current scenario I’m forced me to revise my dreams and aspirations. This is not the case with me only; there are hundreds of students who either compromise with the course or the college and in most cases, students have to kill their ambitions of getting the high-demand courses like B.Com (H) and Eco (H). The cut-offs for these two courses follow a neck-to-neck pattern and is enough to divert the minds of students.

Therefore, it is just a matter of chance that the students could reserve a seat for themselves for the general quota. Hence, mission migration is left unaccomplished for those who deserve.

Just pretending

A sound I’m hearing

Evryone’s stopped believing

But I never will

I’ll never be part of their pages

I’ve got my owns to fill

My own unspoken rages

Quiet you don’t see me

Truthful you don’t hear me

But you just know it’s here

The time’s not gone

It’s just arrived

We’ve shaken hands

And now we’re giving chances

Not wasting each other

Believing in another

We’re building up the dream

We’re starting up a new lead

It’s the tomorrow that came early

And some old day that still lives on

Regrets shattering you surely

Conflicted you are

but you shouldn’t let it be unseen

what’s inside your heart

can be a cure to what you don’t see

so let it out

don’t hide inside that bitter water

no harm no foul

give yourself a chance

as many as you can

and if ever

you stopped giving

call my number

and be sure I gladly will

There is hope ,solidarity and the tingling enigma of a patriot

Then comes a place in time where the parent of enthusiasm is perpetual hope.

I see reflections staring back at tangled theologies.

The urgency within me , the craving of a breakthrough.

In betwixt the realms of hope is the holler against negligence.

Submerging in the eloquent verity besieged in my soul.

Hoping against hope

Fighting against fights

Conquering back the essence lost against time

Rekindling morality

Invoking solidarity

I walk , I walk towards the mystified horizons of justice

The world that will be different

Just

Kind

Listening to the hymns of divinity with hopes encapsulated with sadness

Bottled up anguish

Leashing out to the obscure

Enlightening perceptions for reconciliation

And then hopes meet justice , confinement meets liberty

Here I rise again with the memory of the thought that shall live in me

And the one I must relinquish

Amid the cogitation I have found the purpose of my existence

Probably not the one that really is but profoundly one I will embrace and I do .

And may death do us apart .

“WE ARE COMING!”

From the lips of schoolkid raising an answering finger
To the tongue of the mother tasting stew made with ginger
From the ear of the hunter listening for hoofsteps
To the eye of the pilgrim taking footsteps
From the screams of the woman birthing beneath a hut
To the whistles of a starving man skinning a rat
From the fetish priest dancing around the fire
To the invalid shivering beneath ruminant-skin attire
To the shores of the deep blue sea
Where the waves signal aquatic fauna to flee

“WE ARE COMING!”

Ignoring the strangers calling us monkeys
Mocking our hurting soles from the top of their donkeys
Raising above head-level,our spears
Raising in hysteria,voices that scare our fears
Accepting accusations of abandoning tradition
But still sneaking to embark on our expedition
Staying true to our deep roots
Searching for nutrients to bear our fruits
Silent as the earthly home for the dead
Heavier hearts than elephants fed with lead

“WE ARE COMING!”

Even as some of our own resent us
Wishing GOD didn’t invent us
Claiming they now live on the cooked,garnished earth
And our side is is on a candlelit hearth
As we teach our kids to be better leaders
Helping them chase dreams faster than cheetahs
Spelling out an antonym for war
Inculcating contentment though we strive for more
Anytime you outline our land from a replica
Listen to that portion of your globe called Africa
To everyone you have reason to tell
That you heard my people yell

“WE ARE COMING!”