Skip to main content

AS ELUSIVE AS MY MEMORY By: Afolabi Aderonke



It is as elusive as it sounds,my memory
Like a nonexistent entity that seems so surreal
Almost like a dream that evades me.
The more I try to reach for it,
The more it seems to stray
Further afar from me
Almost like it doesn't exist...

So frustrating it is,
Each time I think, I am close to reaching 
Close enough to clutch it;
It disperses and then disappears
Like it doesn't exist, yet it exists
As if palpable, I claw in my mind's eye, an imaginary hand around it
BUT only to find empty, my palms.

My features distorts, compelled by flimsy feelings, paranoia ergo persistent nag
Scrambling, scratching for what I seem to have lost but still have
Seeking,searching with my mind's eye
Consciously unaware, anxious to reach
Feeling it,feeling lost
All at one same time.

Each try inures to failure
An overwhelming acute sense of loss
Fills me to the brim of my entirely
My heart's content abounds in apprehension
Anxious excitement comes unbounded
Contending to grasp; Yet disappointment serves disdain on a cold platter.

My memory so elusive, it seizes to exist
The more I try to reach for it,
The more it disperses and disappears.
Each time I reach for that bit,
Every time, in disarray, it leaves me
Trying to find it but alas gone, yet not
Instead only leaves merry imprints of tortuous teasing in its wake.

A sinking mirage! A skeptical sham! A daunting prospect!
Is all that describes my memory
Or what's left of it
For it seems flummoxed, perplexed as it is
To what it is supposed to be
And what it is supposed to be, I know not.
Truly indeed, it is naught but an illusion?

Pessimism rears it ugly self
Arms akimbo that perhaps I may never actualize
My heart denies such flummery
Perhaps I might again, finally grasp
Ahold my dear elusive mirage
Which seems to have no qualms 
Teasing me painfully so.

Perhaps, as I least expect, in some unseen future
Would seem preposterous
To think my elusive mirage unobscured
And my mind aligned with translucent clarity
Seeming as though it was always there
BUT, until then my alien torment unending...


©Afolabi Aderonke

Artwork by; Cindee  Klement 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

DREAMS OF A perfect FAMILY VANDALISED BY A FAKE IFA PRIEST

Who is man to God? Who is God to man How much distance do our prayers cover by land? In relation to our circumstances and time What does man think of what he sees? And what does God see of what man thinks Emmanuel; God with us But Immanuel on Alakija Street is having spiritual blurred visions On a trip to the priest to inquire of what the future holds, Inheriting gold and paying exceedingly half its worth to verify if it’s gold The tales of Alamu the one with the gift of palmistry Brothers killed brothers, Because the other has been identified to be, The one who will inherit the gift of the fathers, Which of my kids shall be successful? Answers of which the priest shall deliver A gift of wine, a gift of hen, The fake priest gets fatter, Worshipers of the deity that sip champagne and eat gizzards Whilst living off the believers hazard Your mother is a witch Your sister is the glitch Until your siblings die your lineage shall not succeed, These priests we...

MAY YOUR ROAD BE ROUGH By Tai Solarin, Jan. 1, 1964

I am not cursing you; I am wishing you what I wish myself every year. I therefore repeat, may you have a hard time this year, may there be plenty of troubles for you this year! If you are not so sure what you should say back, why not just say, ‘Same to you’? I ask for no more. Our successes are conditioned by the amount of risk we are ready to take. Earlier on today I visited a local farmer about three miles from where I live. He could not have been more than fifty-five, but he said he was already too old to farm vigorously. He still suffered, he said, from the physical energy he displayed as a farmer in his younger days. Around his hut were two pepper bushes. There were kokoyams growing round him. There were snail shells which had given him meat. There must have been more around the banana trees I saw. He hardly ever went to town to buy things. He was self-sufficient.  The car or the bus, the television or the telephone, the newspaper, Vietnam or Red China were nothing to ...

TAPOTI By: Mao Zedong

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, indigo: Who is dancing with these rainbow colours in the sky? Air after rain, slanting sun: mountains and passes turning blue in each changing moment. Fierce battles that year: bullet holes in village walls. These mountains so decorated, look even more beautiful today. Artwork via: Forbes