VOICES ON MY BIRTHDAY. Thank You LORD for your grace,mercy and Love that Endureth forever!... Please,forgive me for all the years and moments i have wasted doing nothing. Its a new year in my life,to live according to your purpose,to bring glory and honour to your name every moment that i breath and strengthen me to be the voice of the voiceless.bring........................I whispered as I prayed. I looked at the small stove on which the tower pot stood gallantly.it was indeed tower.I smiled to myself.I placed it there yesternight.the pot was empty and i slept with empty stomach.i deliberately didnt eat so i could it this morning even if i dont have the appetite to do but even now,appetite is nowhere to be found and i dont feel emptiness in my stomach except my heart.The people living there were massacred. I picked the pictures lying beside me on the bed.The first picture was the picture of my first birthday.hahahaha......I laughed. In the picture,I wore a blue neckline and hemline sequined gown.silver earings,basket style plaited hair with bangles.I have no sandal or slippers on my legs.A small table was placed before me with two packs of cabin biscuit at eachside of the table.The cabin biscuit pack on which a man with oldskul hair held biscuit to his mouth.The packs been changed overtime. Other girls and boys as of my age stood beside me and the others taller and older stands behind me. Then,my cheeks were chubby.I clawed at my elder brothers shirt and chubby cheeks was disorganised as i cried to be rescued from being snapped............Mother told me I dont like being snapped the reason I didnt appear in most of the family pictures. The tears giggled unobstructed down my face like air in an open space.I picked my pen and starts writing about them for my birthday has conjured their voices again. Before the massacre, betterstill,the blooming sound of massacre from the blood gulping god.,All was well. We lived in harmony though,we have different voices and different problems. We lived in North east street.Our street is very scarce of the rich. My sister(younger).who always run down the street to show her mates the stories i writes about her and the mates who in turn run to me shouting write for me. Who loves singing and dancing.she was in the childrens choir.She dreamed of singing to give hope,love and laughter.Shes been doing it,until............. My elder brother,the gentle and generous one.who loves sharing his foods with the children on the street who have nothing to eat. My mother,the storyteller and songstress who teaches through Fable stories and also a disciplinarian. My father.who is exactly what he supposed to be,my father.who through compassion,brotherly love,hardwork and gentle nature witha cheerful look won the hearts of many. The boy,my classmate with the super patched-patched trouser and sandal,who attends extra lessons with cassava flour (garri)and kuli-kuli and no dey carry failure. Safina my friend who was raped and was told to keep silent about it. The boy,whose guardian lives in dilapidated house.that sells pure water wearing half slippers,dirty and torn clothes on hot afternoons to just eat food once a day. The pensioner who holds folder everyweek,speaking english language in tongue because he wasnt paid his pension. The brother who graduated 5years ago with nothing like employment,who comforts himself with sports talk. I had them all in my heart until the massacre. My pen still wants to dance because their voices must be heard in a faraway land.I can only make it possible through writng but i have no paper to write on now.Would you buy me a book? Wait.......theres a knock at the door.:...Happy. Birthday.... Oh!...that should be the man whose love is surrounded in blackness who also wants me to write his story.......Ill be back soon! Happy Birthday To Me! Winks.. I looked at the small stove on which the tower pot stood gallantly.
Posted on: Mon, 19 Jan 2015 12:50:23 +0000