Write down the first words that come to mind when we say… home… soil… rain. Use those words in the title of your post.
Birdy’s music tries to do to me, what onions also try to do – make me cry
But I might have a medical condition, which restrains tears from falling from my eyes.
Her voice in my head reminds me of every sad time I never had
Every heartbreak I never experienced
Every loved one I never lost
Every time I have been misunderstood
Every time I have questioned what was wrong with the world
Every love that has been unrequited (and trust me, that’s a lot to think about)
Those moments I felt ashamed
And those ones I feel like reliving
Her songs make me feel foolish
For every time I have been aggressive with the world, people, situations and with myself.
Her songs give me the kind of calm that makes to say to Chamomile tea, ‘to hell with you!’
Fregene is my friend
I do not remember how I started calling him Birdy
But I like that I call him Birdy… because he hates the name.
Fregene reminds me also, of Chamomile tea
Because he once relayed to me an experience he had
With daylight bandits in Ikeja, Nigeria
His calm reaction to the situation still amazes
Fregene is my Chamomile tea friend.
Sandy, Humus, Loamy and Clay soil
I stabbed my class in primary school where they first introduced this concept of classifying soil into 4 texture
And so I never really understood it.
Alongside the class on Sin, Cos and Tan in secondary school.
And that on Estates and Settlements in the University.
So yes, I have a bunch of things I do not understand.
But here’s what I’ll tell you about the earth and its four different textures;
When your end is here, and your body is let down into the earth,
Loamy, Clay, Sandy and Humus would feast on it.
For when it comes to food, all differences are put aside…
Rain… The Scent Of…
My sister Bosayo, and I were the weird ones.
Whenever my father drove into the filling station,
We would, instead of switching off our phones and putting out our cigarettes,
Sniff sniff sniff the air
The scent of petrol intoxicated us
My sister Bosayo, and I were the weird ones
Whenever it threatened to rain,
We would, instead of running to the back of the house to pack the clothes,
Press our noses against the dusty net in our room
And just sniff sniff sniff.
The scent of the rain intoxicated us.
Now, I am the only weird one
I sniff sniff sniff weird things
Time has stretched us apart from each other
And I do not know whether Bosayo still sniffs around the world
But weird things still intoxicate me.
Tags: birdy, calm, chamomile tea, death, earth, Family, Friend, Love, music, prompt, sister, soil, writing
‘Perhaps’ is the word I heard In my head As…
…but I dey try pass am! On the 19th…
Last night, I dreamed a dream. In my dream, I…
I have arrived oo, Boro wrote about me. Even though she had to pick my most emasculating experience, I’m still glad.
These are the kinda pieces that make you wanna pronounce ‘Lord’ as ‘Lawd!’…
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