Tag: Ola The Poet


Weekly Insight: Ola the Poet

The ‘What If’ Factor

 

If to a believer you are no more than an illusion of faith and to a dreamer you are a figment of imaginations past. Then what is a soul that lacks belief and hope?


In the time of need where the skies trimmings are purple and gold and your lips echo defragmented speeches of light and love, where do I lay my burdens If the sky already has a barrel filled with scattered promises and sheltered dreams.

 

If emptied souls relied on weak minds to fix them, the turning of the moon will be an eclipse during sunrise and mountains will flourish with snow and fog. A smoke screen to cover the insecurities of which is carried by many.

 

If in an ideal realm lavender cured the scents of our promiscuity and rose gold covered our envious hearts. Would we be wild and reckless with love and dreams, with sight and vision or would we be basking in creations deep as Gods mantle piece.

 

Will the emancipation of men and women be told vicariously through others who Willingly delve in greatness or would perish in silence because of our own impediments.

 

Redemption comes with hope and hope with belief. Belief with faith and faith in high power.

 

So….. If to a believer you are no more than an illusion of faith and to a dreamer you are a figment of imaginations past. Then what is a soul that lacks belief and hope?

By Ola the Poet

Weekly Insight – Ola the Poet

No Condemnation

We haven’t spoken in a while,
I have so many questions but not enough answers,
I reach for the manual but I lack understanding,
My lips are sealed,
So I guess its time to let it rip,
My biro leaks questions of a lost child,
In my dream,
The king and I had scenes in which we played,
I believed in the wonder that is him,
No!
I’m not Alice,
Jst a soul who’s joy has soiled through many sheets of scattered failures.

Truth be told I am angry,
In rage,
Like the ash that spreads through Iceland,
I am infected by diseases of this world,
Tell me!
Tell me why you sit on the throne and allow Agnes to die?
Or why Damilola went through turmoil before you erased him?
Why did you let Haiti crumble? And let Katrina loose?
Why did you let war rip in Freetown, Sierra Leone?
Answer me,

Yes its true I do things I shouldn’t do,
so I front,
Like a hologram,
I can’t touch you, but I should trust you,
Trust you with my life as it deteriorates whilst you watch me go
through invigorating pain.
You say you do everything for a reason,
What reason do you have to allow those in Afghanistan to die in the
hands of the Americans?
You hear my thoughts each day of the ticking clock,
You see my battle with pornography,
Yet you do nothing,

Yeah I think his buff
I’d lash him,
Sexual thoughts whilst in church, The sermon of the pastor is a blur,
As brother Ayo who sits opposite me wears revealing shirt of all his muscles,
A bulge poking from him T M Lewin trousers,
Stupidly I confide in a sister and brother is Christ and they look at
me as though I’m filthy,

You hear my cries,
But you don’t comfort me at night,
You say I won’t give you what you can’t Handle,
Erm! I don’t think so,
Do you jst reveal in my aches and pains?

You see I adore you,
seriously I wanna be like you,
But I’m washed in sin and I need your blood to wash me clean,
or do I?
Would I rather enjoy the pleasures I roll in?
How can I believe in someone I cannot see?
Then you whisper keep the faith it will manifest,
In a new rage I drown,
I slip through sage,
Return through the wardrobe like the kids of Narnia,
To see the chapter “faith without works is dead”

So I begin to pray,
Speaking in a tongue only he can understand,
Bound by his blood,
I am cornered,
By a serpent in sheepskin clothing.
I rebuke you that inderrs my progress,
For my faith teaches me strength and confidence.
In him I am free,
Like the dove that saws through the skies
My faith in him has no bounds. You see his word is bond and so I stick
to it for that is faith.
My manual to life is filled with the books of courage and wisdom,
Before I was born he knew me, Better than I know myself,
Each hair on my head,
Every footprint I made, He was there,
There with me he stood,
Through my failures,
So I go back each day frustration boils from within,
And John 3:16 and I become acquainted again…

By Ola the Poet

Weekly Insight: Ola the Poet – Lay!

“Lay your head down on my pillow. Feel the comfort caressing you into a state of  peace.


No longer feeling monogamous about your daily routines.
But falling in sync with the universe.


Connecting to synergy and exfoliating with passion.
Let it be that the lies you told are wiped into thin air as reality sets in and takes precedent.


As you inhale breaths of life and the scent of cold air and mist brushes your nasal.


Be aware that the seas of which your life wiped away are an exhibition in the sand of footprints and souls.


In front of s a fire place you burn your perplexed aura. Anticipating ease and warmth.


Like water on the verge of boiling point you see no reaction till steam evaporates and then only then does your inscription of history become evident and pure  oxygen becomes toxic.


Laughing gas becomes tear gas and you realise that NOBODY IS PERFECT.

Lay your head down on my pillow. Don’t close your eyes if you want to see your dreams come alive.


But you have to close your eyes to face your fears and live through the nightmares.


Be like the blind man who senses and reacts. Not like the privileged who see and procrastinate”


By Ola the Poet

Weekly Insight: Ola the Poet – My Portion

My Portion

Tears in my eyes but they don’t fall they are tears of the sun, but I don’t soar like Eagle’s in the sky, I am a black star, I reach for the blue skies, like a dove, peaceful and serene I have accepted that I am me. Going off like a firecracker this page echoes my understanding.

Listen to my story:

Speaking the truth comes easy when it is the truth. You see I never knew what the heavens looked like till I saw him. To me he was like poetry personified. Similies and metaphors encapsulated, pauses, nouns, adjectives and pronouns, Yes! He was a walking confirmation of my favourite past time.

He was similar to black clouds on a dark morning, orange flames resembling the sun, like a silhouette, behind sheets he covered his disguise. Reminiscent of my past, flashbacks of my once reality He was birth out of pain and stress I felt his hands write on my blood as he planted seeds, some days I can still feel them.

I a ruined canvas, paint splattered all over the Mona Lisa. During the early hours of the night I would interpret my mode into spoken images on my home made paperchase. When seen they said I hermeraged words, but then the bleeding stopped, the essence of it all overwhelmed me so I stepped back and saw my words move with passion at a steady pace and I realised time was the best healer.

So I took a voice. Not mine but that voice that compelled me to speak, speak for the voice that covered their scares with make up, or that one voice that is outspoken and flamboyant to hide how they really feel. That voice that always took the shouting, bullying and, cussing thrown at them but never spoke out. I am that voice standing.

Treasurer of hearts, my life was in that box, pandora, they portrayed me as they knew it, a vision of me through their eyes but not through mine.

Tears in my eyes but they don’t fall they are tears of the sun, but I don’t soar like Eagle’s in the sky, I am a black star but I reach for the blue skies like a dove, peaceful and serene I have accepted that I am me. Going off like a firecracker this page echoes my understanding.

By Ola the Poet

Weekly Insight: Ola the Poet – Man…

Man…

From their roots you will know them” I heard a man say to stylishly glowing lady. From experience he had seen the ins and outs of a temple he conquered prior to his new found philosophy.

Expressing that he knew all the fruits of the spirit. So when conversation took place his senses escaped to pollute the propaganda he had just heard.

A woman has the right to do as she pleases“. Being seen and not heard wasn’t her motto. Her forte was to pleasure. But her strong will devoured her into an equilibrium. She had told him that life was her teacher and through her faults she understood the perplexed man. A man she envisioned as the world. One who rapes your dreams and feeds you lies through a straw which you so happily drink through.

Then I over-heard him say “you regurgitate what you have been spoon fed and you spit it back out with conviction. Feeling that nothing else could be the truth“. In a land where knowledge is power we believe that once applied we are in position to be great. Not knowing that your knowledge is restricted by those that produce the products you indulge in.

She looks at him as he preaches the laws of the Black Panther. Piercing his aura she tells him “by their roots you will know them”. Through Adam I know you. Man of the world I see you. Manipulating the ones who suffer painfully to carry you. I see you.

Man, the example of failed dreams and broken hearts, of eagerness and irresponsibility. The representation of the world we live in. “Man cannot be trusted“.

As he listened to her trembling voice and the passion that hailed from her, he realised that she wasn’t a woman that was to be seen and not heard. But a woman with a voice that must be heard. Amongst the midst in which two parallel worlds met. A sense of understanding and comfort reigned.

The realisation that both men and women can be heard coherently in a conducive environment was overwhelming.

By Ola the Poet

Weekly Insight: Ola The Poet – Journey

Walk a mile in my shoes they say,
You have No IDEA what its like they say,
Its like a walk in the park for you they say,
That’s what they do. They say.

In a parallel universe I am all that I am. In a pair of Jimmy Choo’s
or vans. I walk in them with confidence,
Knowing that my struggles get left behind with each step,
I’m gliding.. Almost like walking on water.

But in the space of reality I am drowning, having to learn how to swim at every chance I get, it seems like my struggles are heavier than perceived.

In a society where we squeeze into what we aren’t and pretend to be what we aren’t just for acceptance and satisfaction, I’d rather stick with my 3year old pair of Clark shoes and walk the streets with pride, head held up high,

As old and tattered it maybe they are my foundation,
Throughout my journey they have manifested into what my purpose is, Swap them for a fresh pair of Toms or Converse’s I will never do for my journey is a different one. My lessons learned and taught in them a more rewarding than a moment of boasting and flashing lights.

My mother once told me that patience is gained when tested and
solutions are found when you look at your situation from the outside
looking in and that rushing for what you want may not necessarily be what you get because your journey at each chapter in your life is a different. The comparison to those around you will lead to self
destruction.

So I say to you. If like me you still walking in your pair of old
shoes.. Keep walking because the day will come when those shoes will manifest into the person you have become.

Keep Walking – Head Held HIGH – Keep Rising