Days like this (today) are always strange to me; And I can’t explain why, though I’ve tried, Several times, to myself, unsatisfactorily…
Days like this have the tendency to make me sink deep into myself; Cataloguing, Analyzing, Marking, Contemplating, Appreciating… Alternating between speechlessness and an overwhelming deluge of things to say…
Yesterday feels like a dream, tomorrow seems like a wish; Today, here and now, smells like promises and fulfillment; Like layers of abstractions collapsed into a singularity – reality.
It’s a minute to midnight, I’m watching the clock tick-tock its way to a new dawn; Trying to capture the exact moment of the transition; This wouldn’t be my first attempt, Though each time I’d managed to miss the tangibility Of that sharp dividing line separating old from new.
Sometimes I wish everything would come to a standstill – A moment of silence to acknowledge the passing of a season. Sometimes I wish there would be a tremor Through the fabric of existence, To signal the birth of a new cycle.
Today marks the third anniversary of Makafui’s Journal. For this special anniversary, I would like to take some time and acknowledge and appreciate my wonderful readers and followers. But please, I’m human, so if I miss your name, do give me a prompt and I’ll rectify my terrible mistake (my apologies in advance, I’m pretty sure I’ll be missing out quite a number of people).
First and foremost, special thanks to God, who reads each post even before I write it. ‘Hey Lord, you know it’s always been you first. Thank you for the grace, inspiration, ability and opportunity to have this space…I hope You like what I’ve done with the place.’
Find me on my knees, Kneeling on my doubts and distresses; Hands clasped, holding tight my faith; Eyes closed firmly, that I may not be moved by sight; My words are incoherent, rightly depicting the state of my mind; My mouth seems too slow, not fast enough to articulate the flow – The gushing of thoughts and emotions from my mind backed up behind my throat, My tongue feels tired, but there’s a will That seeks to push until something happens… Giving no rest to self or God;- The mystery that keeps mighty men on their feet in battle, And keeps the sword of the warrior stuck to his hands Even when his arms are wearied beyond remedy; And keeps him facing a thousand as they descend on him Breathing destruction and slaughter…. A small portion of the mystery, that brought a Man To the carrying of the burdens of the whole world.
Walking down memory lane, I come across many strange sights;
Strange, not because they’re unfamiliar, surprising or unnatural;
But because down memory lane things just look different.
Some things which seemed heavy, look like feathers now;
Some things that flitted through barely leaving a mark,
Now seem to have made and left trenches deep and wide;
Fleeting moments that were regarded ordinary, barely noteworthy,
Now seem to be set in gold, with silver linings and adorned with pearls. Continue reading →
The mysteries of divine irony:
That an ancient symbol of shame
In one day became the ultimate symbol of hope;
The price was a life so pure that shame fled.
The crying cross that weeps blood,
Lamenting at the silence of the Saints –
Silent in comfort, but powerfully verbal in persecution –
Blood-marked men wrung through the wheels of suffering
Their robes made white by a thorough washing in Blood. Continue reading →