Thirteen minutes ago, I got a call.
It wasn’t good news, Granny was ill,
And I somehow knew this was going to be the last time.
We spoke over the phone, and she said not to come over;
The voice was Nanny’s voice as I remember it,
But it carried something more now,
A certain weight I couldn’t place,
Though she sounded frail also…it was the strangest thing.
Nanny spoke like I’ve never heard her speak before,
And I listened as if I was in a trance: Continue reading
“God is never surprised by the kind of prayers we pray; He is well aware He came to hear broken people. He ignores the selfishness, ignorance, bitterness, and unbelief; and keeps whispering, ‘My child, this too shall pass; Morning is nigh’.” – Makafui.
The setting is a long stretch of road
Strewn with pearls and diamonds and rubies.
It smells of freshly baked dainties and ripened fruits;
Bright as the noonday sun and straight as a ray of light
With inscriptions engraved at every step:
Beauty for ashes; No more tears; Continue reading
“It’s such a relief that there’s a God who can bring dead things back to life, and who does not disdain to use broken things; For we’re all broken, just to varying degrees.” – Makafui.
“Most times, simple words of encouragement help. They might appear to drop like seeds into an abyss, and get lost in a sea of negative emotions or ample apathy; But with prayer, these seeds do die in the abyss, then spring up as trees of hope. The more seeds you throw into the abyss, and the more prayer you water them with, the more likely you are to see trees of hope spring up in the not too distant future.” – Makafui.
These are words I couldn’t share before,
Trapped in a growing earthen mould not yet equipped
To express the gravity of the thoughts that linger
And roam in the depths of this immortal soul.
I’ve seen things stranger than fiction
And heard things that cannot be put into words
I’ve taken steps falteringly, seemingly aimlessly
To a destination that couldn’t be surer.
To fathers – past and present.
To the past, a tribute; to the present, an ideal;
Because it would be a truly sad world,
When the best Dads are the dead ones.
“My father, my father, the chariots of Israel and its horsemen!”
A teacher whose words marked the path to the destinies of generations;
Fell along the way, leaving only a silent lifeless landmark
No more will I hear him whisper from behind, “This is the way. Walk in it.”
I refuse to recall the dirge about ‘how the mighty have fallen’;
When I cannot find your trusted well-oiled shield’s protection.