The Man in the Mirror

Poetry

I see my reflection and I don't like what I see; because what I see is defeat and that defeated one is me. I see my frail self, cracked and broken, with a million reasons why I failed and not one why I could thrive or "make it". The man in the mirror is me; I don't like what I see.

I didn't get out of school, or maybe I'm an orphan. My parents left me when I was just a toddler or abused and talked me down just for fun. Maybe I made it out of school but with a poor result. All chances of success elude me. The man in the mirror is a failure and that failure is me.

Don't tell me to pick myself up, you don't know where I've been or what I've been. True. You don't have a clue what I've been through. Don't judge me because I with drew from all the awesome conversations about the future pictures of ourselves we drew. That was fantasy. This is reality. I'm less than mediocre; I'm slow I'm a retard...not as smart as the rest. So please let me rest on this bed I've made of my shame. The mirror on the wall says it all: I am a failure left in the gutters never to stand tall. Lame is my middle name. I'm poor.


***


And just by chance or happenstance, I glance in another mirror and an ember of hope is rekindled, glowing from a distance . I fear this reflection because he looks like me but with far more glory. He seems to know my pain and as for my struggles, my reflection is found wearing them. And then, he seems just as weary from the long walks I've undergone but yet he is accomplished and my pathetic self pales in comparison with his awesomeness. Now I look like a shadow, I feel my skin to confirm that I am real and not an image. Yes, I can't place this but the man in the mirror...I fear him. Not because he is great, but because he is me!

He walks to me and shows me the truth. The fact that I didn't get out of school is so that people like me could. I suffered their pains so I could understand their bruise and provide comforting words not some lines from corny blues. My parents left me so I could feel for orphans; so when I become great I could relate and stretch out a helping hand. I look again at my self- my actual self- and break my poor mirror, its reflection is weak, because a mirror is meant to tell you the facts, but all it gave me was deceit.

I drag the seat closer to sit, for the sheer revelation of the truth has made me faint. I now see clearly the lies that false images paint. Now I know the truth and I definitely know fake. Because the seller lied to me that that mirror was authentic and I paid so much for it, not in coins and credit. My life has been spent looking at the wrong reflection because once I changed my perspective I saw in a new dimension. I am great not because I said so but because I have seen so. I have seen so many people look to the wrong picture and I cannot be so stupid to repeat their intro into lies.

I see my reflection and I don't just like what I see, because now I see how unlimited I can be. But I see two images merging into one, mine growing greater and transforming into the greatest image of all time: the image of the Son. I wonder the mirror you look into, check if its reflection says you are less or more. The one given by the Devil or the one brighter than the sun? Because my image is in the Bible it tells me I am great and there's no need to debate; that is the image I'm rooting for.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
2 Corinthians 3:18
But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.

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Onye: The Actual Story

Fiction

"Save him! Please!!! Save him...he's all I have"

My future slipping away from my hands as I plead for a chance to get him back. Robbed and heartbroken I cling and cling to any hope unexplored for the chance to catch a glimpse of the future torn at its seams. My boy is dying. I need salvation. I need someone to save him.

"Please, he is all I have. Just save him". The man in the white overcoat looks at me blank-faced and emotionless expecting me to understand the rules of the game."Madam, you know the way things are here; the economy is harsh". He had barely finished speaking the last words drawing my spirit out of my chest, though still breathing, that my scream drowns his calm recitation of the inconveniences that render my quest for salvation near impossible. "Madam, its not our fault". "Sorry there's nothing we can do".
***

"Take it!!! Take everything!!! Take, take everything!!! Carry doctor. Its all I have!!! Just give me my boy; please! Just my son. I need my boy back!!!", my words interrupted by the uncontrollable wailing tearing at my cheek bones begging to be released unabated. "Madam...we are sorry"-my heart steadies itself for the final verdict, drying my half fallen salty tears mid air as life begins to retreat into slow motion, with the winds and even the chairs sympathising with my ordeal, without stretching forth their nonexistent hands to comfort me, comforting hands I desperately crave-"your boy has passed away"


"Chimooooooooooooooo"..."Chimooooooooooooooooo!!!". In a split second I feel my grief mix so perfectly with deepened rage as I stone every last belonging I have at him. "Doctor, you are wicked!!! Wicked!!! Wicked man". As the nurses restrain me, digging their inch long nails into my muscles, my mind boggles, questing exceedingly to understand the depth of sorrow I've been plunged into. At that very moment it was as if my heart was estranged, divorced from the default logicality my head had gone into. My life in pieces.

Gone...finished...alone...distraught...torn...lost.

"Mummy, mummy". At the sound of the call I can identify in the deepest of sleep, my heart leaps out of my body as my head once again runs into analysis to figure out the impossibility of the sound that has granted me loony hope. I must be dreaming for I am sure that is my very same son calling for me from the dead. As the call gets louder, my hope gets wilder and my chest beating faster, my body feels like the weight of a million stones drawing me back from the comfort of the tempting horizon my imagination might very well be painting me. I struggle to reach the room the call flows from-a struggle superseded by the ability to reconcile reality and fantasy. It can't be...


***
As I lie sobbing uncontrollably clutching my son endlessly, words fail me to explain the warmth swirling in my heart. My life revived and my hope renewed, my joy restored; my gratitude immeasurable. But if God refused to grant a plea I didn't even have the boldness to ask Him for and I am left childless in my old age, would I blame Him? And if my heart desires be ripped apart from me for my own brazen flaws, would He stop being God? Yes sure; He steps in when all hope steps out. But even if He slayed me...

I will yet praise Him. I never deserved any better. But I'm sure glad that I know He's there for me.


(Inspiration- "Onye: The Story". Watch video on MeTube).

"Haven't Even Kissed", by Moriah Peters

MeTube

I have been waiting patiently
I locked up my heart, gave God the key
And I've had to trust Him for a while
But now I can't see you and not smile

I didn't think we could get here
Now I'm believing
Before we met
The world said I was dreaming
This feeling is something from Heaven
Beautifully more than I could've imagined
And I have always prayed for something like this
And we haven't even kissed

Sometimes you seemed so out of reach
I held onto hope but I still felt lonely
Then I gave God the pen to write this love story

I didn't think we could get here
Now I'm believing
Before we met
The world said I was dreaming
This feeling is something from Heaven
Beautifully more than I could've imagined
And I have always prayed for something like this
And we haven't even kissed

I asked for a miracle
I got so much more

I didn't think we could get here
And now I'm believing
Before we met
The world said I was dreaming
This feeling is something from Heaven
Beautifully more than I could've imagined

I didn't think we could get here
But now I'm with you
Even more than my wildest dreams have come true
And we haven't even, haven't even kissed, no
And I have always prayed for something like this
Yes, I have always prayed for something like this
And we haven't even kissed
No, we haven't even kissed

I didn't think we could get here
But now I'm with you
Even more than my wildest dreams have come true
And we haven't even, haven't even kissed, no

Courtesy Lyricsbox

Thanks babe...

Fiction

Hey darling,

I know you love me with the sweet essence of your heart. I know you try your best to keep your head from being lost in thought about our future from the moment we met till this very day I take you down the aisle. I know you feel for me deeply and you can't wait till the wedding is over. Babe, thanks. "For what?", you may ask. Well...

Thanks for not making it too difficult for me to wait till our wedding night. Thanks for putting me at arms length when you could have easily let emotions take over, let lust rule and we entangle ourselves in the most filthy of ways, the very same thing we sit in church every Sunday and stand against. Thanks for having the strength to whack my face when we were out for ice-cream and I got to complement you beauty, and then your figure and...well...I over complimented. I know that the weak side of us would have totally enjoyed towing that line, but thanks for reminding me of our vows-not the till-death-do-us-part; no.

The vows we made when we gave up ourselves to the Master, when we first got married to the most awesome groom of all time, Jesus. Thanks for subtly reminding me with every fiber of your flesh saying otherwise. Thanks for banning me from your flat and cutting short our dates when it's after 4. Thanks for shutting me out when I overstep propriety; thanks for all the times you stopped picking my calls after I slipped and let the beast in me take control. I'm glad you were there for me, holding strong when I felt weak. Because after today, its all gonna change. The wait is gonna be over and you'll be mine for the taking, the way God intended it. You are mine and I am yours and weirdly, we are His.

Thanks for being awesome. Thanks for saving yourself for me. I feel like the luckiest guy alive.

Signed,

Your soon-to-be-husband,

Me. Duh!

(Inspired by Moriah Peters: "Haven't Even Kissed"),



"Worth the Wait", by Joseph Solomon

MeTube
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
The lines were epic, the concept classy, themessage; one of the deepest I've ever received. This has gotta be one of the best spoken word deliveries ever slam dunked on me. But heck, that's my opinion. Let me know yours.
Enjoy "Worth the Wait" by Joe, courtesy chaseGod.tv


Fired

Fiction

I quivered as I approached his office. I knew I was surely done for. How he found out I do not know. The snitch that ratted us out would be dealt with if I get out of this scot free. For now, the books were with the CEO, our fraud left clear in the open and heads would definitely roll. Mine definitely.

"Oh boy, we don die". I could see Charles was feeling exactly like me. It was fun while it lasted, but we knew this day would come. And it had. The day we face the music. The day it all came crashing down. We were so fired.

"Close the door", he said gently without waiting for our good morning greeting. He pointed to the swinging visitor chair positioned in front of his table beckoning on me to seat. I obliged and in that moment you couldn't tell whether my napkin was generating the sweat or the pores in my skin. I was evidently drenched as I thought about how devastating it would be to lose my job. Chief Accountant sacked for embezzlement. What of my children, my wife, my club commitments? I throw a quick glance at Charles standing beside me and I could read his mind. Mine was saying the exact same thing. I knew I was in trouble.

"You are stealing from me, Accountant. You are stealing my money". Nobody told me to drop to my knees because in a split second I could be jobless-worse still, jailed. "Sir, I'm sorry. I know its much; I'll pay back". Listening to myself, I knew it was impossible. With which job? Which money? "I'm sorry sir. Please sir, have mercy", I begged. I can still remember that moment. My throat was as dry as though the Harmattan season wasn't long passed.

CEO had one look at us and laughed dryly. We had nothing to offer and he knew it quite well. He knew my begging was useless. One look at his expressionless face and you could see that all the cards were in his hands, with the power to do and undo. Seconds seemed like endless hours as he stared at me, then at Charles and back at me, my heart pounding like heavy weights on concrete. I was speechless, muttering every prayer and vow I could remember.

"I forgive you...". The words, for sure unbelievable, hardly sunk in before the door barged open as the Project Manager walked in. "Oga, good morning CEO sir". "Sir, I've called the police sir", he gloated motioning to the well dressed officers brandishing handcuffs on their side belts. "Sir, you know in our Code of Conduct Manual clearly state in Section 4 Subsection 3d that and I quote 'any fraudulent activity contravening the financial stipulations and sound transparent running of the company's economic activities shall be treated as a violation of the laws of...'; Sir! Are you listening sir?". I frowned at the PM dashing off to the police headquarters. But he was the least of my worries now.

"PM. Go and sit down. Who signed that document? Is it not me?". He stood mouth-agape as the disbelief at the CEO's disregard for punishing me resonated in his mind. "But sir...sir, this is fraud. You know that this is a financial crime. They should pay. Sir, at least suspend them. Do something sir?", he insisted, visibly angered that I was about to be let off the hook. But all it helped do was delay the inevitable. The CEO had his mind set on freeing us."PM, I hope its not because of sacking them you brought these books to me. You have done your part. Thanks for the information".

 "Like I was saying, accountant, I forgive you. But if you ever try it again! If you try it again!!! You are free to go".

As I walked back to my office I thought to myself on how lucky I was to make such a narrow escape. Every fiber in my body shivers every time I remember the way the CEO forgave me. But for some funny reason, Charles continues to embezzle. He's transfered now to another branch and somehow he feels D-Day would not reoccur. I call it stupidity. Refusal to realize the danger of his actions. With the PM always watching our backs, I'm sure he's scheming our downfall endlessly. Another day is coming when he would not be able to wriggle out of his trap. Once bitten twice shy. I cant let that happen to me again. I've learnt my lesson. I leave Charles to his fate.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hebrews 2:3a (NKJV): How shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation?

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