EPISODES FROM MY CHILDHOOD 3 : GRANDMA'S REMARRIAGE.

The ten years grandma refused to remarry were the years I learnt that greed could make men dedicate a long time into getting wealthy with tricks rather than investing a very short time into doing something meaningful.

They kept pestering and trying to bully her but there was very little they could do to her. She was smater than every trick they tried to play. Stronger than any blow they gave her.

One of the most dedicated men in the whole remarriage story was Edem, the very man that moved the motion. The slim tall fair cousin of my father that although older than my grandma was still older than his own age. The same Edem that had a reputation of warming the beds of numerous widows and older women in the community. The same Edem that had to be thrown into jail before he stopped.

Edem kept doing everything in his power to get what he wanted. Sent men to rob my grandma, plant diabolic things in the farmlands. Join Udoka who was also interested in marrying my grandma in pressing the false charges.

Handling Udoka was simple all grandma needed to do was to report him to the civil service authority with the help of her lawyer and when he found out his retirement benefits were at risk, he backed out and Edem went on.

The last thing Edem did was harassing my grandma over one of the plots of land. It was planting season and my grandma was going about doing the needful; putting cassava stems, and pumpkin seeds into the ground.

One of the afternoons, while I and my grandma were planting, Edem came in with men in his truck. The carried young Palm trees in transplanting bags. He highlighted from the truck with a face that looked like he hadn't had a single reason to smile since he was born. "Oya! Oya!! Oya!!! We don't have time, he kept ordering the men and behaving as if we ( I, my grandma and my cousins weren't there" 

The men started doing the transplanting. " Hey, what is it you people are doing" 

"Putting some manly trees on my land woman" Edem finally spoke. 

"Whose land? You have decided not to stop this madness eh? Leave here!". Edem didn't say a word, he was feeling very powerful that day. My grandma noticed one of the men uproot her yam seedlings while trying to dig a whole for one of the Palm trees. Like a triggered lioness, grandma flung her hoe, it hit his back the very moment my grandma said "foolish thing! You're yet to plant for yourself but you're busy destroying what another person is planting and planting for an idiot".

Grandma grabbed her machete and charged, they all ran away thinking she was coming for them but my grandma was going to the young palm trees. She gave those young things heavy strokes with the sharp edge of the machete and within seconds, most of them were laid to waste. She did all this saying "this is my land" under her breath.

Edem was ready for trouble. He reached for his own machete and charged towards her. The men he came with were not ready to watch a person kill another so they stopped them. They begged my grandma to drop her machete and forcefully seized the machete Edem was holding. 

When the men managed to grab him and seize his machete, Edem grabbed a stick from the ground and started whipping my grandma mercilessly with it, he didn't stop until my grandma freed herself from his grip and ran away cursing. The men held him again, some slapped him and said "is that woman not an aunt to you, this is too much"

My grandma didn't stop running until she was far away from the farm. I followed her to the house and I could tell from her breath that she was boiling with anger. No man had ever raised a hand on her; not her father who was the late clan head, not her husband. Who was Edem to do a thing like that!

Once home, she grabbed some money from her cupboard and left without saying a word. She would visit her lawyer who would lead her to the police station and later a photographer who would make pictures of the bruises on her skin. The next morning, policeman grabbed Edem from his bed and the judge would give him a jail term two weeks later. 

After the other men heard what happened to Edem, no one told them to leave my grandma and her late husbands properties alone. Grandma like she always wanted, never remarried.

FICTION

Next "AUNT PRECY" episode drops next week.

- Ifiokobong Etuk ( KING of the QUILL )

EPISODES FROM MY CHILDHOOD 2 : GRANDMA AGAINST PATRIARCHY

The culture of our town like every other part of Africa was patriarchal. I'm not saying this to sound in line with the observations of most social media commentaries on gender equality. I'm saying this because it's actually what I saw, felt and witnessed first hand. 

It was a system that supported the superiority of my gender over the opposite gender. Men were seen as the most important members of the society, they had more voices and representation in the meetings, they earned most of the recognition for the actions of their children, they were entitled to several inheritances including women. Yes men could inherit women. They also owned the lands and anything their money could buy

The women had a different story to tell. They earned less of the respect, except on rare circumstances where the men in their lives were seen as important. They couldn't own lands for themselves, couldn't inherit any either and there was a limit to what their money could buy. They earned very little recognition from the good works of their children. Yet when the men talked, they used to say " all sons and daughters of this land are the same" and somehow, it sounded like that speech from The Animal Farm that said "all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others".

No doubt, the patriarchy had a way of providing some privileges for the different genders. Everyone had a place they could be pardoned or spared simply because they were men or women. The men could enjoy certain favours, the women too, could walk away from certain things they did wrongly and also enjoyed certain favours but this didn't change the fact that they were placed on a lower place in the whole scale of gender superiority.

As a girl, the men could forgive my elder sister for not attending the family meetings from when the first libration was poured. They wouldn't say a word if she couldn't make tall heaps of Earth for the yam seedlings. They would spare her if she forgot how to interpret the chieftaincy ranking from the length of the feathers in their caps but my grandpa would whip me if I couldn't remember the beads for the family heads and heads of households.

Many times, my sister never had to carry her water pot on the way back from the stream. Other boys did it for her. My grandpa used to keep goats and no matter how hard I tried, I was never able to beat the amount of fodder she fetched for the goats because the boys that did it for her were way older than I was. 

Being a first son, I had seen many times when the elder family members scolded my sister to go away when they were talking because "big people were talking" while I was allowed to sit and listen because I was "...going to be a man one day". Other times, I was always the first person to take my share of the traditional cake before my sister and my other female cousins were allowed to pick. 

I remember once we went for farming. While Grandpa told my sister to join grandma and the other women to do the weeding, he took us (the grandsons) on a tour round the whole estate to show us the boundaries. When he was done, he said " I need everyone of you, including your only Uncle in the army to be brave enough to keep these things after I'm gone. The world is wicked, they will want to take everything away from you people the moment I stop breathing." 

Till today, that statement still makes me believe he didn't have complete knowledge of the woman he married. My Grandma.

That woman was living in times ahead of when she was alive. She wasn't ready to conform to any social construct that enslaved her and she was unapologetically comfortable with that. I knew from her that a woman could stand against societal constructs that oppressed her long before I learnt about feminism and gender equality through foreign movies and social media.

My grandma was a woman that believed that no gender was created to boss around the other. She believed there was nothing a man on Earth could do to make him above her in enjoying any right that was fundamental to the human person. She believed people deserved to be treated better no matter what they had in between their legs. " A penis doesn't mean you are better than the Virgina that birthed you" 

My grandma was never the type of woman that would watch another woman go through unnecessary suffering and do nothing about it. She used to be some sort of guardian angel. One time, she led a team of women that took up canes and flogged a certain titled man that had the habit of beating his wife and the next morning, before the chiefs convenned, she and her women were already at the village square with a goat, palmwine and tubers of yam.

* * *

Grandpa had only two sons, my father and Uncle Emma and what he said about people coming for everything he owned the moment he stopped breathing came to pass barely a year after the soldiers took him away. 

Some members of the extended family started trying to intimidate my grandma over the landed properties. They started dragging her to the town council over false accusations of land grabbing. 

My grandma had a lawyer and she used the services he could offer. One of my grandpas cousin bagged two years in jail for harassing my grandma over a plot of land. The other faced risk of loosing his retirement benefits if he continued to press the false charges.

When they knew intimidating wasn't a weapon that could bring my grandma to her knees, they brought another one from their bag of tricks. Remarriage.

They tried to pressure her into marrying another member of the family so they could use whoever she married as a mule to grab all the properties. The man that moved the motion in one of the meetings was my father's cousin. He looked at my grandma with lustful eyes and romours around the town said he loved warming the beds of older women. Even if my grandma was going to remarry, it was definitely wasn't going to be him. I knew it the moment he started speaking.

Grandma wasn't going to have any of that. She wasn't going to remarry anybody to appease anybody and she was damm good at standing her ground and she did it for ten good years.

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FICTION

Episode 3 drops next week on this site.

- Ifiokobong Etuk ( KING of the QUILL )

EPISODES FROM MY CHILDHOOD 1: GRANDPA'S PIPE AND THE COUP.

Grandpa used to say words were like soldiers, always coming home after being sent to the front lines of people's ears. He used to say it with  short stories of his experiences in the war. Every evening, he would sit on his rocking chair at the balcony, smoke a pipe and reminisce about his own days in the trenches. He did it in a manner that would make you believe the TV commercials were lying about tobacco causing a thousand sicknesses.

In my words, as a child, I remember saying in front of everyone at Sunday school that my Grandpa was a fine smoker and going on to argue about how cool smoking was when my grandpa did it. 

"You smoke like you the white man used to do. Sometimes, I wish I could ask you to pass the pipe or walk down the stores and get mine" his friend from the army Ekpeyong used to say.

In truth, he was a fine smoker. There was this vintage and classy way he smoked. He would first of all stuff the pipe with the tobacco nicely, doing it meticulously and making sure he didn't leave stains on the table like other old men did. Then, he would stick the slimer end of the pipe to his mouth; it used to be at the right corner and he'll use his lips to hold on to the pipe while he reached for his lighter.

Grandpa wasn't cursed with shaky hands like other old men I knew. His hands were steady they had the precision of a well programed machine. With his steady hands, he'll light the pipe by moving the burning lighter round the the stuffed hollow of his pipe and after a few seconds, the pipe would be an active chimney.

After lighting the pipe, he would stuff the lighter into his coat pocket and like something delicate that came with the "fragile" shipping sticker, he would hold the pipe with just his thumb and index finger. He kissed the pipe like a lover would, I think he held his lips that same way when he kissed grandma. 

He'll suck the pipe for a few seconds, if you listened well enough, you could hear the burning tobacco sizzling and after that was a "pffffffffffffff" as Grandpa puffed the smoke into the air and oh, that sight of milky smoke escaping from his mouth and dancing in the air before disappearing into thin air leaving that smell ( the third thing my nostrils loved after petrichor and the aroma of  Grandma's cooking ) 

After, doing the sucking and puffing for a minute, Grandpa would reach for his bottle of foreign whiskey he used to buy from the town store. He would pour a measure of it into his tumbler and then down his throat. I wondered which burned more, the whiskey of the tobacco?

I remember one Monday evening, I was in the yard playing with my cousins when Grandpa returned from town. That image of him in a grey three piece suit and hard hat, the sun setting behind him and a burning pipe sticking to the right corner of his mouth is yet to find a replacement in my head. Not even the slow motion of Thomas Shelby in the Peaky Blinders beats that image till today.

* * *

Maybe I remember the said evening not because of the image of my grandpa in a grey suit, a hat and smoking a pipe. Maybe it's not the spicy chunk of fish grandma dropped into my soup that keeps that image in my head and till today. Maybe it's because there were other things that served as the pins that clipped that image permanently and stubbornly to my memory. Maybe it was the military Range Rover that carried Uncle Emma and two other officers. Maybe it was because the next time the Range Rover came, it took Grandpa and he never returned.

***

Uncle Emma was Grandpa's second son and my father's Junior brother. Of Six children, he was the only one that signed up for the military like Grandpa. Uncle Emma joined with a degree and was a Colonel. He was the favorite son. 

Uncle Emma, who wore shiny lace ups and well ironed uniforms. Uncle Emma, who had three stars on his shoulders. Uncle Emma who was always in the company of his escort soldiers whenever he came visiting until that Monday evening. Uncle Emma who loved Palm wine and roasted fowl. Uncle Emma who had a pistol strapped around his waist; one time, I heard he shot a towns man in the leg with it. Uncle Emma who always said the head of state was a complete asshole who ran the country like he was drunk.

Uncle Emma, who came with the officers and spent the whole night talking in hushed tones with Grandpa in the living room and left before sunrise. I could only get small snatches of their discussion and it only happened when they raised their voice a few centimeters above their noses.

"You know I left the military because of things like this... Dimka is a good soldier, his plans won't fail... The risk... There's a reward, you'll head the district... You are like a father to us... Do just this one for the country... Just hold on to the files until we need them..."

***

Grandma was a graceful woman and fierce as well. She wore her skin comfortably and with her, anyone could take the best lessons about self confidence. She used to be a woman that would never stoop low for the comfort of anyone. To the towns' people, she was the no nonsense wife of the retired Major, a radical feminist that didn't fit to any enslaving societal construct, the Calibre of woman you wouldn't want to mess with.

Once, one her way back from the market, one of the touts made a joke about her buttocks and in a matter of minutes, he was sleeping in the army confinement cell for a month. He came back to call my grandma "Eka" meaning mother.

Many children used to wonder how I was able to cope with a strict woman like my grandma and sometimes, I used to wish they knew who she was. 

Under the tough no nonsense feminist woman, was a loving and jovial grandma. She would make the best meals and jokes. She sent me to bed with a lot of stories. Some of them from my English reader and most were our people's folklore and war stories too.

I used to love the folklore and war stories. The folklores contained stories about the tortoise and the hare, romance from Ibibio literature like "Sedibe", and adventurous tales like "Mutanda".

She was in the war too, as a military nurse. Grandma told stories of the war but not like Grandpa. While my grandpa studded his stories with proverbs and figurative language ( most of which were too complex for my childhood mind to understand ), Grandma had imagery, her war stories had vivid descriptions. She paid more attention to creating the mental images of the mushroom shaped clouds of black smokes the bombs made. In her voice, I could hear the soldiers chant and charge, win and lose battles too.

About the jokes, Grandma used to mimic the comic characters on TV. She would tie her wrapper and pretend to be Mama G, wear Grandpas' khaki and pretend to be Sam Loco Efe. " Omo I'm just a clown" she used to say whenever she succeed in making us laugh so hard until there was tears in our eyes.

Grandma was a good vibe to be around when she was happy and although she mostly was, the few times she wasn't used to be hell. One of those few times was after Uncle Emma visited Grandpa that Monday evening.

The next morning, there was trouble. Grandma kept yelling at Grandpa. " This son of yours won't kill you! Did I not warn him to stay away from this bloody military politics?" 

Throughout that week, she kept having outbursts and ended up yelling at people. She yelled at my father on the telephone, she yelled at my cousins and our neighbors, even on Sunday during mass, she yelled at the church warden.

Grandma was far from being in a good mood. Her face would do the job of telling you to keep to your Lane and not cross her path. She answered questions in monosyllables and didn't laugh when we shared a joke. She would not walk with Grandpa to church and she wouldn't join the morning prayers either. 

I knew the whole toughness wasn't a true reflection of what she felt. I could see beneath the fight she was putting up and could tell what it was that was driving her. Fear.

I could see it. Grandma was afraid. I noticed she had stopped keeping late nights and added more strictness to ensuring the doors were locked before we went to bed. She listened to the radio and made it a duty to not miss the news. She quickened her steps whenever she was around soldiers. Grandma was afraid, but of what? I never knew until the last night I had seen Grandpa.

***

The night of the day the head of state was assassinated, was the last time I saw my grandpa. The whole country was in trouble and our small town wasn't left out. The soldiers were on a rampage, tearing down market stalls and flogging the women with their koboko. They wore their combat uniforms like we were somewhere in war torn Iraq and exchanged bullets for the stones hoodlums threw at them.

We were listening to the evening news. The presenter was talking about the coup. She said the military government didn't want us to worry, that everything was in control.

" In control? Does that mean that Dimka soldier failed?" Grandma asked Grandpa. He was about to answer when the land line rang. It was Uncle Emma. "Okay!...Oh Jesus!... Okay!... thank you... You too be safe..." Was the only thing Grandpa said. 

The moment Grandpa hung up, he reached for some files in the cupboard under the TV. They were brown and fat with the numerous documents inside them and had "CONFIDENTIAL" written boldly in red, slantly across it's face.

Grandma sprang up from her seat. "Ette Udeme, Nside?" She asked. Grandpa didn't answer, he buried his face in the files and kept counting the documents. Even when grandma started yelling "talk to me! Have you decided to kill us?" He only spoke when he was done. " Ifiok, get my shovel, woman please stop shouting and bring petrol..." He planned to dig a whole in the yard, burn the documents and leave the house before the soldiers came but it was too late.

"Gbaaaaaaam!" Grandpa didn't finish talking when the front door came down with it's frame. Seven soldiers jumped into the living room with their cocked guns. They held torch lights and didn't forget to point them into our faces. Grandma held me and kept muttering "don't worry, everything is okay" but her voice was too shaky to calm me down. I was trembling like a child with cold. 

One of the soldiers was a Sargent, he only had a pistol, and was smoking a cigarette. He was the leader of the troops. "did I hear petrol? What are we burning please?" He asked. None of us could give him an answer so he slapped Grandpa.

"Ye!!!!" Grandpa yelled as he fell on the ground. 

"I don't think we'll be burning anything." The Sargent said and puffed a smoke as he reached for the files. "Take him!" He shouted at his comrades and from the ground, they grabbed grandpa rudely with just a wrapper around his waist and took him to their truck.

Grandma struggled with the soldiers from the living room all the way to where they parked their truck. She held on to the Sargent's belt shouting "please don't kill him" and crying until he kicked her and sent her rolling in the mud before they drove off.

The rumors said they wouldn't do anything to Grandpa and my Uncle Emma had fled the country to return when things were calm, but none of them ever came back, not Grandpa, not Uncle Emma. Ten years later, we did a funeral with empty coffins and their names on them. The preacher said they died for a noble cause, he said like soldiers, they had returned home from this trench they called life to be with the creator. I thought he was exaggerating when he said he saw them in heaven until I did see them in my dreams two months after the funeral.

Grandpa on his ceremonial millitary suit with golden insignia on his shoulders and a pair of wings behind him. Uncle Emma in the same regalia, dinning with angels. What dream could beat seeing my late Uncle drinking palmwine and eating roasted fowl in paradise and my grandpa smoking a pipe beside the throne. Grandma said I was having malaria so after I took a few pills, the dreams went away.

FICTION

Episode 2 drops next week.

- Ifiokobong Etuk ( KING of the QUILL )

A LOVE STORY ENDED IN LETTERS.

 

I know you seek for who

To love you like a brother

Protect you like a father

Treat you like no other

And never dare give his heart to another.

My love poems are a fairytale in stanzas

Kisses that light up hearts

And feelings twinkling like stars.

Smiles, laughter, wine

I wish reality was no different

From the imaginations on those pages.

Castles, kings, queens, kingdoms

There's more to royalty than the crown on heads

Dates, kisses, gifts, cuddles

There's more to a love story than the words on my diary

Hold my hand and say prayer

Kiss me after and hope the answers come.

Save a date and don't worry about the wine

You're always elegant enough to make everything fine.

Say what you feel and listen too

We should be sure we're on the same page too

For it takes two to do whatever that cliche says.

I sent myself to you in a poem

I asked you to return the Favour, lover.

Seal a letter and send a mail.

In it, a piece of your heart

Flesh of your flesh made into scribbles and sent to a distant land

At the coast of my mailbox, I waited.

It never came. 

- Ifiokobong Etuk (KING of the QUILL)

IT'S THE 25TH.

 

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.

I love the smell of Christmas and

Winter was a perfect time to give love.

From our abundance

Let's join God to make a toast today.

.

.

1.

I've been listening to Carols and church bells

The preacher talked about what happened the night before Christmas

He said love was born 

And three men followed the star to offer Gold Myrrh and Frankincense.

I've been reading a Bible story 

About the immaculate conception

And the birth of God the son.

2.

Winter was a perfect time to give love.

When the weather was cold like the heart of man

And the night dark like the sins on the soil

Heaven sent a shepherd King to a manger.

Winter was a perfect time to give love.

When his children had wandered off the path he choosed 

And lies became a cloud of darkness over his creations

He sent the way, truth and life.

Winter was a perfect time to give love.

When the blizzard of nemesis ravaged mankind

And was shredding it's essence in an icy storm

The creator of nature sent the one who could calm storms.

Winter was a perfect time to give love.

3.

I love the smell of Christmas

The spicy aroma that spreads across the table

And the thrilling scents of celebration

Every moment of this day, stays a memory until forever.

I love the sound of Christmas

The melodies from the carols and bangs of fire works.

The chattering and laughter of a people sharing meals, wine and love. 

Every moment of this day, stays a memory until forever.

4.

While we eat and drink from our abundance

And dance to best music 

Let's remember the lone child on the street

And spare a meal or more.

Celebrate love by spreading love.

While we decorate our Christmas trees and homes

With lights and gifts for the season

Let's remember our penniless neighbors

And spare a light bulb or a gift pack.

Sharing the glow and wealth won't make you dim and poor.

Celebrate love by spreading love.

5.

Join God to make a toast today 

In memory of the beginning

Of a new covenant with mankind.

Join the Angels and your church choir

To sing carols and hymns for him

The one called Messiah is born.

.

.

I love the smell of Christmas and

Winter was a perfect time to give love.

From our abundance

Let's join God to make a toast today.

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© Ifiokobong Etuk (KING of the QUILL)

Merry Christmas and a Happy New year to our readers and contributors. 

What's your favorite line(s) ?

PLACES I'VE SEEN CUPID'S ARROW

 

I've seen Cupid's arrow

Pierce through a mother's heart

As with tender eyes and time

She watches her baby

Grow from the cradle to maturity.

I've seen Cupid's arrow

Stuck on a fathers biceps

As with wise words and swords

He fights for and prepares sons and daughters

For the journey through life.

I've seen Cupid's arrow

Mounted on the warriors banner

As with a lion like bravery and bullets

He heads for the trenches

To win or die for his country.

I've seen Cupid's arrow

Sailing wildly through space

Like the sensation created by young lovers

When they say sweet words to each other

And seal them with kisses.

I've seen Cupid's arrow

Bounded in the letters from my Heartcode

When in the middle of the night

She punches her keypads just to say

"I love you whichever way"

© Ifiokobong Etuk (KING of the QUILL)

MY CONTEMPLATIONS ON GOD AND MAN

1. 

THE DIVINE 

You see heaven gave us everything

And when it came to knowledge of itself,

It cursed us with a certain kind of ignorance

So blame not myself for my mortal contemplations.

My head has me thinking God is selfish

A narcissistic being so deeply involved with power and control

So much that he decides to share his glory with no one 

Yet in the end, our selfish God thought it kind enough

To leave the earth entirely for his creations. Is that not generous?

Golgotha still has a question mark hanging out on the old rugged cross.

I see two parties justifying their actions and calling each other bad.

To the jews, a man had been blasphemous and was meant to die

How well did man play God?

Yet to God, his son was sent to save mankind and pay the price by dying

How well did God play man?

We were told God allowed it happened. A simple case of "...God killed God"

And till now, the Trinity is yet to provide a name for the Golgotha story.

Murder or suicide?

Then man, in his constant cravings for everything good, played a role and called it salvation.

Speaking of which.

I was told never to question mysteries

So because of this, the Trinity basks in the euphoria of my ignorance

But since science has failed to explain this theory

And my humanity decides to be omni-inquisitive.

I think I'll need a piece of paradise to understand how three person made one

So in all my wishings, I crave for the Pentecost flame to rest on my temple

Maybe that way, I'll see things in a new light.

I have decided not to contemplate on miracles without understanding God first

What's understanding what God did without understanding God?

So until I understand who did what,

Let's just pretend to believe Water to wine, five loaves of bread and two fishes were all possible.

I contemplate because I seek to know

And,

In all my wishings, I crave for the Pentecost flame to rest on my temple

Maybe that way, I'll see things in a new light.

2.

WHO MAN'S? (HUMANS)

Since dogma forbids me from questioning the creator

I think I'll put my question marks on the creation

Maybe that way, I'll be free from the bliss my ignorance offers.

My fear is not in asking or getting answers either

Because I know people try to answer when asked

Yet they don't guarantee you'll like the answers.

Any difference from dogma?

Man answers from what he knows

And what he doesn't, he finds a way to get lost

Unlike dogma that knows all but answers some

Man doesn't know all, yet he answers all

Man claims to know all from the confidence of knowing little

Yet because he can't do without bliss

Ignorance sits on the crown of his finite knowledge.

In knowing,

I don't think man knows a thing.

We might be peacocking in science but we know nothing.

Yes! The plenary of people know absolutely nothing

How can you say you know of all and nothing of your beginning at all?

Genesis or Big bang? How unsure are we again as a race?

For peace, let's leave the beginning for the past

And talk about a common battle we fight differently

Evil. 

Genderless evil in every sense of it.

How does man see it?

Is it only evil to man because it wasn't done by him?

Or because it is what it is?

How does man know evil?

Oops! I forgot he knows nothing.

For the records

Man might end up being the only mystery that fails to understand himself.

What should I expect from something created out of the image of a mystery?

You tell me.

3.

CREDITS AND BLAMES

When we pray for rain, we also ask for flood

We give God the credit for the first

And say it's good

We gnash our teeth and curse the later

And say it's evil from the devil.

When we pray for long life, 

We are only asking for a delayed death

And if God grants one, he grants both.

So why do we say death is not of God?

We pray for sunshine, and heat is part of it

We thank the first for drying our clothes

And curse the later for making the earth burn our soles.

Such pettiness!

Why can't we be thankful for 

Rainfall and flood

Long life and death

Sunshine and scorched Earth

All at once?

If one being created nature

The credits and blames should be to him.

Should it not be so?

4

ON HOW MEN SEE GOD

Ask man to define God

And watch him talk and brag

About a flawless version of his being.

I think man's perception of God is rather narrow

What if there's more to God than the flawlessness?

What if perfection is not the only thing that defines God?

There most be more to the being of God

Than what perception man draws from his imaginations

There's no way the beauty of heaven will be just golden gates.

I don't fear God for the sake of it

God in his mysteries have taken the status of the unknown

And in all I've learnt

I've learnt to fear the unknown for it's unnumbered possibilities.

#my_contemplations_on_God_and_man

- Ifiokobong Etuk

(KING of the QUILL)

Which line(s) could you relate with?

5.

THANKSGIVING

We call God times more than we can count

For problems. For help. Whenever we can't get our hands around things

So basically, we're cry babies that can't move a finger without calling the father.

Oh! I almost forgot, we call to criticize him too

And we call to tell him he doesn't even exist.

Puny beings!

I think religion made it that way

"Call God whenever you need help and he'll be there"

It's written in the book of every religious basics

And paraphrased to attain some level of the same difference.

Then one part comes a little bit too late.

Thanksgiving!

How often do we call God to show some gratitude?

Spare me the trash of self-righteousness 

And tell me the last time you did some appreciation.

For the last gram of oxygen you swallowed

For the last second you just spent

For the last time the miracle of waking up happened

When was it?

Are you ever thankful?

Am I?

Are we?

?

#my_contemplations_on_God_and_man

- Ifiokobong Etuk

(KING of the QUILL)

Which line(s) could you relate with?