So, I wrote a poem for the first time in many months and want to share it with you. Yet again I am looking forward to this month, and grateful to have had an awesome start. I pray October stays kind to me and to you.
Okay, enjoy the poem, bye.✌️🏾
Under dark skies City lights sparkle like stars But soon the sun will come To chase away wispy dreams
Of magic and spells Conjurings and potions Of wizards and witches And freshly mown grass
Deep in dungeons Ancient powers stir Waiting to be awakened On the day of the dead
To walk among the living And feel life throbbing Blood hot and red Awakens sinful pleasures
These are the last days of fall For soon winter comes Bringing endless night And warmth will be no more
Fam! Lately, my thoughts are so random, all over the place, and I accuse my mind of deliberately playing ping-pong just to mess with me. I decided to do a bit of self-reflection the other day, you know, ask myself tough questions like, ‘Is it that time of the month? Bank account gathering dust? Did I put on weight or did my jeans shrink? Valid questions. So, I got my answer but I didn’t like it one bit. Lo and behold, I’m suffering from an acute case of nostalgia. Sucks! Now that I have been diagnosed, I just want to find the cure and get well. But now my other self is looking at me and tutting because she says I can only feel better without my memories. I completely agree with her. I think selective amnesia is the way forward, except I can’t just keep the good memories and get rid of the bad. For the time being I’m stuck hauling my nostalgia around like some twisted trophy.
Moving on. Today I have Lara and I’m excited that she’s here as always. I’ve come to understand that people are a lot like mold, they can be found everywhere. However, quite a few of them stick around you and become something more. That’s why Lara of the Wildfire, as she prefers to be called, reminds me of music in all the years that I’ve known her. Sometimes Lara is like a concerto featuring an orchestra of strings, keys, and horns. Other times she’s a solo flute with dark haunting notes. Or a she’s a soft hum you’d have to strain very hard to listen to or else she’d slip away when you least expect, and all that will be left is a terrible ache. She’s like the kind of music that leaves you feeling more than you bargained for. Lara also loves stargazing, writes love letters to the moon, keeps a cat or two as her familiar, and crushes on book characters.😌
Q. Can you introduce yourself and what you do?
A. Heyyyy! My name is Agbaje Olohuntosin Omolara. Most people call me Lara, a few people call me Shukrah, but I really prefer Lara of the Wildfire. It’s quite a mouthful, but it’s such a sexy name! I’m a content manager, so this means I create content for different brands. Blog content, social media content, email content and the works. I’m also training to become a product designer, because tech is where the money’s at, yo!
Agbaje Olohuntosin Omolara
Q. Why do you do your job, and would you rather do something else?
A. I started in the world of content creation because of my natural flair for writing. I studied Chemistry at The University of Ibadan, yeah? But after graduation, I started getting writing gigs and it just went on from there. Currently, I’m hella tired of the content world. I’m a creative writer above all else, but this job is sucking the joy out of writing for me, and I’ll very much like to stop before that happens. And that’s the real reason why I am training to be a product designer.
Q. What is the best thing about what you do?
A. Seeing as I’m tired of the job, this might be difficult to answer. But if I absolutely have to, I’ll say the best thing about it is the fact that I get to do it from home. I honestly can’t imagine a world where I have to leave my house every day for work. Am die, mehn.
Q. What do you appreciate about yourself and what would you like to change?
A. I absolutely love how creative I am, especially with words. I can make a story out of any situation and that keeps me entertained, you know? Reality can be too much a lot of times, these stories I tell myself kind of make things easier. What I would love to change…well. I tend to be very forgetful, geez! I would definitely want to change this.
Q. Do you consider that people are basically bad or basically good?
A. Good or bad? Wow. That’s an overly simplistic way to categorize people that are anything but. I don’t believe one person is just good, or that another is just bad. I strongly believe that good and bad is something that we all carry within us, and what we exhibit is the side we nurture. Besides, we never really know what we’ll do in a situation until we’re actually living in it. Will I do the ‘good’ thing when xxx happens? Honestly, there is no telling. I could be a monster.
Lara with wingsHer familiar
Q. What kind of people do you allow into your circle?
A. Kind people. I love love kind, deliberate people. Also, I have a natural affinity for writers, readers and dreamers. I kind of just meet them and we decide to do life together.
Q. What have you accomplished so far that has made you proud?
A. I recently published my debut book, Letters, Stamps and Seals, and that book is literally a part of my soul set on paper for the whole world to see. I was freaking terrified before it was published, but I’m also damn proud of myself for what I have done with that book.
Lara at her book launch, Letter, Stamps and Seals
Q. What two things do you think of the most each day and why?
A. (Insert laughing emoji) Food and money na. I never know what to eat, and I like food die! So that’s kind of a recurrent thought. I’m always thinking of money as well, because tbh, money can solve A LOT of your problems! To quote Ari, “Whoever said money can’t solve your problems must not have had enough money to solve em.”
Q. If money was not relevant, what would you do all day?
A. I’ll read! Fantasy, YA, Sci-Fi, Thriller,Poetry, any damn thing that catches my eyes, I’ll read it! I can already picture me lounging all day, reading, drinking tea and eating cake. I’ll also travel a lot and take a lot of landscape pictures. To paraphrase something one of my favorite IG poets said, I have a spinning compass where my heart should be. If money isn’t an issue, I’ll let that compass take me everywhere.
I recently published my debut book, Letters, Stamps and Seals, and that book is literally a part of my soul set on paper for the whole world to see. I was freaking terrified before it was published, but I’m also damn proud of myself for what I have done with that book.
Agbaje Olohuntosin Omolara on Thursday Talk Series
Q. If like a movie your life up to this point is played for you to watch, describe how you’d feel about it?
A. I’d probably say something along the lines of ‘Why the fu*k am I being made to watch this?” while I cringe and try not to die from second-hand embarrassment.
Thank you Lara for the interview, it was my pleasure and all the best with product designing. And thank you guys for showing up every Thursday.❤️
I’m reading Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged, and the book has taken over my life. Literally. It’s Thursday already, you see what I’m saying. The last thing I remember was diving into the book, and that was Monday. A little something from that corner.
Have you entered for a competition even though you knew the odds were against you? I have. A long time ago when I was in primary school I participated in a race – we were having practice for the school’s annual inter-house sports. As a kid I was bow legged; a small puppy could run between my legs with ease because they couldn’t come together without putting extra effort. I walked around with legs like parentheses, like a pregnant woman close to her due date. It wasn’t much of a problem when I wore the standard uniform which was a gown and a bucket hat, but because we wore t-shirts and shorts during practice, it was quite obvious that my knees repelled each other; as if there was a magical force field keeping them apart, – Thou shall not pass!
When I signed up for the race, I was jittery and my heart pounded in my chest. All around me different activities were going on. The kids were running wild and the teachers tried to keep things moving amidst the chaos. That day I wanted a price which was guaranteed as long as I participated, and that was what made me fight down my fear. After the race, I was so excited (even though I didn’t win), my cheeks were flushed, eyes wide and hands outstretched for my price. The teacher in charge of the race scooped snowy white glucose D powder into my palm. Even now I can remember the taste of it, a rush of sugar and melting ice. One of my most memorable childhood moments was getting high on glucose D and giving off the impression that I was consuming cocaine like in the movies.
My darling girl, what is that thing which you want and are willing to do all that you can to get? There’s this African proverb that says, ‘To try and to fail is not laziness.’ I want you to go after the things that you desire for yourself. You don’t what to live your life plagued with regrets because you didn’t try, no matter what the outcome may be. Do the best that you can and your reward will be sweet.
He sat on a low stool by the door and kept watch over those that were sleeping inside. The night was alive with the hum of insects and night creatures, and the moon looked down sullenly.
The midnight blue sky bejeweled with sparkling stars stretched for miles all around him.
As he looked up at the mesmerizing sight he felt a longing deep inside and recollected other nights of light and laughter.
Suddenly he was weightless, no more than a feather, and below him was a body slumped on the floor with eyes frozen wide open reflecting the light above.
He regarded the face, quite fetching he reluctantly agreed, and yet there were lines of weariness etched on it, like a canvas depicting suffering and pain. Up, up, up, he floated, like smoke rising from a chimney in the dark days of winter until the house grew to be a speck. He wondered briefly about the sleepers and what dreams plagued their sleep and if perhaps he would be missed... But soon he was among the stars and they welcomed him as one of their own and finally, he was home.
It’s was raining and the sound of it beating on my roof woke me up. It’s been several minutes since I have been listening and watching the rain through my fogged window. If you had asked me how I felt, I’d tell you that I was happy and sad. Happy that obviously it’s raining, the sound of the rain feels like an old friend, the same as the organ that bellows in my church. There’s nostalgia and a lot of memories that come with the rain. I’m sad because I would really like to be out there in the torrid weather, cold water running down my sagging breasts and thighs, droplets catching on my eyelashes by choice, because I’m aware that there are several people out there, not by choice, who’d rather be inside, safe and warm.
It’s always like this for me when it rains. My memories sharpen, such as the ones of the house where we lived when I was a child. It had a bad ceiling and was drafty because the house was old and was not well maintained. Not only was it unpleasant when it rained, but it also got cold like an icebox. The only good thing was running outside to fetch water and play in the rain with the rest of the kids in the compound. This didn’t happen every time our parents were around. On the occasions when we were allowed, our underwear would stick to our skins like paint on canvas. There was little need for modesty, soon we would chase each other naked and screaming, with our bottoms freezing. It made no difference except it made the experience better. After we are called into our respective homes, we got dry and wrapped in towels. Sometimes our father would massage us with Robb (we turned down Aboniki, ask your mother, she knows what I’m talking about) and our teeth would chatter involuntarily for a couple of minutes as the chill was chased away. If our mother was up to it, we’d fill our bellies with a warm meal. After getting dressed in dry clothes, my siblings and I would huddle under covers for warmth. It could be on our tiny couch in our living room or on our spring bed that squeaked with the effort of holding our weight (it was well past the age of retirement). Part of the reason was to get our feet off the worn carpet that didn’t help to keep them warm. Whenever I think of warmth, I remember the times I fell asleep piled up like laundry with the rest of my siblings. When our parents were not around we’d fend for ourselves.
Most days we’d be too energetic to sleep, especially if it was still daytime. The games we played in the dark to pass the time can never be forgotten(because it was almost always dark when it rains, with the electricity cut off). We built forts with sheets, cushions and pillows. The neighbors would come sometimes and we could team up for wrestling matches or cards. We told ludicrous stories or rehashed old grievances. It was always something when it rains.
Days like this I’m stuck in my chair, my arthritic hands and feet testifying, and still the rain with it’s tap tap tap on my roof brings back memories long forgotten, sweet and sour. I expect your memories of the rain to be different from mine (your mother has heard stories like this, and I’ll send along with this letter some of the pictures from that time). Tell me what you feel when it rains in your next letter and don’t start with your excuses that I won’t find them interesting. Your stories make me feel younger than my years, so indulge this old woman. I wonder that it’s still raining quite frequently in June, hian! Soon the weather would be warmer; you should expect my endless letters complaining about the heat.
I’ve been following your smoke, hoping to see you start a fire.
But I no longer feel irie; you were no Lucky Dube afterall.
I know I’ve lost you but I can’t let go of your scent.
Thoughts that linger in the living room of my mind, sit slouched on the three sitter, legs stretched out on the centre table, making a meal of my lungs as they long for you.
Your burnt sticks are still stuck_in my mind; that socks!
They make my eyes glow redder than the rage I feel within.
Now I’m willing to trade my anger for a 100 (s)cents, dollar per_fume.
Photo Credit: Jéshoots-pexel
BF is a creative who likes to introduce himself as an ex rapper, ex poet and ex writer. He still listens to music (alte head) and writes every other day at work. Check out his blog here
Hey guys! Really excited to be featuring yet another writer. I hope to do more and thank you all for your support. 😍
When you see me sitting quietly, Like a sack left on the shelf, Don’t think I need your chattering I’m listening to myself. Hold! Stop! Don’t pity me! Hold! Stop your sympathy! Understanding if you got it, Otherwise I’ll do without it!
When my bones are stiff and aching And my feet won’t climb the stair, I will only ask one favor Don’t bring me no rocking chair
When you see me walking, stumbling Don’t study and get it wrong. ‘Cause tired don’t mean lazy And every goodbye ain’t gone. I’m the same person I was back then, A little less hair, a little less chin, A lot less lungs and much less wind But ain’t I lucky I can still breathe in.
Witnessed by a starry sky that twinkled bright, and solitary streetlights with their heads reverently bowed, on an empty road that stretched for miles with shadows birthed by the light.
They watched as she walked by, the brightest of them all.
Her feet were bare and bruised but it didn’t matter, it was fate that she would walk this path.
Her head was held high on a neck that towered gracefully. Her back was straight, shoulders lazy, core tight and her hands swayed in time with her hips. It was the rhythm of a woman in love with herself.
Imperfectly perfect.
Her feet were bare and bruised but it didn’t matter, it was fate that she would walk this path.
She walked fierce, emboldened by every step she took. The path was long and danger lurked in the night for any creature alone. But she was without fear. The prey turned predator.
Waking Dreams Unmasked 