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SAME DEVIL, SAME GOD!

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He played the enemy. He played the helper. He staged us in debacle. We were lost – completely out of sight. Swallowed by the uncompromising waves and in the wild eyes of the storm – it was tsunami-like. We survived. How we did, I know not, but at least, we found ourselves on dry land and to our surprise, he sent a limo to pick us up. Same devil, same god.

I know I can think with my head. I try as much as I can to use my brain. I observe my world. In addition to observing my world, I do as much as I can to observe other people, and when I do, I try so much to draw sensible lines, and respect them.

Everyone is smart – we must realise that, and never take anyone for granted. You can offend anyone – you can inflate your ego, and assume that you know more than everyone, but I must warn you that the most dangerous people to offend are those who hardly get upset. Peppers are easy to crush, but never mess with the ones that have suffered from the revolution of blades because they can splash, and when they do, the consequences go far beyond the moment of impact.

He was your friend – you called him a heartthrob. You laughed together – you did merry always. He gave you the key to his soul – you could come in and go out at will. Nothing was hidden from you – you saw it all, heard it all, but when the jeweller spanned the golden clock, you became intoxicated, and without reflection, capsized the ship close to its destined shore. Give yourself a pat on the back – you won a laurel, only awarded to traitors.

The last time I did a credibility check; many were found wanting – my very own were the worst. I only uttered a word, not like I didn’t want to say more, but I wasn’t allowed to. I’m not a coward – my lips were zipped, not with a zip actually, but like in the days of slavery, they bore hot metals through my lips and shut it with a padlock. They thought that was the end of my voice, but I am a sign writer – not a graphic designer – I meant, I do sign languages – only the skilled understands me – only those who understand riddles, parables, spins and twists. I have been speaking since I lost my voice, but this time, it isn’t for everyone. I’m done making efforts to be heard – this time, you must make efforts to hear me. I’m done running on your lane, all because I want to do your race and help you win a laurel – this time, you must fight your own fight, and win your own race. I’m done picking your own clothes for you – you either learn how to match the colours of life, or walk on galaxy, embarrassed in nudity.

As she soared in arrogance, I remembered what my late granny told me. She said, ”Instead of inflating, why can’t we deflate? Instead of being big, why can’t we be small? Instead of flying high, why can’t we walk on land? Instead of being metals, why can’t we be mere sand, so that we can come down to earth and build? We can build the children and make them princes and princesses. We can build hope, and give people reasons to live. We can build lives, and mend the broken hearts. We can build futures, so that everyone will be eager to walk into it. We can build dreams, and make them come true. We can, if we put self aside, and come to the consciousness that the world is big enough for everyone.

We were all angels, until we started seeing self- we thought we found our I.D, but that was where we lost it. We were all free, until we started making slaves – that was where we all got chained. We were all beautiful, until we started defacing the needy – at that point, we all became ugly. We had class, until we started social economic grading – at that juncture, we all became poor. We still don’t see it – we still don’t realise it – we think we’re high fliers, but long ago, we began to crawl like insects.

Did you hear me? Are you sure you understand me? One day, there’ll be poetic justice – believe me, one day, there will. You can ride free in the open sky, flaunting your wrinkled ego. You can plant flowers with spikes on the lanes of those that refused to worship. You can play god for now – you have the breath, keep doing it – you have the world, use it the way you want it. But you’re not eternal – you weren’t born to be – soon, maybe, in a hundred years’ time, you’ll be history, and the world will go on. Then, the future will look back and see what a god you were – a joke – a pathetic joke.

Coast to coast, they went. They decided who could be free, and who would remain bound. They turned men to donkeys, and gave them too much laden – too much to bear. They were gods – whoever they wanted to live, lived, and whoever they wanted dead, died – same devil, same god. Little did they reckon that life is like vapour – it comes like steam from the boiling pot, and disappears into the atmosphere like it never existed. Because they were too proud to listen, they never understood the simple handwritings on the wall – they mistook the invisible hand that scribbled on the ceiling to be the shadow of a drunk cast on the roof of a pub. And because they played god, they missed the entire points.

The prepaid worshipers lined the streets. They hailed the Dracula. They said he was the best thing ever. But he was a wriggler – a snake – the one that rattles. And to top it all, he was also a chameleon – he knew how to change colours when he needed to. He outsourced death, and always feigned ignorance. The more I told them who he was, the more the victims said I was a hooligan. I am not a saviour, so I muted.

I’m about to round up. I’m going home where I found life, a purpose. It’s not geographical – just a place I run to when the whole world upsets me. It’s a place where I turn frustration to motivation – a place where I turn failure to success. You can beat me now, but I won’t feel it. You can call me names, but I won’t hear it. You can strip me, but I won’t catch cold. I have my immunity triggered. Life goes on!

 

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Ken is a leadership Motivation, Strategy and Personal Development Writer, Blogger and Speaker. He writes for a number of magazines and blogs. He is also a mentor and published author of several books.

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