Yesterday, I saw Jerome again. Not much had changed. The height, just a little above average for a guy. The poise, the way his legs bowed as he walked. His face, hair strands here and there. But he didn’t look anything like the cute boy who was my classmate nine years ago at Glory College.
I stood a few meters away and watched him mop his sweaty face with his faded yellow singlet. His head had been buried in the trunk of a vehicle while he exchanged words with passengers who would not pay what he billed them for their luggage.
“Na who get this one?”
He said, before effortlessly lifting the heavy bag of yams which I was to dispatch that morning.
“Na me” I replied as I stepped forward to be billed.
He was breathing heavily and could only manage a smile when he saw me. He mentioned my name and I returned the smile.
Not like we were friends back then, but we talked
“You must have graduated too. Many of our classmates have completed NYSC. The likes of Kingsley, …” He would have gone on to mention many other names but I cut him with a curt response.
“I haven’t” and went on to talk about the things that held me back.
As I readied to leave, he shook my cold hands and said with a breaking voice,
“This is where I am managing now. I lost my both parents and ever since, things have gone from bad to worst. I also want to go to school but…”
He couldn’t say any more than those words. I stood there, not knowing what to say. I looked at him and saw a young man who needed only a repositioning to become an asset.
He gave me his number, he said I should hit him up when there is any study opportunity.
While I returned me home with many questions.
Why do the same winds (of fate) which fans some people’s lives to flames, put out the light (of hope) in the eyes of others?
Those who lag behind in life’s race, are they God’s specimens to the experimental end of eliciting our gratitude?
These questions got me thinking.
5 hours ago
We don't know one writer who has so mastered rejection that s/he doesn't feel bad when a new rejection letter arrives inbox.
True that editors are becoming kinder and picking their words carefully to ensure they do not crush a potentially great writer whose talent is just in its budding stage, but rejection hurts, anyway!
We guess it makes the writer think back on how much time they spent working on a particular piece. The research. The reshaping of characters. The editing of hundreds of sentences. And all these make it even more difficult to swallow.
But then, your "best" might just not be what such and such editor wants. This is why every writer must be patient with themselves because what you consider your best just might be like the prodigal son who left home with everything and returned with nothing.
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"...but sometimes, the sky breaks into dawn with the proclamation of
thunderclaps & gloomy downpours, instead of the gaiety of sunshine,
as if to say that it, too, is still learning the art of joyfulness."
- By @boloere_sod
#poems #poetry #poets #eboquills #thursdaymorning
Every line of these poems is embroidered with mesmerizing metaphors. The poet @AyooluwaOlasupo shares what we would like to call a personal documentary of her journey to healing. In all, her poetry is full of hope and promise. https://eboquills.com/2020/11/19/two-poems-by-nigerian-poet-ayooluwa-olasupo/
Mustapha Enesi's (@Enesi_Is_Fine) story, TRISHA is a sizzling short story. It makes a worthy read for the adventurous. So, if you love adventures, don't sleep on this one!
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