MY CHRONICLE

MY CHRONICLE

In the belly of september 11 in the late 70s
a shout of joy was birthed in the 
compound of OLAOGUN
Living like no tomorrow in the village
No letter, no word in graphic
The reading slate was blank
I couldn’t recognize graphic
Living like no tomorrow
When the going got tough
Amidst the thorns
The stage was left opened

1988 Lagos received the king without a crown
I mean a king without foot wears
No fabric to reveal the glory
Almost nothing to something
School authorities rejected the brain
Father pleaded,not without a disgrace suit

The brain was polished for a year
 This is the rejected stone of yesteryears

Journey at the forefront
Hope is for the future
Future truly lives in faith
The definition is not accurate
Days lies in wait for either good or otherwise

I really don't know the content
But looking through the maker's eyes
I see there is hope
I have two eyes but I couldn’t see tomorrow
Yet faith says all is well

Days are full of evil
Who knows the cause?
Yet, my body is lifted daily
Thanks to my maker
I can’t cry, yet I have cried
I can’t nurse mucous, yet it flows freely 
Freely, when my sight is buried in sorrow

I hate struggle, I ink about struggle
My book ‘THE SCRIPT OF LIFE’ has the details 
I thought I own the pen to frame the destiny
As architect of my own destiny
I did the architectural work thoroughly
Yet, things form hold on me 

Behind my smiles, there is this pain(s)
Yet no pain, no gain, they say
Grinning like a green will never rub off the pains
Dancing to the melody of the world around 
Will never put an end to the pains
Be a loner will never make a difference
Crying like a goblin will never ease the struggle

My hands are tied, I couldn’t do a thing
Come see tears flowing from the socket of my eyes
Come see mucous running not stopping
My heart was tearing apart
Come see bleeding from the inside

I write but things seem not right
I exclaimed God WHY!
Why ask me why, I really don’t know why!
But He said ‘WAIT FOR A WHILE
I hate to wait, but I am pinned to wait

Years back He led me to his own profession
I hate it!
But only one option left, provided I detested being glorious

Too early God!
I protested,
But the wind gives no sign
The dried leaves sing no song
Instead, I was drenched in the 
pool of my sweats

Theology received me in tears
In the class my heart bleeds
I tried to bid for a plead to back out
But behind me mouths were ready to applaud my stupidity
My legs are in the river already
I mean a stormy river
 
Going back is never a story to GREATNESS
Pressing forward is where the crown lies
My feet is fixed to the ground like hippopotamus
No storm can stand my brave
Roman 8: 34 is my guiding principle in this calling

I have seen the stormy sea, 
Playing prank on my sweat
I have experienced the burning sunlight
Contending with my temperature
I have seen the whirlwinds
Trying to uproot the faith
I have seen fire trying to consume my ministerial suite
But the inward fire subjected the physical fire
The stories of yesteryears formed the glory of today
God did it for the village boy of yesteryear's

My chronicle

Abiola OlaOluwa
Poet & Author

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