Fyzabad and Pies

Fyzabad and Pies,
Two things I chose to reject;
New journey, old shoes.

You see, we were kindred soles,
Oxfords walking down  paths orhthodox for lovers,
But Oxfords ain’t really meant for walking.
Still we pressed on; in tandem with the clack clack
of giddy heels down the streets of Mucurapo  every morning,
Where of course, the fyzo stand was located.
With bated breath and boldface bravery
A stranger breaches the boundaries of my headphones to say

“Fyzo by two.”

It teased smiles from the corners of my lips like varnish peeling off
Grandma’s wooden floors but it never gets old,
For even though it wasn’t my destination,
They say home is where your heart is, mine always on it’s way
to where you reside, and so deep inside I’d always whisper, “soon”.
Somehow the pie man found this rejection to be
Premonition that somehow I’d be hungry,
But na. So uh. yea.

It wasn’t long before these shoes realized they’d be a bit too uncomfortable
for the journey ahead. Instead, you said that you’d need to go on
solo, And I respected that. The fact that we were so close
Led me to let you know that’d I’d hop on one foot if I have to for a while,
but you were so shook that earthquakes turned to chasms miles wide; you put some distance between us.

Like a cereal killer you crossed off these cheerios till it went from oooooh
to oh.
As in OH.
As in o-n-e.
As in one.
Cause it only takes one o to spell alone;
It only takes one o to spell lonely;
It only takes one o to win a football match… (what?)
It only takes one o to spell confused,
Cause it only takes one O to spell his name.

I mean, what did you expect?
The neglect I now understand
But what I don’t is the stance you took
To so proclaim your need to look to God alone,
But here you are hooked into the mould of a hyprocrite
Cause you did just the opposite…
You said you like cats, right?
Just double checking the facts, cause they
might just be another one of your lies.
Bruno Mars? That blue pack soldanza chips…
Plaintain? Plaintain is sacred so I pray you
Were honest with that one.

I know theatre is your passion, so
I’m just recalling your actions to decide
If they were an act or not.
You called curtains on us, and I didn’t see the play,
So I wasn’t playing coy to the fact that it was merely
A change of scene. An obscene ploy in which I was the
victim. I was your muse and I hope I played the role
To your liking.

So I’m back to sneakers now.
It’s easier to be casual in  my lonesome
Than caught up in the illusory fantasy
That we’d be a pair.
I hold the bees now. And from what I see,
This whole affair was far from beautiful.
I don’t hope he makes you happy.
He’s a good man, so he’ll probably do that anyway.
I’m just too grown to invest any more emotion
Into someone who still plays childish games.
Fire bun Fyzabad (except you Nicky, you a good  one),
And pie man, maybe one day I might give you a sale,
But grease and salt just sounds bad for my health right now.

Fyzabad and Pies,
Two things I chose to reject;
New journey, old shoes.









[Very Late] Year in Review – 2017

Recognising that the month of January has almost come to the close, I realise that I am quite late in doing this, but as some would say, it’s better to be late than never. And so alas, I sit here in the cool of a silent evening to write. How have you been? Often I stray from this place, but the dance of my fingers against the lobes of my brain always bring me back. I really appreciate everyone who’s still here in my journey, both in this blog and outside.

It’s been a rough ride.


2017 has been a mixed bag of chips for me. If you’re aware of the popular online challenge of eating mystery jelly beans, that’s how it felt for me, and for the most part, I got all the bad ones. There were some good ones in the midst of them, however. I graduated, and put out my first track as an artist ever. I also broke up with my girlfriend, and the funny thing is all of which I just mentioned happened on the same day.

This year has left me with more bruises than I thought possible, and it challenged me in every way possible. I battled depression, my darkest insecurities, struggled with my faith and basically lost every sense of who I was and how I saw the world. I wish I could say that I’m sitting in front of this screen, the clacks of my mechanical keyboard accented with a hint of the smug confidence of victory, but I’d be lying.  I’m still a broken soul, in desperate need of Jesus and in constant, sombre reflection of days past with a faint hope of the future.

I’m still faced on a daily basis with many problems and battles, and I’m constantly reminded that I’m far from perfect. I’m far from put together, and far from where I want to be. It’s in this state that the ever present, soft, still voice of God is often heard, when the bustle dies down and you’re sitting in silence. Sometimes, your world comes crashing down; and in the midst of the rubble of all the idols you’ve built, you see God face to face. With tears in your eyes you recall the love that you’ve been missing so badly.

Sometimes, your world comes crashing down; and in the midst of the rubble of all the idols you’ve built, you see God face to face. With tears in your eyes you recall the love that you’ve been missing so badly.

Looking back, it’s pretty easy to see God’s hand in guiding me through this maze. I saw Him in the constant, overflowing love and support of my friends who saw me sinking and didn’t turn away. I saw Him in the moments when I felt like life wasn’t worth living anymore, and somehow an encouragement would come at just the right time. I saw Him in the times when my plans didn’t work out like I planned, but the alternative lead me to grow to become better in the long run. I saw Him in each and every piece of poetry, guiding my hands as they etched my heart on blank canvases.

In the midst of my brokenness, I take heart in the fact that I know I’ll be alright. I know that He is God of the Hills, and the Valleys too. Every step I’ve taken thus far is but another step in the journey of discovering who I am, and who I’m meant to be, and once again, for those who’ve been alongside me in this, thank you. 2018 is upon us, and I expect great things to happen, but I now that it won’t be easy. To 2018 I say… bring it on!


Letter to my heart

Dear heart,

Why are you like this?
Why do you incessantly insist this necessity of love interest,
Not really wanting to commit at this time but just for the heck of it?
Women are not for your benefit, so suck on this loneliness and cherish it
Be humble and treasure the sweet tender nectar of patience and relish it
For fainting at every brown skin is not productive for reaping in due time,
Curls don’t yield the returns to which your investments define.
So you better get back in my chest, keep time to that 4/4
Play to the score of my vocal chords when I say chill.
Not every beautiful soul is yours to behold,
Celebrate them and nurture them to grow.
Be their brother, their friend, towards no end,
But just to treat them as daughters of your most High God.
You are desperately wicked, whimsical and intrepid
You go too far and you’re way to reckless,
But I wanna care for you because honestly, you’re just too stupid
To really think on your own.
I worked really hard to piece you back together,
But duct tape and super glue won’t last forever.
Take some time, let the stitches hold.
Beat again. Feel again.
Let the blood circulate within, oxygenate and release
In the constant ebb and flow of time.
Don’t push yourself.
My arteries are just fine so stop falling victim to that silly archery.
Cupid ain’t Jesus.
And neither are you.
It’ll be fine little buddy.
Just trust me.


All credit to theAwkwardYeti.com

On Being Social

Hi everyone! This is a piece from my past that I thought I’d share with you, since things here have gotten a little… dormant lately 😦 I hope you enjoy!

I follow her like twitter, in desperate hunger for her 135 characters that meander the truth that lies in deeper waters; wishing to slide in her dms and inquire further but it just seems like I’m somehow always blocked. Her account’s so private the only one who knows what’s in it is the Holy Spirit. I like and reply though, in efforts to pry into the solution she cries or hopefully dry her eyes. Now I know my Facebook status doesn’t read in a relationship but our  relationship is no secret. Sometimes though, it is a mystery to me. The memories are lit; back when things were legit and we’d love each other with hopes of mutual benefit, but now, she hardly reacts to me anymore. Not sure if it’s the memes but she just seems to not be there on my feed. Hers is still pumping though, but reruns run her territory these days. It looks like we do share memories after all. She responds in group chats but often she won’t text back and I’m left to wonder what’s app with that. Seen often but not heard from, but she’s been trying and I know it. I’m not on snapchat but I’d rather not use that to hear her stories. Or messenger. Or whatsapp. Or Facebook. It seems even excel may have stories soon too but it still won’t access the words that I desire from her. If you’re thinking she’s the worst ever, shut up. I don’t often know her story but neither do you. I have but a foretaste of what she goes through and I will lay waste to any who judges her based on what they see. Underneath she struggles. She huddles behind night screens and screams for release from things she wishes were but a dream, but wears a smile cause she knows she will get through this. She’s strong, but I wish she’d not use that as an excuse to bear it all alone. I just want to be the one she runs to post her statuses to. That when something exciting happens I’m the one she runs to instead of the world, because to her,  I am her world. It’s not wishful thinking, it’s just going to be a little way down the timeline. I may be bleeding, but I’m not dead yet, and I’m not going down without a fight.

What a privilege to trust in Jesus


What a privilege to trust in Jesus
When burdens leave you heavy.
Heaved to your chest, sweaty from the scorching sun,
Packing your own insecurities on the riverbank;
The bloodstream of your thoughts,
Flowing into every aspect of your life.
A privilege to know that you can let go,
And have Him carry it for you.
Take a rest under His branches,
And shade in the cool afternoon,
Seeing all the beauty of the nature you missed;
The beauty of His nature;
Not to worry how it went from a still blessed peace
To a nightmare of a storm,
Because He willed the clouds away and lifted you from the ocean.
Walking on oceans could be tiring sometimes,
And staying afloat a bit troublesome when you’re not looking His way.
I may not understand why it’s come to this,
Or why I should even try when my efforts seem futile.
But nevertheless, because You say it,
I’ll cast my net in deep waters.
Weather my net be full and breaking,
or just as empty as when it was tossed,
Whatever my lot, I trust You.


An ethereal, deathlike embrace.

A grace that blankets me from the insanity of existence,

I sleep. Often tossed between regret and repentance

I distance myself from reality, tossing the sheets and beats of this heart aside;

I long for that fragmented respite.

It’s an escape. From me and who I’m meant to be,

Because the journey to the latter is arduous and painful.

I sleep because I know better, but don’t want to strive for it.

I dive asunder the waves of slumber because I want attention

But won’t care enough to give myself it

I turn blind eyes to my heart and beg for someone else to take care of it;

I’m selfish, lonely and weak.

Dreadfully unique and misunderstood, poured out with no refill

Cause ain’t nobody got the juice; I’m a dream junkie.

Please help me.

Not you; but me.

You can’t help because you’ve been asleep for years now.

I was never meant to be the strong one;

Just a guy with a big heart and brittle bones

Strong aspirations with lazy undertones

A donut,  perfect and beautiful with a gaping hole

That no one should have to fill but Jesus.

Sleep on me: I’ll kiss you goodnight.

I blow no alarms because I live in silence.

I have no qualms with you living your life;

I will not beg to be a part of it..

Even when I want to be.



I’m just another beggar in need of a morsel;

I’ll point you to where the bread is,

But sometimes, I just don’t know why

But I just don’t go myself.



Run, Christian, Run!!

The Sojourner

If you were born in the nineties then “Run, Forrest, Run!” is probably a phrase you have heard at least once growing up. I am not sure about those who were born afterwards. I guess it is still likely. I really can’t say.

Anyways, I say all this to lead to the following; If I had only a few seconds to impart advice to fellow disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ (more commonly known as christians). It would be “Run, Christian, Run!!”.

I am 98% sure you may be wondering “Sojourner, what does that mean?”. Well this is derived from 2 Timothy 2:22 which says:

“Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” (NIV)

So again, I say to all christians, “Run, Mr./Ms. Christian, Run!!”

It should be asked “Well Sojourner…

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I am individual.
Fearfully and wonderfully made; the crucible of molten struggles
Blood sweat and tears crushing me together like mandibles
Hammered gently into place by obstacles that may or may
not have been of my own creation.
I was fearfully and wonderfully made.
My purpose undeniable, gravity weighing my heart like shackles,
Burdening me with greatness that I’m able to achieve,
Even if I don’t believe that myself.
I am unique and special
No one has a story like mine, its arcane and mystical
A whimsical mystery that to others are fables
Fickle against the sands of time, lines written as it grinds against
The memories of my mind’s vestibule.
Can anyone know it?
None can truly understand because their perspective is different to mine.
They are never inclined to see through my eyes,
Steep as the hills they may climb they’d always fail the hill test.
It may be manual to them, but automatic through mine
Eyes still blurry as the mirror of my soul trine to my thoughts
As God’s divine light lay incident on it.
Incidentally, they may say they love me but how can they love what they do not know.
How can they hope to bear the fruits of what they never sowed
And trust that it be sweet when they have no idea how bitter it can be.
Through the cross of Christ His mercy may provide a way perhaps.
I am individual. Single and forever I shall remain.
Whether tied to another and founded to be in unison or tethered forever to the chains of my lonesome I will refrain.
The melody of my heart strumming to the beat of my feet as I keep pressing toward the mark of His high call.
Rest when I fall but a righteous man will rise again.
In times of treble I know where my help comes from; no one but Him
And so I base myself upon His foundation; the clef of the rock.
The only surety His shores shall bring to me,
The rest won through battles of anxiety and uncertainty.
I am individual. I am me.
I am exactly who He made me to be.






I feel like when I write my words don’t say enough
I’m afraid that if I go too deep my message will be out of touch,
Like, my mask has grown too thick, so much that
I don’t remember what my face looks like anymore.
It’s such that any more of this falsehood poetry
Is going to pull false hoods over me like dark hoodies
Strait jackets that keep the insanity inside but never let it out.
I silence my own self. my cries for help oust my cries for help;
Does that even make sense? I’m smothered incense, incensed
By the sensations of my fingertips behind the pen.
Some call it brilliant; art; beautiful and unique
But the proprieties of my piety to me feel like blasphemy
Because I’m afraid staying true to who I am has left me forgotten.
Why tell my story if no one listens? Or hears, but loses the message that was written?
I bleed lines across the streets for them to sleep in drains and puddles;
I bleed into hearts but my blood is muddled.
Plasma they can’t see on their Plasmas, the doors to their soul shut
To the reality of my life as it separates to blood and water;
Sprinkling on altars as offerings in hope of help in my suffering
But what meets me is congratulations and applause.
No pause to see the reason behind these lines
No concern for the times that produced them.
No cause to reflect or introspect; just a waste.
The strife as I play poltergiest to make these words come to life
Tossing ideas and swinging songs across their minds
It comes to bite me in the behind because all I wanted to say was I’m sorry.
I messed up, and God forgave me; thank God!
I love you but I’m scared to show it.
I miss you but don’t want you to know it; cause I know you’re busy.
You tore my heart out but I’ve learnt to survive.
I need more friends like you. I need friends.
I’ve been having a really difficult time. Please pray for me.
Life is beautiful. Take a moment to enjoy it.
I’m a broken soul behind a fake smile.
I sometimes think nobody really cares.
I actually just want to serve God with my life, and don’t care for material things.
I talk too much.
Maybe if I learnt to shut up and just say how I feel, things would be different.
Maybe if I just trust in Jesus instead of fighting so hard to be perfect, then I’d actually become it.
Maybe if I just said want I wanted to say, you wouldn’t want to listen.

Castaway: The Second Epistle

O dearest of mine,
I know we don’t see eye to eye, but in my defense it’s hard to spy
you when we’re oceans apart.
This faint heart beats hard watching the stars above the sea,
Riding this heart rate to Mars as the pressure of not having you
Around scars it with hope of a day where we’d be reunited.
But body and mind fight daily to climb the hills of this island.
Toiling through the anxiety I’ve found shelter and meal,
The appeal of survival as a means to the end of us;
Not that we’d end but in the end us will still be.
But this survival has been spelling the end.
E, everyday as the curves of the swirls grow more enticing,
The temptation of the island’s fruit reminding me of a sweetness
That I reminisce about;
N, the nagging at my heart strings every time the birds sing our song;
They flock together and I’m left to be without the right pair;
Just a sole survivor in my imaginations that salvation could come to us;
And the idea that Mrs. Right is still out there.
I shoo a pesky crab that tried to snap at my ankle.
D: the Day I decide to give up. I can’t say how far survival has gotten
But its hard to focus on what is hoped for when the realities of life demand my attention.
I can’t begin to mention how much I’ve fought to not call this island home;
I’ve heard that home is where your heart is, and I refuse to plant my flag
Anywhere within this island because it’s not where I want to be;
I’ve had tears, fear and hopelessness for company,
And they haven’t been the best friends but they’ve helped me feel comfy,
Growing accustomed to hard floors and wet feet.
I’d much rather wish to adorn this paper with the gems of your beauty
But it’s grown faint and I only see in the mirror dimly;
I only wish to speak the truth.
The truth is I’m alone; You’re out there as my home
and I’m here as the prodigal; longing to depart
With this parchment on the journey to your dorms.
That’s where home is to me.
The epitome of sanctity, encased within the body
Life breathed into and alas it became living.
Away from the spice of this isle
That extends for miles beyond my reach.
It’s sweetness leaves me bitter
As it quicker serves as anchor than propeller
And so with urgency I deploy this letter.
My prayer is it is delivered,
just as the first within this bottle as my messenger.
Signed, sealed, and administered.
As may this second find you and the first together.
I still love you.