the moment we did it...

HORSESOUL

silent strides...
dreary rush for a crush
to stir up the hungry caged stallion within;
plodding clods of dirt,
plowing clots of thoughts
in a bosom-space
my eager hugging arms have
failed to embrace,
that my reaching hands
have failed to touch

searching eyes...
these hurts
that have creased
my wincing cheeks,
my hollow smiles have also failed
to stitch the tears that lacerate them

i crouch
with the poise of the Thinker
no, this time
i'd rather let me scream within-
let this whinnying horsesoul
take the next and first
valiant thrust
towards the radiant tunnel-light
of my fledging dreams.

what we saw when they looked

pelleting slugs
growling like castrated canons,
ripping flesh and sinews
crippling walls, bonds and milieaux

dripping-
the wishes...
slipping- the drooping sanity
rippling- the lame excuses
for primevial ordeals

nibbling at the frail edges
of a nations integrity..

still the wailings resound

while the carnage abound

and justice is bound
'cause they heard nothing
saw nothing and cared less
for what they looked at
when we saw...

look

the doors
are closed
this time around
don't know why
but i think i'd try
coming in through the windows

thought raids; sloshed psyches
from stomping my feet
in a brainstorm

the night will still come
when we no longer have any use
for eyes...

and the heart rends: splash-lights
from torched fears
tortured nightmares...

and we go way back
to a past
wrested from the
clutching arms
of the future

and

we'd chart our steps
through mazes...

and

we'll find our voice amidst echoes

and
a word that transcend words
and a world beyonds worlds

if only we'd just stay still
and
truly
look...

cracks on a wounded wailing wall

The issue of carnage is not alien to Jos, Nigeria, Africa or the rest of the world. History is laden with them, and the horrendous events that characterise them seem to stretch beyond racial, religious, geographical or sexual borders. But then there are exceptional ones that have shocked humankind, that have become the epitome of grim headlines on many tabloids and the bane of peaceful co-existence among ethnic groups, religious, sociocultural, political affiliations and nations all around the world. The carnage in Jos, since its inception in 2002, exhibits its own brand of uniqueness. Although there have been many reasons behind its causes, and also many versions of these gruesome occurrences, one thing remains obvious, and that is the ever increasing death toll of innocent lives of the indigenous and visitors, as well as the lackadaisical approach of the federal government in resolving the crises.
I took this shot, which I titled "Cracks on a Wounded Wailing Wall", while I was in Jos (situated in Plateau State, Nigeria) and came across the ruins of a building that was destroyed during one of these crises. I felt that they were vestiges to the trauma behind these ordeals. In this particular wreckage, i attempted to initiate a seemingly endless journey through the window of the camera lens into the external window of the building that reveals a winding line of sight towards the heart of the crisis. In this visual context, the window assumes a metaphorical denotation which describes the subliminal pathway that transcends the physical; one that divulges a seeming omniscient route to the unseen. The telltale cracks are scars silently screaming out the pains the occupants may have experienced when the incident occurred; the physical, emotional and psychological wounds they may have incurred then. I am convinced, and i believe many will agree with me, that there is more to these conflicts that meet the eye. Understanding them and defining them realistically will take us a long way in resolving them.

TROLLING SUNK PROMISES

FACELESS: GENERATIONS