Drums on Exit

Now that the drums have retired and the songs have left out mouths, what shall we do? We prepared our dance for the arena. But the drums would not let us. They beat a different tune. And we could not dance to it. We opened our mouths to sing but the songs we prepared left us and came out as they pleased: in starts, stops and dissociated rhythms.
Franctically, we tried to make the songs come out right and hoped the drums would follow suit. But try as we might they refused. The drums continued their tune and the songs their dissociated rhythms. Then we tried to follow the songs and dance to the tune of the drums. But the song started changing song and the drums kept changing beat and tempo. We found that when our mouths opened to sing the next line the songsong would cease the singing and our legs would still be going up when the drums would abruptly cease. Our struggle to adapt became more awkward than our initial confusion.
And while we were still struggling to dance the dance of the drums and sing to the music of the song, the song and drum ceased. Then they left us standing naked before the gaping crowd and walked away into the bend of the sky. The mother drum led them from behind. While the song and drums were walking away the dance also left us and joined them.
We looked, tearful and fearful, at the teeming crowd who were yet to find out where the music they came to see had gone. We knew they would all leave and we would be left totally alone.
When the music fades, make your own songs. This my friend has the belly of an antelope- the best of drum skins. The other has hands as long and limber as cane from the iroko. We will have his hand for drumsticks and my friend the antelope belly for the mother drum. With some of our mouths drawn into O's we will have ogenes. And although song has left us, we will sing to the melodies of our hearts. And while we have our friends for drum, ogene and song, those of us left will take our stand in the middle of the arena and dance the dance that we carry within.
Now that the drum and song that should have been melody for the dance have all left you, you can either stand and weep or do as my friends and I did. And don't think we were fortunate. You also have friends with the antelope bellies, drumstick hands and canoe heads.
Sing your song, hit your tune, create your dance. When nothing is left and everything is lost, create something out of nothing. What you've lost can never be greater than what you have. When you lose a lot you have a lot of opportunities to succeed a lot. When nobody is cheering you can cheer yourself the loudest. After all, you have friends with the hands of a cymbal.

Mending Broken Pieces

Just a simple thought. This is a very little piece. No exegesis. Little piece; huge message. Popular message, powerful all the same. I think common things hold the most uncommon messages. We really learn most lessons from the familiar. The mundane is more than we think. That is a matter for another day, tomorrow perhaps.

Tonight, I have a question. And I would appreciate answers. Speak your answer to the wind if you can’t speak it here. Let the winds blow our answers to us when our spirits gather at the great baobab. Speak your answer quietly before speaking it out. Who says speech is louder than silence? Have you endured the silence of the world? Have you ever sat in the midst of noise and wished someone would speak? That is a matter for another day.

Tonight, I have another question. My question is simple. That much I know. The question itself I am still trying to remember its form and shape. I know what I want to ask but I don’t know what to ask. It’s not a crazy world, in case you’ve been wondering. The earth is spherical, flattened at the poles. Antarctica is an icy world. The Sahara is arid. Lions are fast. Cheetahs are faster. Eagles are big. Ostriches are bigger. America is younger than Europe. Papa is 84 gone. Twenty-five. Big deal!

Why don’t we get back up? Why do we condemn broken bits and pieces to the trash? 

All the King's Men

I always wondered what falling looked like, till the day I fell off a tree. By jolly it was a huge tree and so it produced a huge fall. Falling is synonymous with climbing. Your consciousness isn't suspended. You’re well aware you’re falling. You remember everything you thought you’d forgotten, the colour of the cookie you just threw away, the taste of those hateful salads you now miss, and the stench of your excreta. You’ll remember your assignment lying at home and the leery eyes of the stupid bus driver. Forget the movies. You don’t get to shout when you’re falling. You’ll likely be too stunned, too busy wishing you’d run into Gecko the mad dog and he’d chased your life out of you, wishing for anything other than this slow, stupid and rapid fall. You get to shout towards the end of the fall though, but it won’t be Hollywood style. You’ll just scream like you were a chicken caught pants down, peeing.
Broken bones are easy to mend. That’s not to say orthopaedics is a piece of cake. You just compare it with what it’ll take to mend a broken spirit and you’ll understand why some risks can’t be insured. I’ve been there, both places, and I know what I’m saying. A needle to the buttocks is hell; now try getting a needle to your spirit. A broken spirit; who can bear? Call 911?
All the king's men helped with my bones. Then they wondered why they failed, I knew. It was because they couldn’t reach my insides. No matter how much help they offered with my stitching,  I’d never climb trees again. And that meant I’d never live in a tree house, never have a gang to hang out with in a secret hideout. Don't ever trust king's men. This isn't about spite but all they offer most times is paint and a lot of makeup.
When people fall, the first question they ask themselves is what they were doing climbing in the first place. That's not a very smart question. Then they wonder why they didn't play safe and take the easy way down. That's also not smart wondering. Its not about the fall. It's about afterwards. Questions should be about afterwards.
Isn’t that why the caged bird sings? Free spirits come in different packs. Some come in broken packs, others don't. That's why it's not really about the pack. Prisons are funny. They’re very much like celebrities. They don’t exist until you acknowledge them. I followed a squirrel up a tree today.