The ω of the α

He lost his mind and crushed his heart with it,
Now he endures a consequence he cannot forfeit,
The funniest thing is that he was aware of how hard it could hit
Yet he let in the impetus to commit-
the offence for which there is no defence irrespective of your excuse’s phrasing,

 

 

Thus he sits and realises how intense the situation is,
It will all actually get harder before the onset of ease,
So crisis after crisis he must deal with now, with a mind of his own making, improvisation for the mindless is tantamount to a tease,
How is it that all he ever does is the opposite of what he needs,
Doesn’t the yield deserve to be good and so too the means?
Yet this level of thought seems to elude his line of sight, he knows neither his q’s nor his p’s,
Fit for the results? Perfectly; he is the definition of the paradoxical masterpiece,
A jigsaw whose owner would never master in peace, for the effort he would need to muster to place each piece would leave his mind addled and nothing short of unappeased…

 

 

He must be seeking something he needs to put a finger to, but the revelation of what that is escapes him each time he brushes it with a finger or two,
What must he do to understand himself without shutting out the world in and to which he is lost, must he sit and wait until the frost sticks to him like glue,
that in the cold and cruelty of it all, buried by the snowfall, he may find the final chess move?
That life may see it fit to be defeated by a fool is surreal, but that is exactly what he must do…

 

 

If indeed his is the path of the lost, and he made a mistake taking the wrong right,
then he realises now that he must return to where it all began within himself and leave at the next left, following the hope that there shall be light to guide his foresight,
In hindsight he realises there could be something he’s shutting out that keeps barging in, he must face it as soon as he can without compromising the essentials he has to deal with, insight-
must be found in calming down and finding grounding, then settling down to start a fire and with it igniting his own inside…

 

 

All that said, he’s sure he shall rise again, like white on rice his zeal shall remain true and from it he shall yield a gain,
Life has taught him a lot through pain, and even more through the struggle to surmount it, pure strain,
Which leaves him confident that the colour in his face shall return along with the grace that fled with it never to be traced, but hidden in sight plain…

 

 

Writing on his behalf, I’m sure he’ll get through it all,
When we trip ourselves we fall,
And when we disrespect our selves, we injure all (who care for us at all),
But what matters is that when in our court we find the ball,
We pick it up irrespective of our flaws,
and make the best of the lessons our evils have left us with, big or small

 

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.

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