Write and Edit (My Impression)



Writing your ideas down is surreal
But editing what you wrote down is ordeal.

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A Long Love Song (001 - 010)

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001 Harmattan on our village leaves its thick cover: Siblings cling to siblings, husbands to their wives But a robber of a thought my sleep seems to pilfer – An emotion recently gave me the gybes.   Where did love go that the media endlessly Would moan to us over it? Earnestly, In market squares and streets, it’s stridently Said love has gone into hiding so hopelessly   I’ve contemplated how probable is the fact That love could just vamoose from everyone’s heart   002 When it has a day we celebrate in a year; When most wear its symbols as necklaces and rings? Who did put dear love in reverse gear Or did we mix virtues together with sins?   When did gold start to submit to rust? Did guilty take the apparel of just? Who would help stop love smooching with lust? If love is gone, to what do we give our trust?   They say now show don’t tell – this means this preaching Quite sanctimonious folks are bored with hearing.   003 You don’t want to go there, I won’t go there too. Yes, we’re keepi
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Oh yeah, I’m here your much-sought-after New Year: Though you must face it, somewhere someone This moment might the end yet not near – You’ve rain and snow, elsewhere might be dust and sun. I’m here to tell you I’d heard these rants before; They said: ‘This New year I’d work on every flaw; I’d be tough on myself and reach every goal’s door; Yes, I’d grab all goodies from Fortune’s maw!’ It’s not the rants but common sense and iron will; You lack them, my truck back to my den I’d just wheel.
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With the rains setting in, long-distance farming became a gamble. Eka Atim had a not-too-cheering outcome today. The sun dimmed, trees reeled and the wind whooshed through leaves. Across the sky, sturdier birds glided leisurely. The women called one another, carried their loads and hurried along the tracks to the village. Sad though Eka Atim was, a thrill ran through her body as she met a Jeep parked at the front of their mud-walled, iron-roofed house. She thought it could be Godsend. Ete Atim, her husband, was hesitant about educating their teenage daughter. He'd said educating girls was a sheer waste as they would end up as other men's possession or come home with unwanted pregnancies. He reserved his finances for his four sons. Though Eka Atim had great dreams for her only daughter, poverty worked against her. But she'd kept praying for that benevolent woman, who had been coming to pick children to train in the city, to find her way to her doorstep soon.
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