CRY, BUT HARVEST YOUR TEARS
Whenever those beady tears come
Don't let them flow into earth bin
For there are seeds therein
Just like in penis-cum
I am not a crier...at least not the town crier of some remote Anambra village, say Abagana (they still have gong beating town criers. LMAO, ask ma'am Olisakwe).
Well, I did not mean that jind of crier...I meant the teary eyed crier. I hardly cry-at least not since childhood when we try to make a point, or seek attention with some mouthy wailing.
In school those days, I was known for not crying. Whenever a hurt got to the point of making me cry, someone would get really injured. I was very vindictive. Make me cry or make me bleed, your a goner, no matter how big.
Well, my grandma died some 13 years ago- I did not cry. could swear that no one felt as pained as I was, but I did not shed a single tear. So many people think I am that hard, coconut head, stubborn goat of a boy...
I laugh. They're wrong. I am a crier (scratch out my first paragraph). The only thing is that I chose when, why and how to cry.
In fact, my last cry was in 2012. I suffered a huge setback. I told no one, not my mother, brother or colleagues at work. I just went home and wept (wailing like a baby) while typing some really bitter poems on my keyboard.
I wrote 3 poems in one hour, crying:
Dammit! Take away hope
Set me free of her rope
She flirts and courts your will
Only yo push you down the hill
~ DAMN HOPE
She poked her fingers
Into my belly
And took away my heartbeat.
I am but a carcass.
So here I stand,
Of the feast of failure.
All I have left
Are salty pears
But that is not the cry I want to remember. The one I want to tell you about is the crying spree I had on a night in September 2003. It was the beginning of my tortuous journey through the university walls.
I was just beginning to sponsor myself through the university as an 18-year-old victim of an evil stepmother (exactly the way it happened with Snowhite, I swear).
Well, that night, after almost 2 days without a meal (I was broke and too proud to beg my roomamates), I decided to cry my heart out under some steps (my eyes are wet typing this out).
I must have been bawling because a security man appeared from nowhere. He couldn't understand English but he did a fine job of calming me down in Hausa.
He told me my future was bright and I should ignore whatever was the cause of my tears.
Then he walked away ( I am really crying now).
I walked away too...but I HARVESTED MY TEARS. I got busy and started watering my FUTURE with my TEARS.
Snatched my destiny from Failure's grip and here I am...
I collected the bile of rejection
And the frothing spittle of shame
And brewed for myself
The sweet wine of honor.
Now, all men sit at my table
Seeking a drop from my bottle.
My journey is on..
You can do it to, just HARVEST YOUR TEARS!