April 2012

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Green musings

You woke up one sunny morning drove out of your house and cursed the black road with marks of your used tires…

slammed your forward pedal in a graduated and careless  speed until you are stopped by a nigerian policeman at his post …

With a smirk and certain familiarity your words rises past the mirror frame

Your right hand darts out of your right pocket with  a note to end your delay… so you urge him with your words…”ogaaa” with a slur and drag that purposely mocks his uniform and poverty.

You can see his shoe open to the sun like a DSTV dish, your  mind does not take note.

Then you grant him a gift…its a crsip and harmless 50 naira, the highest you’ve given to a policeman.

His next unexpected lines jolt you beyond dreaming… “you are under arrest for attempting and inducing a policeman”.

What if you saw his tears?

What if you saw his tears

Drip past his skin.?

Torn skin from whips that freed his blood-gates for me.

if u saw his tears would it be justice?

Would it melt your heart?

Would it leave u on your knees?


What if you saw his pain?

His sorrow, the weight of the cross -yours and mine

Slung across his bruised back.


What if u saw his mother’s eyes laden with unspeakable sorrow?

What if the pain

You saw on John’s eyes could be measured?

And you saw his Father turn his eyes away

from the biggest event on earth?

And Joseph sitting next to an idle hammer between sobs that never still.


What if u held the nails for the soldiers at the foot of the cross?

And saw the inches implode his frail bones,

What if u saw peter deny him at dawn?

Or the 10 fleeing from Golgotha?

Would it matter, would it be justice?

Would it be a worthy exchange?

Would the pain impose itself on your heart?

Would u tow a different path?

Would it burn your heart?

Would the travail in his innocent voice matter?

What would change as he hung suspended mid-air next to the mocking thief?

Would his scream crush the walls of your heart to surrender?

Or the scream that rent the temple apart make you walk in?


What if I saw his tears?

Its tiny streaks of salty keys

Breaking loose to set me free

Will it bring me close?

What if I saw his redness

Splashed on the cross?

A cross built across his father’s carpenter shop

Will it bring my heart to justice?

Or take it further away?


What If I held the spear?

That pierced his tender side

Will the fountain’s burst teach my heart to love him more?

Or walk home, for it was just another thief’s death.

Will his groans

Make me think?

Or flashbacks of each landing whip

Lead my heart to the throne?

What if you saw his body lifted


And soldiers acknowledge he was truly the father’s son?

While a rented tomb he’ll lay for the next three

Will it be a perfect swoop?

Or just another short lived drama?

Will their watch at gates of the tomb

Help me pause to think it might be true he bled and died just for me?

Or will I wait to see if  he’ll rise?


Just what if

All of it was seen by you?

Will you make your choice to be with him forever?

Till heaven’s blast will lift you home?


More often than not, we find ourselves at a certain melting point of life, that melting point is best described as the waiting room phase!
i define the waiting room phase of life as that phase when you have against all will-power been forced to make the choice of waiting, and it is usually a period in which you do not actually have a choice in the real examination of it.
It is very hard to wait, without really understanding why and that is why the waiting room is often skipped if it can be or thoroughly hated and mostly avoided especially in this generation of so many wait and get inventions, if only the foresight to see that this is a good wait exists most people would love this room.
However, it is often times mis-judged as a punishment period or an unfortunate moment, something gifted to the wrong person-you.
However, everyone must pass through the waiting room period of life, everyone would pass through it whether you want it or pray it away, accelerate factors that can postpone it…you ultimately will end up coming in contact with that room called the waiting room.
it is sometimes so grilling and grueling that very few people have the patience to take the process or even accept it as a necessary phase of life.
Arrgh! i have seen and experienced this process and there are times i still have to convince myself its normal and quite necessary.
i must re-emphasize that even though it’s a period that seemingly hassles your patience into silent anger or reduces it to tears I advocate that it is your pathway to greatness, there is no single individual on this earth who has attained success in the significant definition of it that has not come to recognize this period as the turning point.
The key facts I have discovered about this period is its responsibilities, it is not a room without significant assignments that one must carry out, however sometimes its “victim” is imposed with the obligations of finding it. And I believe that, this is where it becomes very tasking.
Other facts I also found out is that it also has the ability to throw up several characteristics to different people at the same time as if to suggest that it has the capacity to treat equals unequally.
However, this it is this great distinctiveness that separates the men from the boys as it tests one’s sense of consistency, diligence and perception even when the results are unsatisfactory and also unworthy of advertisement.
For me, I make it a point of duty as a guide, to reject tempting comparisons with other people.
I love reading biographies for the very reason of discovering the exact crucibles that created giant stories of men we celebrate today and I have found out that they all experienced this room at one stage or another, mostly at each stage of their next most important achievements.
First for Mandela, who I respect a lot, it was Robben’s Island, one doesn’t emerge from 27 years of imprisonment with a lot of forgiveness without a foundation grafted in the time tested principles of tolerance, faith in the human being as against the institution he represents.
For me at this stage of my life, its perhaps my first job, I resent the idea behind the salary, it hurts to have pay so many bills despite the extremely “large” figure i go home with every 30 days, but then I realize its more than a cross, or room. It’s my opportunity to realize dreams, yes dreams that I wouldn’t find in the rooms ahead.
Even with my standards when I am tempted to protest against this phase, I am consoled by the justification of accepting the strengths of what this room has to offer as against its weaknesses; its strength in terms of my goals, plans vis-à-vis its responsibilities and exposures as against my blind wants.
I rely for support on the biographies and mentors I have picked out who have faced some form of difficulty in order to succeed at this phase.
I am determined to succeed so I encourage myself to enjoy this phase no matter what, it’s the opportunity I’ve got to transform myself and to be better prepared for the next phase-the one God is taking me to.
In the final analysis of it all, the waiting room is always going to be there, demanding attention, causing its necessary pain and pose responsibilities that far outweighs our current skills and level of readiness.
But as for those who have dreams of becoming successful, there’s always a waiting room round the corner, walk up to it, where it’s slow in arriving, knock hard and if it doesn’t open up, force it open. It’s allowed. Its legal trespass!
I think some movies help amplify this process and I think the pursuit of happyness was one of the best I have seen in a while.
Laolu Adekanmbi
This article was originally published in the theinspiredlifeproject.com in June 2011