Jaachi Writes

Diary Of A Pastor's Son (III) 2go Love 2go (an instant messenger app) brought me amazing friends and friendships. Friendships that migrated to Facebook. Facebook friendships that migrated to physical friendship. Virtual friend turned physical sister, like Comfort. Soul knit friends like Bulelwa . And you, Joshua Chisom, our friendship started there. I saw you last week Monday around Echefu street. Boy, you're grown into a big man.  Also, awesome personalities like Lamosi You're loved. Blessings like Blessing and her friend, Sonia. I met Sonia through Blessing. Blessing and I were chat buddies. We'd chat all day, all night about random nonsense. Hormones would fly us nine clouds above common sense and fling us back to reality in flip seconds. It was fun. She was fun. I was more fun, because play on words, poetry, overtly nice, hilarious and by myself. A girl couldn't 'hold' herself. She spread the news to her friends. The Gospel according to Saint Stefn.  So...

Diary Of A Pastor's Son (II) Memories Are Resilient Memories are resilient Memories stay, the good, the bad, the ugly. Memories beat time to it's wear-and-tear game. Ugly memories destroy us. Bad memories instructs us. Good memories make us. So, we make them. Plenty of them, during childhood, adolescence and the rest of our stay on God's once green earth. As an adolescent whose dreams hung around his neck like a pendant, I made memories. Memories so skin deep, they live with me, form my philosophies of life, shape my goals and drive me to fulfillment. Before poetry caught up with me, in the waters of jealousy, I was a songwriter.  At age 11, I wrote and composed songs. Family just relocated from Kano to Aba, Abia. Rented an apartment at 227 Tenant Road. A three storey building coated in yellow and brown paints. We lived on the first storey, left wing, overlooking the Aba River. The balcony became my favourite spot.  I would sit by the balcony stare in awe at Ogbor Hill. Tra...

Diary Of A Pastor's Son (I) The Devil's Box and Daddy's Radio Set Being born in a Deeper Life pastor's family came with pleasant restrictions and annoying norms. Back in the days, because 'the devil's box' was not allowed in a Christian home, our definition of entertainment was the radio set. It's 7pm, time for Deeper Life 'Freedom Hour' on Vision Africa FM, dad orders the family to grab their Bibles, report to the sitting room, girls and mum wrap their heads with oversize scarves, take several seats and listen to Kumuyi draw every single syllable like thick okra soup "In Jeeeeesuuuus naaaaaaaaaame we praaaaaay!" Dad would wear this pious straight face and nod through the 'sigh mourn' until 7.30, taking notes and flipping bible pages. Did I mention you dare not doze off? Not even by mistake. Mum sleeps though. You don't wake the queen mother. That's one. Nigeria plays against Argentina We, dad and siblings, sit before th...

POEM 241: THIS IS HOW I RELIVE THE PAST this is how I relieve the past I visit the timeline I used to live and sit beside the younger me I throw an egg or two into a pan and make us an omelet by the fireplace, he sit and eat fast while I fiddle on the piano, and we talk about the past; we talk about how health was lost and recovered we talk about how fun it was to raise a false alarm how mum will sprint like flash into our room and how we'd echo 'April Fool' amidst laughter we chuckle while painting with words the clueless face mum makes and if she falls while running for the false alarm we massage her limbs and sing to her because we meant no harm. there were quarrels, siblings and I there were cherished moments we munched like snacks there were tasks as tough as haunting a snark there were tears and days quite awful the past reminds me of where I used to be and charts the path I'll walk right through the younger me reminds me of who I used to be and refuels my resolve...

POEM 222: HOW TO FIND ONESELF "welele mama ahu welele mama ahu" a South African acapella crew moans in a cave in the desert place of 'Whenshire" "welele mama ahu welele mama ahu" their voice echo like melancholy notes from the rusty end of broken vuvuzela "welele mama ahu welele mama ahu" a voice crawls out of the sweet cacophony and whispers loudly: "one day, you'll hear the future in the voice of the present. I hope you're not too preoccupied to listen when she plays the flute of nostalgia and sings you the tales of transition" "welele mama ahu welele mama ahu" another voice interrupts the first male, husky, baritone, hasty: "you'd see better from good. are you blind to truth? now dance whenever you hear the flute remind you of where you used to be and where you are now" "welele mama ahu welele mama ahu" the first voice prevails this time it pierces through clouds and roars like the voice of...

POEM 219: BECAUSE I'M NOT FOREVER like the dinosaurs, I'll some day, be gone so, I wrote this thinking of the lonely days that will crawl by when I'm gone         I leave stories of you and I         in lines and verses so you don't cry when I'm gone thinking of the deep sighs that will punctuate every tear drop when I'm gone         I leave memories beautiful of you and I         on the pages of your heart so you don't cry when I'm gone thinking of the heavy clouds that will drown you in a pond of tears         when I sing my 'goodbye' dirge         I paint the rungs of our elevation with rainbow colours so you don't cry when I'm gone thinking of the emptiness that will dawn with dawn when you awake to discover it's no nightmare         I create a nostalgia cinema of us         in your subconscious so you don't cry when I'm g...

POEM 115: REVERSE Helplessly I watched you sail into distant seas fading slowly from my eye reach. I think I'm on playback or does the sea backwards flow? I still see you in my memories Sailing away in reverse order, fading slowing into my arms reach. Whatever we were I still remember who we were. I thought I'd let go But my mind in reverse replays memories my heart cannot delete. They never grow old - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA

At times.... We need fantasy To survive the reality. At times... We need to laugh out loud At the verge of breaking down. At times... It is normal To be abnormal. At times... I wonder Why I wander into the woods of my mind howling at the moon, cooing like an owl a lonely At times... Cherished memories are the best of medicine. #Pengician

POEM 27: RELIVING MEMORIES (II) As I traveled on past's path debris of memories litter the ground flooding my heart with smiles smiled and cries cried and friends had flash by like lightening in a night sky, exposing grey clouds sneaking by. And I remembered... Precious memories how they linger in my soul. I peeked into the past to say goodnight, to memories I left behind. Then I heard my a voice in a corner It said,  "...and for my darling damsel, scarlet ribbons for her hair." I fine tuned my receptors I recognized the voice. Mine I peeked in through the window blind I saw the boy on his knees,  with closed eyes He's me. And I remembered... Precious memories how they linger in my soul. All the prayers gone unanswered  captured by time's timely shutters. Though last night was dark and bare.  All the wishes wished by bedtime recorded by the walls ever listening ears slowly slowly played back again. And I remembered... Precious memories how they linger in my soul. ...

Do You Remember? (Duet) The first time we met,  we stared at each other and never stopped staring even as we tried to look away.  The moment I saw you,  my heart never stopped racing  and I realized your specie is beyond this plane. Those words you said to me,  and your smile that struck to memory,  And made me smile whenever I remember... You were like the skinned knee of a playful boy; innocence oozed from your words. I knew it that though the tingle that in my heart jingle I would always of our first time remember. It was on January I met you,  It was on January your poems gave me a clue; Soon we'll be seeing day and night,  The day suddenly filled with light,  It was also sudden, a short tryst I thought,  But my quill you seem to have caught. I don't think there has been regrets,  Now we're doing a duet....  Who would have known what lay behind the door? Who would have opened the door? Do you remember how you stared at word...

The elders say 'the young shall grow' True to their words  I remember the tress of old Where we play our queen game I picture the moment where life still meant sweet And all we did was take sweet I don't remember dancing unclad Like happy monkeys Down town  When sunshine Give way for rainstorm. I don't remember counting stars  And hoping clouds don't cover my tracks. But I do remember being a kid And that, I miss The word 'miss' will be an understatement I didn't have to be responsible They made my food available Just to say i miss been free Free from the thoughts of tomorrow Freed from the days of lack & suffering The lakes where i play & sing The house where i dance  Those days I mean those days The word 'miss' is an understatement Had I known that growing up Means missing my boy I wouldn't had envied uncles Who flaunted women, wine and wealth. I've lost my boy To wanton thoughts Innocence sit at the foot of the tree Where I sat...