I searched my heart. The bony structure beclouds the similitude of peace flowing in the streams of red sea. Hazy was her flush, that it overtook the silt of fine shells and rugged pebbles. It was a transition from breezing sea to beating drum; beats like the calmness of clipping pegs I did hear.
My passion was to move as fast as I could in the lane of significance. But each time I raise my feet, the weight of uncertainty pulls the sandals of hope off the tent of my feet. When I long to be met by Marco Polo and thrilled by the tales of his voyage, so sour where the politics of Machiavelli that confront me. I am confused by my thought and saddened by the generation of Cassanova, whose delight is in coitus. Where is the meaning in life? What is the meaning of life?
Is my soul at rest or my mind at peace? I never can tell ! Is it the burden from the rock I hit or from the delight that keeps me floating at cloud nine?…’Whateva’ it maybe, I know the uncertainty of time and chance fix all puzzles. But before the wee hours of time, ‘lemme’ pick my pieces as though they never occurred. Let my hand frisk my thought and let it pour out the delight of great sage.
With calmness will I express the language that cannot be uttered, I talk to no man! I see no man! I speak with no trace of nepotism! For I will write with the golden pen whose might is right and in whose abode I find rest. Please do not ask of the efficacy of my Shakespearean thought, for I have long left it in the abyss of truth. I will lay hold to my Shakespearean act hoping that someday I walk up the stairs for a Pulitzer prize.
Writer: Samuel Edet