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Frederic Kwesi Great Agboletey
In Search of Life . . .
When
affliction does come a-visiting
When sorrow pours down
Through the shredded remnants
Of yesterday poorly constructed
shelter
When the pain of the burden becomes unbearable
Raining, eroding, depriving
Then one seeks for a way, out
of known terrains-
“I am the way, the truth and life…”
When you have sought from the beginning
to the end
If you searched hard enough
At the appropriate places
Seeking direction from the true source of knowledge
You
will find the path leading to life
That, which is the “Way”-
On the way to the path of life
The journey
is long and tedious
Each step is a painful one
Each breath, heavily drawn
Each heart beat heavy
And the tears
never cease falling,
Hot tears splattering on fired bricks-
Through the valley of hopelessness
To the hopelessness
of the mountain top
Down the treacherous paths of the treachery prevailing
That passes for life in most desolations
of emptiness
In these vast plains of souls in limbo
In this vast plenitude of listless unceasing activity-
In
the path between the jagged unforgiving cliffs
On one side
And the yawning gap descending into the misty depths
On
the other side
Traveller in search of a sure destiny
Keep your eyes on the path that lead to life
The way to life
is littered with the debris of life's accidents-
For whether you ascend or descend
The path has remained unchanging
Through the ages
Laid down in simple terms
That the spirit can teach you
Its deeper intricacies-
Wondering
wanderer searching for meaning-
Of loving your God above all things
And the next person as yourself-
There
is love out there in the empty void
A timeless love of assured serenity
Coming in, comforting, casting out, filling
With
the breath of life
Purity that gives the first breath of life
Only, many have not breathed that first air of redemption,
All
the time you thought it couldn't get better-
Then
There is the surreal love of the emptiness
An engaging preoccupation
of listless unceasing activity
Its deception
The flitting shadow
Of the shifting day
A scurrying in the shadow-
Running
before the light
And delighting in the fore and after the light
Yet its very existence is defined within the light
That
dancing febrility,
Never ceasing, cannot cease
Its flitting flirt with the light a constant irritation
You ask "what
peace?" -
Everything caught in its deceptive shade
Is twirled and tossed
Jumbled, made messy
An eyesore unseen,
Rough
rapacious slicks
Of abrasive tongue most offensive
Rubbing all it passes by-
On my journey I took a detour
To
look at some unlikely places
Where the fervent cold
Dampens not the unwavering flames burning with avidity
In the
well stocked stoves of the gatekeepers
Who lounge with aggressive abandon
In seemingly listless placidity of unceasing
fervour-
The gate-keepers keep the gate
Taking the toll
With grim grin plastered faces
They keep tally on
the score
Of the many who have fallen off the path
Picking with relish the fallen
To stoke their stove-
They
have been sitting here
Since ancient days
Pretending the path is theirs
Though they lift not a finger
To help
the straggling wayfarers;
They only keep the tally
Making pretend they are the guardians of the way-
Within their
spick and span quarters,
the quarters of the guards
Is the desolation of lambasted souls in tidy array
The path
leads onto them and beyond
To know what lies beyond the yonder is to go beyond the known ways
beyond the gatekeepers,
who
make pretend they are the end-
Their neat quarters
With its despoliation
Of shredded flesh
And lamentations
of the ignored,
ignorant, ignoring, ignored and hapless,
The hard eared, hard of hearing
caught in the foolishness
of their wisdom-
Plastered on white walls
A disconcerting grating that spikes the weary to hurry
White sounds
plastered on white walls
Unseen, unheard, never ceasing.
Harsh taskmasters,
Unrelenting, unforgiving, incapable of
pity
Innocent tormentors doing what they know best -
The end is only the beginning
Of the yonder-
The
journey of the lonesome traveller
Travelling through uncertain terrain
On a certain destination
The thoughts of the
way
Counterbalancing the accusations,
Experiences of the years of ignorance
Leaving a staleness that subdues the
excitable mind-
In these trees is a lingering sense of portentous presence
Subdued sense of content restlessness
So
ancient and set in its ways
Changing it is an exercise in seeming futility
Travellers on the path are far too exhausted
to desire to rebuild the way
They are stragglers making their way through-
The shades of these trees
This isolated
patch of forlorn refugee
Are a mental aberration
Reflecting the whole in the partial
On these paths
On the way
to the path of life
Singleminded defiance of the lone traveller-
Sagging leaves of sorrow
On spritely branches
Of
straight beams of limited awareness,
Denuded strength, borne by resolute will
To give these lives a shelter
through
these woods
. . . on the Path of life-
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