Paint the Wind

​Like every other day, for the past few months, my mind had been engaged in creating and recreating a dream. It’s like Picasso painting a waterfall with oil on canvas. I have sketched and sketched and sketched, erasing, outlining and superimposing features, layers of colors, trying to maintain the original scenery in my mind yet compromising here and there in order to see the painting materialize.

It’s like painting the wind. You will never know. Is it white or blue, or a blur of what color? 

Some might find that rhetoric, but who is the judge of these things? The wind is the most colorful thing that has no color. You practically don’t know of what color it’s made from, transparent as glass, it’s a combination of every color you could ever imagine. They all flow in the wind. If you were to embalm a portion of it on paper or screen what will you see?
Milky white blur of blue?

So is my dream. A colorful ‘colorlessness’ that defies even my logic; no face, just my wind swirling and twirling everywhere there is a form of matter or life…leaving its mark behind, saying nothing yet very loud, carrying the voice of others across and beyond; giving voice to the voiceless, the smile, the smile that won’t fade, not with time, no, not with age.

And here I labour, with every muscle of mind and soul and spirit, trying to give birth to an idea on screen. Of course, I have heard the normal nay and ‘yaay’, I have seen the shaking of the head, not a few, and the approval nods, the other idea approach, the stick to the plan talkers….I have seen them all.

So, I come to conclude like Daniel did by the rivers in Babylon, only I could see the vision, and only I could paint it and give it life before anyone else can appreciate it.

A few more stroke of the brush maybe and we will know for sure what it is.


Desmond Ayo Ojumu writes from Lagos, Nigeria.

Image credit; autumn leaves https://fineartamerica.com/featured/autumn-wind-ann-marie-bone.html

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The Climb

​There I lie; waiting for the moment everything will come into view. Something has got to take off. I have got to see the world. This tension has been building for months; I had suspended every other thing so as to focus on this one thing.

This is the one thing I feel my life, the rest of my life depended so much on. I have gotten to the point of desperation. I had come to the point of cold stone heart, not feeling anything, not wanting to feel anything but the thrill of “finally it’s done”.

For that thrill, I have gone cold on the inside; the only thing that can thaw me up is the thrill. The thrill is the first sign of fulfillment; the thrill is the high and not the pill. The thrill is the only difference between the never ending Now and EVER.

The thrill is the beginning of the rest of my life, that part of my life that I am dead tired of waiting for. I could jump on a train, if there is any that can take me to that part of my life faster than this particular, time trickling waiting.

When it is finally done, then we begin. The climb is made of strata and wedged cliffs, you could bank on any, but never safe till you get to the very peak. Contrary to what you are probably thinking, it’s not icy at the top, its green. The richest green country you could ever see. The sun is brighter there too, but not as hot, it seems the ozone layer there is made up of thicker oxygen compounds or something. There are all kinds of trees, Baobabs, Cedars and Irokos, growing in the same fauna. It’s magical. Their plumage is of every kind of colors, reds, yellows, oranges, blues and all. There the bees and the cicadas sing, there the birds fly like they have found heaven.

How do I know? I designed it. And I long to get back there; not as when it was in my head; (that is the first version of reality), but as the second version of reality.

The thrill will definitely take me to the first wedged cliff on the side of the climb. And subsequent thrills will keep pushing me up. I don’t know how long I’m going to climb, but I’m sure of one thing…I’m never going to be bored of climbing it but just tired of waiting for the next climb.

In short I live for the climb.

Let’s assume I have been typing mumbo jumbo since, but then, maybe I’m crazy.

 

Desmond Ayo Ojumu writes from Lagos

Stormy is the way outta hell #3

I didn’t see the storm approaching…

Its whirling tail tossing everything in its wake…

Its ever widening funnel sucking up the desert wind..

Sucking me closer and closer…

I lost control of my wings…the wind proves too powerful

But not for me

I dove for the tail of the nasty whirlwind…

My feet planted deep in the desert sand…I trudged forward against the massive wind, massive sand thrown about in the lightening swirl…

Aye, soon I reached the tail or it reached me.

I grabbed it and shook it hard

My wings were folder behind my back…but they fluttered violently in the wind of the storm.

The storm reaches his fingers to grab me and wrestle…my grip on his tail becomes harder…

Then it occurred to me that in the storm is an unseen catapult…

At that moment of eureka I let go of his tail!

A blinding swoosh!                               A deafening thunder!

I was high above the clouds… Traveling faster than the speed of light!

Beneath me were the company of pirates who thought they had left me for death…

I spread out my wings…my shadow…a great one…cast over them!

I could see their fear.

A great dragon emerges from the desert storm to consume us all they presumed.

I circled over them like a bird of prey.

My moment has come and they run widely hither thither not knowing where to go…

Fright got hold of them…and I was only warming up for the action. 

PS: thank you for reading. Comment if it pleases you.

Stormy is the way outta hell #2

Sewing myself a pair of wings.

By night my wings were made. I am the rider of the air. I ate scorpions for dinner. They came at me from the pond but I was faster.

When morning came I waited for the wind but none came. So I took my walk…sighting a mountain ahead…of I could climb the mountain…I would leap from the peak and fly!

And so I did…from the mountain peak I leapt into the hands of the desert wind. And lo…I fly.

High as a bed..my hands were tired of lifting the wings but my spirit was high…I got drunk with happiness…I didn’t see the storm approaching…

PS: this is the second part…I will post the third on Wednesday.

Thank you for reading.


Thank you

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Thank you folks.  

That said, expect more from DesmondDominance this year. Special thank you to Sethi and Sudershana. And to my latest friends here Jash and Dean.

Do have an extraordinary year.