27, Destiny close,

Providence lodge,

Faith on fate Boulevard,

A place in location and allocation,

Somewhere under the endless roof.

This day and month in the year of our Lord.

Office of the Almighty,

The unseen headquarters,

The skyscraper in the very sky,

A place called heaven.

                                                LETTER TO GOD

Dear God,

Through my foray in the expanse within the reach of my sole, a soul on the hinges of a self I know not. A self unfolding as days unfold, every day a new mystery of myself, in wits and bounds, a bounce of ideas evolving and becoming, a shape-shifter, unpredictable, spontaneous as gas, random and unlike what it was  a year, a month, a week, a day, an hour and a minute ago.

Hunger and thirst I know, of what happens when the doors open to my belly and the meat goes therein, bread for the emptiness and water for the parch. But I have since never found something to fill the emptiness, the gaping vacuum, the gorge, the valley in my heart and in my mind. I stretched and dug and could not find, but should I find, where then does the door, the mouth of the soul goes that I may feed it. For if I find that which I know not, how then will I, fill the emptiness when the soul hath no mouth?

Dear Lord, but for my name I know not myself. When a bird hovers, fluttering her wings for a brief moment on a spot, for that brief moment I find similitude, a striking semblance of self, stuck in the cyclical chain of singular disjointed moments called life. For I have lost purpose in the plain sight of the hazed journey of life, through the maze and labyrinths of time and chance, in the planes of confusion, distraction and fears. When a bird touches down and walks amidst chicks for a brief moment, I find a simulation of the life I lead in the unfolding scenes of the parlay of nature. For these wings are like the biceps on the statue of Armstrong, they do no harm. Lost in the tunnels I burrowed deep down in the earth of my heart, away from the insecurities of taking the risk of flying and falling and assured I wouldn’t hurt my pretty wings or lose my bright sequined feathers and when a bird falls to the ground, thud! Crashing to the hard unforgiving rocks after a failed flight, I justify my safety, better safe than sorry.

Dear Lord I’m sorry!

I am sorry I may not yet know myself because I have since gone astray, away from purpose, but this fate, this confusion and the ill sense of self; I share with all my compatriots. We number up to the numbers of the world, each man a rank of the failures in the world and some would still read this and feign indifferent to no specific end but justifying their self loathing wisdom, the textbook knowledge of self and purpose or the outright lack of sense of any sort.

I’m sorry, a rocket is built to fly and so is a plane. I’m sorry I have built paper planes that flew and some that didn’t and have destroyed or discarded them all. But you kept me despite my failures, you survived me from my own destructions and have not thus thrown me out of grace in spite of me being everything but myself and what you have made me to be. I’m sorry Lord, I know I was made to fly, to soar beyond the clouds, scratch the moon, harness the sun, polish the stars and maybe meet the man always reading in the light of the moon. I’m sorry I am nothing like you or like you made me to be.

But now I know, I know I must fly, though I know not how. Now I know a plane needs a runway and for me to fly, I must run away from my distractions and run back to the path to which I was a runaway. Now I know a bird spreads its wings in surrender to the winds to hover, and to hover I must spread my wings and surrender to the divine, the winds that will bear my wings and bear me up in flight. Now I know that a jet needs fuel to fly into altitudes and rockets need propulsion to fly into orbit and my emptiness will take me everywhere, grounded and tethered like a horse in the stables, now I know you must fill me for me to be filled.

Dear Lord please,

I surrender, take over

Be my compass, be my light

Bear me up, bare me down

I am empty, fill me up

Be my fuel

Be my propulsion

In your path alone, let me walk and find my peace



Thanks for always.


                                                                                                                    Yours in sober reflection Taiwo Oladele

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