SBM Act Three

The accompanying literature to Act Three of my 2018 instrumental project, Songs By Moonlight.

The project can be found at: https://africori.to/songsbymoonlight

Waves:

I feel like a cloud and it’s only been one hit. 

Nah bro I’m cool, I can’t even feel that shit. 

I’m just a bit airy, my head's kinda light

I know a lay down, so when did I take flight?

Did you say something? I can’t feel my face

Who gave me a helmet? Why am I in space

Or underwater, I think. I’m not even sure 

I’m floating, I see myself lying on the floor 

I must be tripping, I’m surfing on a wave 

I’m a hot air balloon, I’ll come down someday. 

Lost [Without You]: 

Where are you now that I need you

I don’t know how to proceed

You said you were breaking my shackles

Then how come I don’t feel so free

You said you were doing me a favour

But this isn’t the Favour I need

It’s like you’ve cut my heart out

But I’m too numb to bleed

I can’t do this alone

We were a team

You gave me direction

When I ran out of steam

You rekindled the flames

When I gave up on dreams

You were a greater part of me

Than I am myself, it seems. 

Neptune’s Tale:

The waves crested and the sea lashed out

Our ship tossed and bucked and swayed

Hardened sailors stiff and afraid

We prayed with hearts full of doubt. 

We went under and thought ourselves dead

Our eyes opened and beheld his huge form

This monster had saved us from the storm

And rested us on the ocean bed

He was no monster, just a lonely king

Neptune, the god of the seas

Happy to have found company

Even amongst us lower beings 

He offered to throw us a feast

A banquet of all we desired

We merried till we were spent and tired

And the time had come to return east

He bid us and thrust us onward

Back through the raging tides

He left us all a gift inside

We were all now gods on board

Teardrops of Venus:

The goddess of love stared into the pool where she watched her subjects. Her orderlies watched with her, fearing the results of her latest experiment with the hearts of humans. And when the mortal man shunned the advances of her faithful child, the tears streamed down her face and dripped into the swirling pool. Venus cried her eyes dry. She sobbed and rocked till she worked herself into a rampage. Fueled by spite, she swooped down on this heartless male specimen, assaulting him with emotional turmoil that would impress even the god of war. She played with his mind, determined to leave him an unloveable mess. Before she could maim him permanently, her orderlies sang out to her; a song to calm her down. The rage faded from her eyes. She returned to the arms of her servants, ready for her next experiment. 

From The Ashes:  

The mighty Phoenix withers and dies

A burning death that takes others along

A death of fire and brimstone

A harsh and explosive demise 

Until all is reduced to dust. 

And from the flames of the ruins

Like order out of chaos,

The Phoenix regains her fire

Piecing together what was destroyed

Creating anew from what was lost

The lessons from the past

Become the advice for the future

As the great bird rises

From the ashes. 

SBM Act Two

The accompanying literature to Act Two of my 2018 instrumental project, Songs By Moonlight.

The project can be found at: https://africori.to/songsbymoonlight

Sunshine:

Hints of orange, whispers of red

The sun has risen above my head

Spots of yellow, slivers of white

My mood has been bathed in its light

Clear skies so blue, clouds of bright gray

Be my guests the rest of today

For I know everything will be fine

As long as there’s a bit of sunshine. 

Heart Of The People:

Blood boiling. The way only a Nigerian’s blood can. I try not to think about the plights of the nation but when I do, it stirs me deep within. It breeds thoughts of revolution, fantasies of uprising, dreams of change. There’s the moments of quiet, where I have faith in my people. Where I believe things will improve. And then the rage climaxes and I fear the worst. I scream and curse, lambast and insult. And as quickly as it came, it diffuses. I return to reality; a reality in which I can do so little by myself so I do nothing at all. 

Down To The Islands: 

One of the Marley’s on in the background. Heads bopping and drinks flowing. Let’s get away to the hot sun and the wispy breeze that plays with my hair like it does with the palm trees. All I hear are the waves and the steel drums. All I want is the sand between my toes. 

Summer Haze:

It was summer when we first met. 

House party through a friend of a friend

Short skirt and a bralette

Don’t remember how we got to my bed. 

It was summer when we first fought

In the guest room at your girls crib

I coulda sworn I left my phone locked 

Don’t remember how you saw that pic. 

It was summer when you first cried

In the bathtub back at my place

You shoulda waited to hear my own side

And I shouldn’t have lied to your face

It was summer so it was just a phase 

Needed company for the hot nights

Try to think back but it’s all a haze

Didn’t even get to say our goodbyes 

Out Of Time: 

Can you hear my heart beating? 

Can you hear my lungs screaming?

Can you feel me holding on 

To what we used to have?

Can you see me reminiscing?

Can you see me grasping at straws? 

Can you tell me why

You’re letting it go?

Would you let me savor it a little longer

Before you take it all away. 

Brazilian Girl [Interlude]:

Down the streets of Rio, feathers of her costume all in my face. The street is alive and the festival is in full gear but all I see is her. And why would I look anywhere else... I let her lead me down the street with her backside waving at me... nowhere else I’d rather be. 

SBM Act One

The accompanying literature to Act One of my 2018 instrumental project, Songs By Moonlight.

The project can be found at: https://africori.to/songsbymoonlight

Adrift: 

Untethered. Unbound. 

Unrestricted and afloat. 

Lost in space but found in time. 

Slave to the winds and the freeness of mind. 

Approach the horizon. Release your being. 

Atoms break away as we burst into light. 

The echoes of our essence ring out. 

They fade but never die. 

Origin of Man:

Thunder rolling with the call of the wild 

The rivers gush, the birds take flight. 

The flowers wake up to the suyns warm light 

The majesty of nature beckons to man

New steps taken into this beautiful Eden

Humanity blossoms from Gaia’s cradle

To explore and conquer 

All corners of earth. 

Alien: 

Peering from above the clouds

So close but out of reach 

We are the same 

But are the same in different ways

I dance to a tune

That you are not used to 

But we both dance and feel it alike

So don’t look at me like I’m odd

Don’t treat me like I’m foreign

For all my oddities

Are found in you too 

Run [Murder]:

You know what you saw. He’s out there in that alley and he has a gun. Your heart beats insanely in your chest, your blood coursing like rapids through your veins. It takes everything you have to stop yourself from screaming. Sneak around him, use the darkness as your cover. Footsteps behind you. Your throat dries. You turn. And there he is. Your mind screams one thing. Run. In slow motion, you take off. Arms flailing. Heavy shoes hit the asphalt. There’s nobody around to help you. The first shot rings out. Somebody. Anybody. Help. The second shot. You’ve never run so fast. You don’t hear the third shot. You feel it. In your back. The ground comes up to meet you. You lay there, leaking life. You ran. You did your best. You failed. 

Burlesque [Interlude]: 

Smoke hangs in the air. She turns around and struts to the man on the chair, spotlight on her. She takes a long drag of her cigarette, turns her back to him and sits, unlacing her red bodice. It falls to the floor and she crosses her impossibly long legs. All eyes in the room follow the fishnets into black heels. From the seedy fellas at the back to the mob bosses and honchos in front; everyone is under the spell of her swaying hips. She grabs his tie in her teeth and pulls it loose, getting some dangerously red lipstick on it that she hoped his wife would notice. Then she turned to little old me and killed me with a wink. 

The Boy Is Mine

Dike woke with a jump. His eyes quickly scanned the immaculately tidy room. He reached for the duvet and pulled it over his naked body. The door swung open noiselessly and Oyinda floated in, gloriously naked as well. She turned to close the door with her hip and his gaze traced a path down her body. Each of her curves took his eyes on an exciting journey. The dark chocolate of her skin glowed like polished mahogany. A thin band of black and white beads sat comfortably around her lean waist. The slivers of gold across her neck and ankles gleamed in the soft morning light. He drank in every inch of her body. The door finally clicked shut and she turned to face him. In her hands was a tray with two cereal bowls brimming with their usual; very sugary corn flakes. 

She settled the tray on the nightstand and fell atop him. 

“I was worried I would have to slap you awake”, she said, nuzzling her nose across his. 

“There’s much faster ways to wake me up”, he replied, kissing her good morning with a little grab of her toned backside. 

“Now isn’t the time”, she giggled. “You don’t want to be late, do you?” 

“Maybe I do”, he joked. “That would subvert the stereotypes, abi?”

She rolled off him, taking her bowl along to her side of the bed. 

“There will always be time for that”, she remarked as he picked up his own cereal. 

“Always.” He answered with a smile that told her he meant it. 

*** 

She came out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped only around her hair. He was fully dressed at this point. She slithered over to help him straighten his bow-tie. 

“You look so good in a suit”, she began coyly. “Kinda makes me want to rip it off you”

He laughed at her compliment. “Now isn’t the time, as someone said”

“Shhh, a woman can change her mind”, she purred, taking his hands and placing them on her perky breasts. His tempted hands lingered for a second but he held himself. He honestly couldn’t afford to be late. His gaze shifted from her nipples to her eyes and he let himself swim in their depth. The sun shone in through the large windows and illuminated her face, like heaven itself was smiling down on her. Why wouldn’t it? She was perfect in every way. His heart was locked away behind those brown eyes. 

“I love you, you know. With all my being.” She smiled and wheeled away from him. She knew. And she knew he knew she loved him equally. She noticed the red envelope and little bouquet on her dresser and the smile broadened. Same place, every year for the past three. But this year was different. She knew he’d already read hers because he was wearing the cologne that came with it. 

“It’s 10”, she announced. “Go. I’ll come soon” 

He waltzed over to place a peck on her forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day baby” he said with a smile. And then he was gone. She ran straight for the envelope and skimmed through the card. This man had a way with words. And his words had a way with her heart. “I will love you as long as there is breath in me,” she mimicked his voice as she read her favorite lines. “I will be your rock and will crumble to dust before I ever let you down.” She blushed at the gloss paper. She knew she would hear him say these words again today. She let out a long sigh. ‘What kind of love is this?’, she thought to herself as she combed through her closet. 

***

Dike kept reminding himself to focus. He snuck a glance at his watch. The vicar had been droning on for what felt like hours and his mind was tired. He couldn’t even pick out the individual words of the message anymore. He peered over at his mother, perched in the front row like a proud mother hen. Her attire was white as snow and starched solid. Her big red head tie fanned out and threatened to interfere with all the cell phone signals in the room. This was all her doing and he knew he would grow to resent her for it. Her hands were locked firmly with those of his docile father. The man who stood by and watched this woman control both their lives. She had sucked the life out of him over the years. Dike vowed never to let that be his fortune. Oyin would be there to stoke the fire in his heart well into his old age. And just as his eyes began to scan the congregation, she walked in. His heart lifted as she strutted down the aisles, in a fiery red dress he had never seen before. She probably bought it specifically for the occasion. He chuckled to himself as the color returned to his world. Even from this distance, her smile shone its light deep into him, like a lighthouse steering a stranded ship landward. He snapped out of his reverie in time to hear the vicar calling his name. 

“Mr. Dike?”

“Y-y-yes”, he sputtered, gathering himself. 

The vicar continued. 

“Mr. Dike. Do you take the lovely Ms. Adaobi Anyanwu as your lawfully wedded wife, to love and cherish so help you God?” 

Dike looked down at the gorgeous smile of the former pageant queen in front of him.

“I do.”

***

Oyin sat silently at the back of the church, listening as Dike reread her card to Ada in the form of his vows. There was not a pang of pain in her heart. This was all a formality orchestrated by his mother, who couldn’t stand the idea of a Yoruba woman in her house. At the end of the day, Dike was hers, and everyone in this church knew it.

Dance With The Devil

 I see you. I see you very clearly Mr. John Smith, or David Green, or Charlie Brown. The only thing brown about you is the bullshit you spew to our people and our governments and our businesses when you come to develop (read: plunder) our nations. Don’t think for even a second that I am at all deceived by your hearty cackle at the table of our delicacies. Unlike my peers, I am not swayed by your curled vowels; you can return your English to the Queen herself, for all I care. I can hear beneath the veneer of your boardroom buzzwords. You wouldn’t know the meaning of grassroots if I cut one up and  served it in your salads. I’ve caught you sanitizing your hands after shaking deals into existence. I’ve seen you dodge contact with the people that handle your luggage. I’ve watched your smile fade when backs are turned, ripe for a stabbing. And it kills me to watch my people offer themselves up for your taking. I see the women we come across wonder if your pockets run as deep as their privates. Can’t even blame them, might as well return the generational favor and milk you for whatever you’re worth. 

I loathe you. I loathe you deeply Mr. Bob Campbell, or Steve Carr, or Bryan White. With the white in your beard, the yellow in your teeth and the pink of your mask that hides the devil’s grin behind it. I hear how you talk about Human Resources and know you see us as just another resource to mine. I would say you treat us like dirt but I’ve seen our actual soil be even more valuable to your kind than our people. You delight in our cultures but their custodians are ‘barbaric’. I refuse to exist for your consumption. I refuse to repackage my reality for your comfort. I will no longer-

“That brings your total cut to about 7 million dollars if this all works out. How does that sound, Sidibe?”

...

I let out a long hearty laugh. 

“You’ve always been one of my favorite people, Richard. I knew this was a blessed partnership. That sounds just fine by me.”

And then I shook hands with the devil, my soul now sold to the highest bidder. 

My One Fear

They say failure is part of the process.

You learn from your mistakes.

You improve over time.

Practice makes perfect;

That is the adage, right?

Think about how scary that is.

I am not afraid of failure.

Never have been.

Because I believed in the process.

However, for it to be a process

There must be some progress.

So what happens when there isn't?

I am not afraid of failure.

I have failed many times before.

But how many more times will there be?

I would rather struggle with the mountain

Through hardship and strife

Than find myself on a plateau.

If practice makes perfect, 

Then the day it yields no more increase

Surely, it means you have arrived.

Thus, if that day comes before you hoped

Then it quietly signals

'Your perfect is nothing of note.'

That is what scares me the most.

The thought of just how imperfect

My perfect can be. 

I am not afraid of failure

I will fall if I must.

But mediocrity-

Mediocrity.

- terrifies me. 

Perspective II

There were rivulets of sweat running down his forehead now.
Gbenga was staring down at Ndidi under him; careful about how much weight he rested on her small frame.

He leaned down to kiss her open mouth and nibble softly on her lower lip. She threw her head back as he plunged his tool hard into her again, her breath coming in fast shallow gasps. He felt her nails digging into his skin and he smiled, she was simply urging him on. And so he obliged, pulling back and thrusting deep into her; again and again.

Faster now, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. She was screaming, faintly. With swift precise movements, he hit all the vital spots he could, drowning in the ecstasy of the moment and in her bodily fluids.

He saw her eyes roll back as she began to quiver. A guttural sound escaped her throat and she stopped and settled. He took in the view for a second… before withdrawing his tool from inside her, letting her liquid essence drip off of it.

Satisfied, he grabbed his shirt off a discarded pillow and wiped the blood off his knife before holstering it. He took one last look at Ndidi’s beautiful bloodied body, smile spread slowly across his lips as he admired his handiwork. Death was indeed very artful at times, he thought to himself.

Then he headed out, hurrying home to his wife.