Man... Contradictions. Poem by Ololade Okunade

Man
Nothing more than a bundle of non conformities
Doing well in nothing but reinforcing the narratives of old that 'Truly, solitude is the profoundest of all human conditions for man is the only being who knows he's alone'
For when trouble comes knocking, it never announces itself until you open the doors and God save you if you dare to open your arms wide.

Halos I think glow on the heads of angels and men alike but it takes an eye full of a pinch of divinity and a dabble of humanity to see
Just like revelations come sometimes with closed eyes heralding tears from pockets you never knew you had but shed when pushed to limits like the fat the world has introduced as something you need to lose only to make you more acceptable.

Man,
A bundle of contradictions
For why does it take one to know one, if one is a singular entity that needs not company nor crutches
Why does it take 2 to tango if conflicts arise mostly because there's more then 1 in a space but luckily we get to take solace in the fact that that tango is a dance
Why do we say and believe that death comes in 3s if in fact only 2 people die every 1 second.

Why does man have to be a bundle of non conformities that when met with smiling faces and hearts full of candor they breathe fumes just to show it to global warming it only comes in second place?
Why do we need to go on mountains to see the bigger pictures that consists of smaller frames of a world we trampled upon moments ago just because it felt too familiar and now the distance makes it all make sense?
Why do we flash our teeth on the outside just like our sunshades that twinkles when wooed by the sun to compete with the brightness of the pseudo smiles we borrow from hearts made faint from constant gifts of black eyes received from partners that feel threatened just because we thought twice to think once for ourselves and yet like falling from Everest it seems when it's time to choose to let go.

Man,
A bundle of contradictions
For funnily, never has lying in prone positions in lilliput prevented us from standing tall
And though the crooked ones are left to jut like shooting stars while straight trees are cut first in the forest of life but with time when transported to the dawn of civilized men, beauties they become.

Why does man have to be a bundle of contradictions?
A question posing like a giant but it's answers coming with the simplicity of the drops of dung from cattles in moorlands by the time I wake each morning getting dressed to face same men with hands pocketed to conceal clenched fists
For though the spaces in my belt can be seen as loopholes, with them in place, I get a grip.
Even so with each encounter man seems to be more different and weirder
Without them, we'll cease to be special.


To my goals I am the object In the mirror that is closer than it appears
Inasmuch I am the one mercy cannot say no to
I'll rise up like the day each morning with head held high to get a grip on the world of men
With a gaze locked on horizons far beyond their gifts of foresight and just like a Phoenix born to die but once in the lifetime of cynic men, to serve as proof life can spring forth from ashes to compound their worries with works and voices that outlives them like the purity of the waters of Santorini and to serve as a reminder to the generation that succeeds them where the bar of humanity lies right on the fine line between what is good and what is right whenever they choose to tip the scales in the favor of one.