Poems by A.T. Alabi

I'd be happy, only if...
Our often deceptive belief -

If I were a superstar,
Or rode a brand new car;

If I had a better house,
Or a more understanding spouse;

If I flew a private jet,
Or could get my dream pet;

If I had a lovelier face,
Or lived in a riveting place;

If I had a better friend,
Or could get more to spend...

Young or old or rich or poor,
Who doesn't want one thing more?

Joy thrives in no place apart,
From the kind and grateful heart.

Ever gotten there?
To that place where
You have nothing to prove
and can just be.
Nothing to hide
and all can see.
Nothing to lose
and so you can breathe.
Right in that place where
you know you're free.

I run to You with my hurts and fears,
Carry me, Lord, in Your unfailing love.
When no one really understands or cares,
I run to You with my hurts and fears.
And my anxiety disappears,
As Your peace descends from above.
I run to you with my hurts and fears,
Carry me, Lord, in your unfailing love.

I can't prevent attitudes
from knocking upon my door,
but I decide which to let in
and which ones to ignore.
Can't halt the passing thoughts
that cross over my lane,
but I decide which to resist
and which to entertain.
Though situations come or intrude,
unbidden into my day,
it's still my house and race to run,
I will always have a say.

Striving daily for progress,
Learning a paradox too --
That it's not always forward movement;
Sometimes, the reverse will do.

That progress may take the form
Of slowing down the pace.
It's the admittance of a wrong turn,
Of having steps to retrace.

It's in pausing to find my bearing,
At the risk of seeming slack.
It's in opting against some shortcut,
For a rather less-travelled track.

It's not always how far and away,
I am at a given instance.
It's a lot more about the direction
Than it is the covered distance.

Each day is a chance for progress.
Lord, I want the forward kind.
Help me, too, to know where to let go,
And what to leave behind.

I desire, dear Lord,
To cultivate the habit,
Of keeping in touch with You,
Minute by minute.

Not reserving prayer
For the more crucial things,
While leaving it out
Of the seeming routines.

To make a point
Of approaching the Throne,
Over daily concerns
Before fetching the phone.

To care to say grace,
Before having a bite,
Or taking a walk in the park,
Or picking a pen to write.

Help me Lord to see
You are right by my side,
A true friend willing to listen,
A Father ready to guide.

A sleek and smart device,
Is taking everything out.
Little things and big things,
It's looking more like a rout.

It's taking out the camera,
The wristwatch, the clock.
Walkmans and desk calendars,
Didn't have a better luck.

It's taken out the road map.
It's taking out the flashlight.
Good ridance to the land line,
It couldn't put up a fight.

It's wiping out newspapers,
The DVDs and Cassettes.
It's taking out the textbooks,
And it is not finished yet.

How about relationships,
Real interactions for a start?
Friendships and even marriages,
Are being taken apart.

It is taking out our eyes,
When we're texting on a trot.
It's killing our cervical spine,
When we're rooted to a spot

And it'll take more than that,
If we're slow to take control.
The smartphone comes in handy,
But can take over a soul.

I don't mind accolades
freely passed on my way,
I'll take encouragement
gladly, any given day.
I don't shift responsibilities
that land upon my plate,
and I'm fine with criticism
when it's laid out straight.
An offer of assistance
I'm not the type to dis,
will swallow the hard truth
despite how bitter it is.
But if it's pity you're selling,
you've got the wrong guy.
It's a luxury I can't afford,
the one thing I won't buy.

I wonder if they have an idea,
When my friends joke with me,
What it's like to have myopia,
Being close, yet too far to see. 

No doubt, fatal illness surpasses,
Not having a normal sight;
It's still no fun relying on glasses,
In order to see things right.

It's tricky, reading others' looks;
To tell a sneer from a frown.
Sometimes the print on some books,
Just kind of puts me down.

Some have deemed me a snob,
Thinking I saw them yet pretended,
But I seldom see till I'm close-up,
Not knowing, they get offended.

Should my sneaky little glasses,
Decide to pull a disappearing act;
Navigating either rooms or classes,
Then requires a lot more tact.

Myopia can be tough, it is true,
But ain't I grateful I still see?
The specs are helpful, stylish too,
And so what else could it be.