How daunting a task it is
Living this way…
Always trying to turn our stones into bread
With my soul torn away from its source.
Or perhaps it’s my source
That’s been torn away from my soul…
And then begin the questions,
Firing away in the depth of my half alive conscious;
“Who is your source?
Is it she,
Or is it Me?”
My philosophic answer rings in response
That she is from your divine essence,
Therefore she is my source as well.
If I have adored her above you,
It’s because I’m only half myself without her.
And in her, your divine hand made my world come alive.
I must be foolish,
Answering God in this way…
Her love made me drunk
And I loved being in that blissful stupor…
Sobriety means being half myself again
In pain, hurt and ghost filled memories.
I wonder if her ghost shall ever leave me…
Just like Adam, I choose to blame Eve
Just like Adam I’m so full of shit.
God speaks and says well done my son.
And I sit on my chair, and cry peacefully
Hard choices always take guts.
Now I know carrying a cross isn’t easy
Its not just heavy wood on my back,
It’s also ghosts in my heart.
All I ask is that He
Takes away the pain,
Heals all the members of my hurting half soul,
And helps me to learn to live with her ghost-
She who I loved the most…
Joshua Nyagah





Like Babel I am towering and intimidating.