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In Search of Life
by Frederick Kwesi Great Agboletey
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Frederic Kwesi Great Agboletey
Tallstigen 10, 1 tr.
186 70 Brottby,

In Search of Life . . .

When affliction does come a-visiting
When sorrow pours down
Through the shredded remnants
Of yesterday poorly constructed shelter
When the pain of the burden becomes unbearable
Raining, eroding, depriving
Then one seeks for a way, out of known terrains-

“I am the way, the truth and life…”
When you have sought from the beginning to the end
If you searched hard enough
At the appropriate places
Seeking direction from the true source of knowledge
You will find the path leading to life
That, which is the “Way”-

On the way to the path of life
The journey is long and tedious
Each step is a painful one
Each breath, heavily drawn
Each heart beat heavy
And the tears never cease falling,
Hot tears splattering on fired bricks-

Through the valley of hopelessness
To the hopelessness of the mountain top
Down the treacherous paths of the treachery prevailing
That passes for life in most desolations of emptiness
In these vast plains of souls in limbo
In this vast plenitude of listless unceasing activity-

In the path between the jagged unforgiving cliffs
On one side
And the yawning gap descending into the misty depths
On the other side
Traveller in search of a sure destiny
Keep your eyes on the path that lead to life
The way to life is littered with the debris of life's accidents-

For whether you ascend or descend
The path has remained unchanging
Through the ages
Laid down in simple terms
That the spirit can teach you
Its deeper intricacies-
Wondering wanderer searching for meaning-

Of loving your God above all things
And the next person as yourself-

There is love out there in the empty void
A timeless love of assured serenity
Coming in, comforting, casting out, filling
With the breath of life
Purity that gives the first breath of life
Only, many have not breathed that first air of redemption,
All the time you thought it couldn't get better-

There is the surreal love of the emptiness
An engaging preoccupation of listless unceasing activity
Its deception
The flitting shadow
Of the shifting day
A scurrying in the shadow-

Running before the light
And delighting in the fore and after the light
Yet its very existence is defined within the light
That dancing febrility,
Never ceasing, cannot cease
Its flitting flirt with the light a constant irritation
You ask "what peace?" -

Everything caught in its deceptive shade
Is twirled and tossed
Jumbled, made messy
An eyesore unseen,
Rough rapacious slicks
Of abrasive tongue most offensive
Rubbing all it passes by-

On my journey I took a detour
To look at some unlikely places
Where the fervent cold
Dampens not the unwavering flames burning with avidity
In the well stocked stoves of the gatekeepers
Who lounge with aggressive abandon
In seemingly listless placidity of unceasing fervour-

The gate-keepers keep the gate
Taking the toll
With grim grin plastered faces
They keep tally on the score
Of the many who have fallen off the path
Picking with relish the fallen
To stoke their stove-

They have been sitting here
Since ancient days
Pretending the path is theirs
Though they lift not a finger
To help the straggling wayfarers;
They only keep the tally
Making pretend they are the guardians of the way-

Within their spick and span quarters,
the quarters of the guards
Is the desolation of lambasted souls in tidy array
The path leads onto them and beyond
To know what lies beyond the yonder is to go beyond the known ways
beyond the gatekeepers,
who make pretend they are the end-

Their neat quarters
With its despoliation
Of shredded flesh
And lamentations of the ignored,
ignorant, ignoring, ignored and hapless,
The hard eared, hard of hearing
caught in the foolishness of their wisdom-

Plastered on white walls
A disconcerting grating that spikes the weary to hurry
White sounds plastered on white walls
Unseen, unheard, never ceasing.
Harsh taskmasters,
Unrelenting, unforgiving, incapable of pity
Innocent tormentors doing what they know best -

The end is only the beginning
Of the yonder-

The journey of the lonesome traveller
Travelling through uncertain terrain
On a certain destination
The thoughts of the way
Counterbalancing the accusations,
Experiences of the years of ignorance
Leaving a staleness that subdues the excitable mind-

In these trees is a lingering sense of portentous presence
Subdued sense of content restlessness
So ancient and set in its ways
Changing it is an exercise in seeming futility
Travellers on the path are far too exhausted to desire to rebuild the way
They are stragglers making their way through-

The shades of these trees
This isolated patch of forlorn refugee
Are a mental aberration
Reflecting the whole in the partial
On these paths
On the way to the path of life
Singleminded defiance of the lone traveller-

Sagging leaves of sorrow
On spritely branches
Of straight beams of limited awareness,
Denuded strength, borne by resolute will
To give these lives a shelter
through these woods

. . . on the Path of life-

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Member Comments
Member Date
Jay Cookingham 07 Jan 2003
Brother, this is a wonderful piece, like a three corse meal! - Jay Cookingham
05 Jan 2003
If there was a 10, it would be so rated. The Path and the Struggle of the Soul, the soul in all its emotional turmoil. YOu have caught and held and voiced the deepest of all that we are and the darkness of all that is of flesh. But oh the Light, and how awesome His Presence, His Peace, the Stillness of our Rest in Him when in Spirit we walk the Way, with His Truth, through His Life!! This writing meant a lot to me, the essence of the Pilgrim. The void of wandering soul. The truth of what is to what can be to all that is available through Christ.


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