Home (Co-written by Afrifa)

How do I start this poem

Without breaking into two

Into what it is and what should be

I came here to find a home

Far away from demons that haunt me at night

I thought it would be easy……

Skyscrapers, beautiful girls and beautiful beaches.

Yet there is something about this new home

That reminds me of the old one.

Last night I cried as I stood awake

Trying to recount how it went wrong

And each time it made no sense.

How did heaven become a town

Where angels cry all day

While God is quiet

Wandering the corridors at night

How did skyscrapers all come down at my feet

While wondering how to rebuild

A home away from home

The picture of the old and the new

All bend to fit perfectly like a bad dream

How do I end this poem

Without asking myself if it is a poem

My expectations of an easy life…

Boy how far wrong can I be

Nowhere cool, yet this is different

There you pick your battles, here you are the battle

And when I lay up at night, deprived of sleep

I long to be home

Then I remember, what they say

Home is where the heart is

Yes I thought it will be easy..

Skating parks, underground malls and bullet trains

I yearn to create a balance

Between the past and the future

Staring at the snowy skies

Wondering how I got here.

Now I no longer dream as a child

The picture of old and new, now merge in fine details

A young man running his hand over his face

Shaping his tears into joy

with a sunny future in his hair.

This poem is from THE QUIETIST. Copies of THE QUIETIST are still available on Amazon and in Ghana

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I am not angry (From #TheQuietist)

Whenever I look at the past

And remember when you used to answer my calls

I always curse my geni for making my wish come to pass

Now

You’ve got power

You’ve got what you want

So I am undeserving of you

I might be a lone star in the sky

I might be the tragic boy in your photos

I might be the boy whose voice

Make rain fall on your skin

But trust me dear friend

This world is funny

You may think you’ve left me

At the bottom of the pyramid

I don’t doubt that

But remember that

When you fall

I will laugh

And before I push you farther

I will tell you

How your inactions

How your failure to answer my calls

Really made me feel

I swear

I’m not lonely

I’m not depressed

I only do what lonely people do

I only say a list of things depressed people say

I only rewrite this book every night

Just to make sure you end up

In all the dark places I am.

Copies of THE QUIETIST are available for sale on Amazon. If you are in Ghana and you want a copy, send me an email at jyfrimpong@outlook.com 

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Review of J.Y. Frimpong's THE QUIETIST by Abeiku Arhin Tsiwah

Title: The Quietest
Author: J.Y. Frimpong
Genre: Poetry
Pages: 48
Publisher: Self Publishing
Reviewer: Abeiku Arhin Tsiwah

Whenever I read a single poem, I mean a poem without a home, I read it as a therapist working on the anxiety of a broken child. But whenever I read a poem waking up in other poems' ambiances — a collection or carefully collected book of poems — I read it like a surgeon performing series of meticulous surgery on a neoplasm. That way, I am able to associate the latter through events, sounds, taste, smell, feel, and waterfall that breaks on every poem — an attempt to find clarity of thoughts, patterns and the kind of linkage which hooks each poem after the next.

"The Quietest" is J.Y. Frimpong's latest, 2018, poetry book on sale and making the needed waves it merits. The poet describes "The Quietest" as a human [a wo(man)] whose body can be expressed through the sound of love, the heart of separation and everything negative and yet at the end it is poetry that holds these pieces of breakages together, holding them like scares in the hearts — like dreams in the mind — like a golden medallion won or lost at an Olympic. 

Although it is made up of 48 pages but technically, it could be realized that it is a total of 41 pages of pristine poetry consumption; 38 good poems/a bonus. The Quietest comes with it a surprising shape and twist, perhaps, a not so kind of the odd imaginableness that the usual J.Y. Frimpong's works would put the readership through. This bouquet of fine threaded poems piece themselves together so well that one thinks these poems could have been written at a sitting, within a specific time lapse. 

Opening with, 'Locked Door', pg 3

The day I finally understood that

Your heart was a locked door 

With it key missing . . .

It gleams through folds of events expressed as the brokenness of a lover whose ideal love couldn't be attained, irrespective of the many attempts he might have made towards that. I do wonder why J.Y. Frimpong would choose to begin this masterpiece with a poem like this which touches on so many subjects and themes that is always present with us: humans and the turn of their relationships. Though beautiful, every man or woman who has passed through this experience as recounted in such didactic terse language would bear with the poet and his outburst of sentiments. It begins with an obscured hope but ends in a oblique sombre.

....I moved on 

And told myself 

Never would I allow love to make me so little

Beyond this opening poem lies layers of well swimming poems: Home, Midnight Thoughts, The Partitioning of Our Music, Ever Doubtful, Memory, A New Year's Happiness.... But 'Memory' strikes me the more. Although these poems have their strong shifts depending on the reader and the experiences that the readership comes into harmony with these poems, Memory takes on me with the strongest shift.

— Memory, pg 12

Each year I wonder how beautiful she has grown
How many boys have walked her skin in their dreams
I wonder how long her hair is
I wonder what her favourite nail polish is....

What else can be more beautifully taken and tear streaming than such poignant memory that strikes the core of the heart and explodes the duct of the eyes to travel in sobs? That is how powerful this poem is. That is how breathtaking this poem can be. A poem that haunts your memory if you have ever gone through such an experience before: broken home, a failed attempt at loving someone; the lost of half yourself (which the poet calls his sister). Wondering where she might have been and what pains or form she might gone through.

Ever thought of how to save your love? I guess there are thousands of literatures written on that subject. But how true have those literatures made you to believe in a dying love? Do you ever wonder how to save a whirl from the wind? How to save a moon from the lynch of darkness? Then 'Sherry And Ann' from The Quietest has the possible answers you might be looking for. Answers that presses the pertinence of issues you would be quite surprised of.

— Sherry And Ann, pg 15

This photo makes me dream
Of how I want us to be
You looking at me
As I tell you word for word
What you really mean to me....

But I am wondering why the poet didn't begin this collection with Sherry And Ann. It holds the breath of The Quietest. It is perhaps the most related poem to the central idea as expressed by the cover photo of the book. Maybe it is the flaw of love itself in trying to find which rightful wing to fly on.

One cannot talk about this book without holding their jaws in the mirror with the gleefulness of 'Thorns Passing As Flowers' and the philosophical evoking truce of 'Reminder' and 'The Magician'.

— Thorns Passing As Flowers, pg 26 

Who gave you the permission 

To be this way with people 

To let them dream of shooting stars 

In the sky only to drop them to their knees 

And still 

expect flowers to bloom in your heart?....

— Reminder, pg 35 

Why did God create night, day, moon and the sun? ..../ 

God created these things just to constantly remind us that 

Were failing 

— The Magician, pg 41 

You are the magician 

Every time we fight a little 

Tears storms out and 

We die a little inside . . .

Apart from the structural string that came with the book's formating, 'The Quietest' is an illustrious mark of its own. It is a masterpiece that paces through wittingly admirable diction and imageries. This poetry collection from a contemporary Ghanaian poet, J.Y. Frimpong is a classic that can compete globally with any kind of poetry material that is recognized as a tour de force in the literature world. The Quietest is simply a spark! 

NB: The Reviewer, Abeiku Arhin Tsiwah considers himself in two worlds: earth & (or) sperm — and water or & [spirit] of Cape Coast fatherhood— & the everyday Ghanaian. 

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Those we can love (from #TheSufist)

I picked up my diary, flipped through the pages, breathed heavily and finally I wrote what I felt; 

You know, my dear diary, it is really over when you can talk about it without crying. The people we meet determine those we can love and those we can’t. 

I met her through a friend and our friendship blossomed. It all began with a ‘hello, nice to meet you’ then the spark in her eyes and how she had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet. It was her ambitions that made me fall in love with her; who wouldn’t love a girl who can create words like an idol that feels so real, so powerful that you can touch it and think of it as real? 

We played it so nonchalant pretending what we felt was just a result of how we intellectually liked each other but even if it was love, we knew we just couldn’t speak of it. In the evenings we would meet and talk about everything and anything holding a cup of tea in one hand and each other’s hand in the other so close that we each knew we felt a connection begging softly to be spoke of. But this sort of connection was always doomed to fail, doomed to die like a flower that cannot blossom but still hoped it would. 

Then one day, she came to me crying. I just knew why she was crying and what was wrong. She looked into my eyes and begged me to love her, love her deeply till she could take it no more. But all what I was thinking of was he who I called a friend. What will he think of me, our friendship and about everything in between.

What about her? I held her hands and I felt that connection still. I belonged to her and she also belonged to me but strangely it felt we didn’t belong to each other. Then she put her head on my shoulders and cried, “I wished I had met you earlier. I wished I didn’t meet you through your friend.” We both knew this, we knew it very well but sometimes things happen the way they do. Then we departed.

Deep into my room, I paced everywhere, I touched the walls, switched off the lights and put it back on, picked up a pencil, a paper and wrote a poem stating how I loved her and threw it into the waste bin. I sat at every corner of the bed and wondered if it was best I loved her back like she wanted to do. 

What should I do dear diary? What should I do? My life is now fucked up and I don’t know what to do. Why does love always have to be so tragic? Why? Why? Why? Sometimes the people which we meet determine the people we can love and those we can’t. Ethel, one day I hope I can be able to tell you that I love you without having to put it to calculations and permutations

MARK

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"I'm in love with your girlfriend" by JYF & RMZ

How do I tell you I'm in love with your girlfriend
Without your heart skipping a beat?
How do I tell you that the day you broke her heart
I wanted to fix it and make her mine
Without you thinking I had always wanted her?
I'm tired of walking in your shadow
Hiding my feelings for her
Underneath shadows and lies
All because you're my friend
And the boys code
Says I shouldn't snatch your baby.
Do you know how much she tells me she hates you
For treating her
As if she was a forgotten memory.
Do you know how she sees me?
As a secret garden
Treating her so right in the dark
Convincing her to believe in love again.


How do I tell you I'm in love with your girlfriend?
I'm a king and I take what I want so I promised to make her mine and be selfish with her.
She deserves someone who will appreciates her flaws,
Someone who will light her soul up when she's in the dark.
You make her feel she's an option, I'll make her feel like
She's number one on my scale of preference
You make fear, I will rather colonize her heart
And make her the queen of mine.
Her heart is rusting because your love was salty filled with insecurity and hatred
It isn't my fault that I want your girlfriend
She deserves someone better
Someone like me

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Cybertonia (From #TheSufist)

14. SO Lot went and spoke to his sons-in-law, who were pledged to marry his daughters. He said, “Hurry and get out of this place because the Lord is about to destroy the city!” But his sons-in-law thought he was joking.

I was reading the part of the Bible my mother had recommended to me when I heard the door open. It was my father, he looked visibly angry and there was no need telling that he had head my decision to naturalise for Libertain.

Now, Libertain was an online society which was rich and had a very good social system for those who were poor. It was the most populous online nation of over two billion. As the name suggested there were libertarian in the way the way they saw and did their things. Many were those who drew parallels between them and Sodom and Gomorra. That is probably the reason why my mother suggested I read Genesis 19:1 – 31. She was shocked when she saw my online application to change my nationality. My sister had always found me opportunistic and greedy. She said when I was a baby, she was playing with me, holding an old 5 cyrptocurrency note when I held unto it and never wanted to let it go. A renowned prophet in Coastonia called Prophet Seth had prophesised that I’d be very rich but before that I would make shocking decisions. Growing up, everything was always about money, money and money. I didn’t believe in a God who lived up there and dictated the course of events. I didn’t believe in a God who killed innocent people through fires, hurricanes and floods.


What did I hear that you did?” my father fumed.

“Father I want to be a Libertain citizen.” I replied looking down at my phone.

“Have you forgotten Sodom and Gomorrah? Have you forgotten what God did to them? He destroyed the citizens with fire. Do you want to go to hell? Do you? Libertain is an immoral nation where even sisters marry sisters and brothers may brothers. That is even worse than what the people of Sodom and Gomorrah did. Is it about money?” he paused and looked at me.

Then he continued, “Listen and listen very well. I know you are doing this because of money. I won’t allow you to –“

“Father, I am eighteen and I ---“ I interjected but I was shocked halfway.

“Will you shut up and listen to me? Coastania is poor but we serve a mighty God.”

“Father, this is not true. Coastonia is nowhere close to what you are saying. Are pastors and prophets not ruling this nation?” I asked.

“Yes. Exactly the reason why you need to stay here and move your citizenship to Libertain.” He drew near me.

“Father, are we not drenched in corruption? Do pastors not fight with other pastors and do prophets not curse other prophets in public?”

“Mark, you do not understand. There are imperfections and as long as we are Christians, troubles may come but the Lord will see us through.”

“Father, my reason for deciding to naturalise for Libertain are simple. I can’t keep on being a citizen of this hypocritical nation. We wear religion as our banner but destroy each other in ‘Touch not my anointed and do my prophets no harm.’ We fail to criticise our leaders because we see them as Gods. Don’t we? No they aren’t. Second, this nation is no better than Sodom and Gomorrah if we do not stop the hypocrisy, the corruption, the envy and the destruction of our society by our very actions.”

“And you think Libertain is perfect?” my father laughed.

“No but they admit their imperfections and deal with it. We don’t. We are like devils wearing the clothes of angels and pretending to be the latter. Take a look at the cyber nations which claim to be religious. Look at the violence in there, the social delinquencies and the problems they are facing. These problems are inflicted by us yet we say, ‘If we pray to God, He will save us.’ How long haven’t we prayed? Did we change our behaviour? No we didn’t. I’m tired of this hypocrisy. I am tired of prophecies said by lying hypocrites!”


“If you still want to go ahead with your naturalisation then I wish you well.” My father stood up to leave the room.

“Father, can I ask you a question?”

“You can.” He said with his hands folded.

“I was checking your Facebook profile and I saw that you once lived in Nevernia.”

“Yes.”

“And what happened?”

“Son, when you become a citizen of Libertain you get to realise that the most important things in life are faith and an obsession for prosperity based on what you think the future holds. You will get to know that you will cross oceans only to realise that they do not need you there.”

“You are speaking to me in proverbs.” I sounded worried.

“I was young once and I was just like you. I saw Libertain and Nevrnia as two cities where I could get rich quickly. So I naturalise for them. You see, in snaps, Instagram stories and Facebook lives, these societies look perfect but youd go there and realise that the nation you are rushing to naturalise for has problems of its own. On the screen it may look like they need you but you would go there and realise all the fun you see on the screen is nothing but an illusion, a lie, a wondrous trick.” He replied sounding very philosophical.

“Father, what should I do?”

“Mark, I know you. You see the world in terms of money. You are young and when we are young we think our bodies know what it wants. I can’t stop you, in fact, I won’t stop you. Finish with your naturalisation process. Go and live. If you will survive you will and if you don’t, you should remember my story, I came back to the place I call home. You can always come back to this place you say is being run by hypocrites and lying pastors.” He went out of the room.

I opened up my laptop and click on the “CONFIRM” button. This was the last step that really mattered and I hoped I made a good choice.

After not more than an hour, I heard the noise of a car pull up in front of my house. I just knew they were coming for me. I picked up the few things I had and moved out of the house. My sister was looking at me with a very condescending look. In her eyes, it was obvious that she wanted me to be a failure so I could run back so she can engage in pontification about how I loved money too much. The looks of my mother was that of pain, it really hurt her that I was leaving. Her tears betrayed her, she wanted me to stay. But the looks for my father was iconic; it was that look he always has whenever I am going to the boarding house. The look always assured me that whatever happens I’d always come home. This time, I wanted it to be different, I wanted it to have a “goodbye” kind of meaning. I hugged him tightly never wanting to let go.

“Go and survive.” He whispered.

I tried to hug my mother but she run to her room sobbing. My sister………………she didn’t want to touch me, she went straight to her room straight-faced. I sat in the car and continued recording the section of the Bible my mother had recommended.

15. With the coming of the dawn, the angels urged Lot, saying, “Hurry! Take your wife and your two daughters who are here, or you will be swept away when the city is punished.”

16. When he hesitated, the men grasped his hands and the hands of his wife and of his two daughters and led them safely out of the city, for the Lord was merciful to them. As soon as they had brought them out, one of them said, “Flee for your lives! Don’t look back and don’t stop anywhere in the plain! Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away.”

But unlike Lot, I looked back but did not turn into a pillar of salt. Would I be coming back or not? Only time could tell.

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The Purest Form of Love (From #TheSufist)

I will one day tell you about why when a storm hits you, you never recover. After, I will tell you why I don’t believe in miracles and why each day I live hoping to die.

I grew up believing I serve an awesome God. I had a mental image of Him as one who never lets his children down. This is why as such I never dreamt of myself with my right leg suspended in the air as if it was one of the exceptions to gravity.

I grew up living next to a pastor, as such I visited his house each day to play with his eleven year old beautiful daughter. I was nine but what I felt towards Delphia was different. In my dreams, we walked on the streets of Kumasi making noise with our childish shoes that gave out lights when hit on a hard surface. Not that I was afraid to tell her, the thing is, her mother was fighting a personal war with the devil. Even when she fell down on her slippery tiles by accident she would pray loudly and rebuke the devil in Jesus’ name.


When the wind blew her hair damaging her exquisite hairstyle, she blamed it on the devil. Let even her forget her handkerchief at home and it will be the devil who will bear the brunt of it. Knowing her mom, I just knew she would say the devil is occupying the rooms in my mind if she should hear I proposed to her daughter. But you know what they say? They say the devil is a good businessman but as a child what I knew for sure was that the body knew what it wants and my body was no different. So day in and day out, I subjected my mind to how I could tell her I loved her without being too suggestive.

One day, we were going to buy a needle for Osoofo Maame because her cloth had been ruined by an innocent nail which was resting on the door thinking about itself. As usual, she opened her Bible to Titus 1:5 and cast out the poor devil that had troubled itself by inhabiting the nail. Often times I wondered how many devils she was fighting.

Everything happened so fast that even when I recall it looks like a movie. I remember we were almost near Auntie Monica’s shop and I held Delphia’s hands. I looked into her eyes and she asked me why I was looking at her strangely. Her lips looked like rose petals, I wanted to kiss her and show her what I felt. Then the image of her mother flashed my mind then I stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that Mark?” she asked in that her silky voice. The wind blew and I could see the naked meat of her developing breast. It was blinding.

“Nothing.” I replied. The looks on her face had me so confused.

“I want to tell you that………….” I paused, my voice trailed off.

“You wanted to tell me what?” “That I…………..watch out watch out.”

I pushed her and she fell down. A car hit me and I was flying in the skies. I had visions of myself walking majestically to heaven but St. Peters stopped me half way and asked me what I was doing in heaven. “I prayed while on Earth, I loved God, I believed in Him while on Earth, does it not qualify me to be in Heaven?”

“Your time is not up. If you want to come here you must have a stronger faith. Your time is not nigh.” Then he pushed me. I saw myself falling through the clouds.. I landed on my leg and I blacked out.

I woke up and I was on the hospital bed surrounded by my classmate. I felt fine, I moved my fingers, they hurt just a bit, I moved my left leg and it was fine, I couldn’t feel my right leg, it felt numb. I became agitated. The doctor opened the door and looked at me, “You are such a strong boy. If you were older you would not have survived.” I felt assured. I tried sitting down but he told me I needed sleep. They whisked away my classmates and I was left alone with my mother.

“Mummy I can’t feel my right leg.” She started crying, she hadn’t told me anything but whatever it was I knew it was bad. I run my hands on my right leg, it was there, all in bandages, and perhaps if they remove the bandages I was going to feel it.

“Mummy why are you crying?”

“Nothing, I am just happy that you are getting well.”

“Mummy, how long have I been here?”

“Two days.

The doctors say you will be fine.”

Instantly, Osoofo Maame entered and without greeting she started praying. My mother joined her in prayer and in their prayers they wished for a miracle for my right leg. I then knew why my mother was crying. Was I going to be a cripple? I shed a tear. I was never going to be a cripple. I had read stories from the Bible about God healing people, I knew I was going to get a miracle soon. If God could give Sarah a child, if Jesus could die and come back to life on the third day, if Jesus could rise Lazarus from the dead then the miracle I expected was small in His eyes. I had hope but later as I grew I just knew that when Dante wrote “Abandon all hopes he who enter” in Divine Comedy, he probably had me in mind.

I was discharged from the hospital and I had to learn how to walk in crutches with my right leg suspending in the air. I didn’t want to play with people again. I lost all desire to play. They added a cripple to my name. I understood them because that was what I was. It didn’t pain me that much for I knew it was temporal because I was waiting for a miracle.

There were times that I would light a fire, pick a sheet of paper and write on it ‘I love you Delphia’ and burn it. We were no longer friends. I understood it because she was growing, she was turning into a woman and I was rather settling into my new identity as Mark the Cripple. Despite everything I still waited for a miracle.

Then she grew into a beautiful flower with boys chasing her here and there. I would sit on our verandah and watch boys pass by her house. She would stand by her gate and talk to the boys smiling and flirting openly with them. At times she saw me and only waved at me. I will only stare at my phone and write a poem, “I love you, I will die for you, I love you, I will die for you, I love you.” After that I would discard it and rather go to my room and pray. God they said works in his own time and in my time He was going to heal me. Even after eleven years, my faith in Him did not wane, I knew the miracle was going to come and I was going to throw the crutches away. I was simply waiting for God’s time.

Then one day I was at my home when my mother brought me an invitation card, Delphia was getting married to the Minister’s popular son. My mother went on and on telling me about how they met and how a perfect man Delphia had found. After she was done, I went to my room and locked up the door, I prayed to God and told him that if by the time its morning and I was not healed, I was never going to believe in Him again. I would treat Him as a figment of my imagination. That night, I slept a painful sleep and I dreamt of myself walking again. In that dream, I was at the wedding and Delphia had run into my arms and begged me to marry her. I woke up sweating, my mother said I was screaming in my sleep, I was on her laps as she placed a cold napkin on my head. That morning I felt dejected, I was still a cripple in one leg. I took my Bible and burnt it. I didn’t want to have anything to do with God. I stopped going to church and my mother never understood why. Whenever she asked me why I couldn’t bear to tell her.

On the day of Delphia’s wedding, I took a white paper and I wrote on it, “Delphia I love you” folded it neatly and placed it in my pocket. That was the first time I saw her husband, he was handsome like how my mother had said it and he was also an engineer. I shed a tear, if I wasn’t a cripple, I wouldn’t have felt so inferior about myself so much that it affected my studies. I failed my exams not because I was not intelligent but because I felt a good university degree was wasted on me. If I wasn’t a cripple, I would have been handsome, I would have had more friends and importantly I would have told Delphia what I felt for her. She was happy and I couldn’t blame her. Osoofo Maame on that day did not stop talking about how God had been so good to her, she forgot about her devils and for once I was happy for the devil.

When the wedding was over, I left my note on the pulpit, it did not matter who saw it. It was wasted anyway. All the love I felt for her all gone wasted, all my faith in God all gone wasted. Nothing made sense for me anymore. I was never going to get a miracle. I missed how it felt to walk normal. I missed the part of my childhood where I played with Delphia, I missed everything that reminded me of being normal. As I walked away from the church to my house, I closed my eyes and remembered the day I had the accident. I remembered how I was standing by Delphia ready to tell her I loved her. I closed my eyes and whispered, “I love you.” I opened my eyes and my mother was standing in front of me, she responded, “I love you and I know you loved Delphia. I know you became a cripple just to save her. Unrequited love is the purest form of love.”

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Suicide Note (From #TheSufist)

Dear Ethel,

You remember when we sat on the rooftop writing a list of things we would do when we get old……very very old? You remember? You remember when you used to tease me and how you made fun of my childhood memories? Of course you remember when we used to listen to Lana Del Rey’s Lust For life singing along to it softly like the first love melody we composed? You remember when you used to tell me whenever I felt down, ‘it is better to smile than to frown’ but Ethel, for the past two months, I have come to the realisation that it is better to burn than to live.


You remember when I would suddenly get so quiet when we were walking down the streets making love with the corner of our eyes? You remember I would suddenly become sad and wear a forced smile? You remember you’d always ask what is wrong with me and I would reply ‘Nothing’. I lied. Everything was wrong.


Everything was wrong. I was dying inside. I lost whatever it felt to be happy. I was a walking empty tin. I couldn’t take it anymore, the pressure on me to keep up with promises, my honesty and my dream of not becoming a tragic role model to an unfortunate soul. What you didn’t know was that someone’s destiny laid in my hands and I crashed it. I tried whatever I could to save her destiny from crashing and to prevent her from writing my name on her list of bad men in this universe. I tried to move the Heavens, I tried to quench the fire in hell but I failed. Now this girl lives her life cursing me day and night. I hope she may one day see that I am no bad person but in this life when your destiny is cursed, nothing you do is ever enough.


I love you, I love you, I love you but I just can’t live. I can’t live waking up at midnight asking God for a miracle which never comes. I gave God an offer to help me with just one miracle and I will give our child to him like how in the Bible Samuel’s mother gave up her son to God to serve in the temple. Day came, the night went, the moon turned from a crescent to a full moon and even the sun became tired of shining yet nothing changed. I know I should have told you but I couldn’t, I didn’t, I knew I could do it on my own. Now I have failed so I am writing this suicide note hoping that I’d save my life from perpetual having to remember my failure. I know you will miss me, so will I.



Mark.

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