Time after time-

Time after time-

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The first time was labelled a mistake,
The second- a slip of the fist;
The third time was claimed due to fatigue,
By the fourth, I was used to it.

The fifth time, I filled up a complaint,
But withdrew, only for a sixth to occur.
By the seventh- I wiped off the blood stain,
Cold packs and analgesics would do.

The eight time, I felt oh so grateful,
There were no blood, just minor bruises.
The ninth time, I looked at the mirror,
at a person, I no longer knew.

The 10th, the 11th, the 12th time-
And my memories can no longer count;
The first time, He labelled it a mistake,
And I was blind to see It was a choice.
A choice… not a slip of the fist.


Hello everyone, I would like to apologise for my absence. Currently writing my finals, finishing soon though. I wish I could write and post and read your works, but there is only 24 hours In a day and at this point, every minute counts…  will be back soon 

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Mental Health Friday #32

Mental Health Friday #32

 

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Today’s topic is one close to my heart and I could hardly wait for Friday, to unburden. So, here’s the thing. We all have someone (Atleast most of us do), who is battling with drugs, substance abuse and dependence. We might even be that person, because the truth is, you don’t really know a person until you know a person. And a lot of time, substance abuse doesn’t always come with a label on the forehead.

We, as a society, have tried shaming people who become dependent on substances (in other words, addicted), and how has that helped? Its only pushed them further into the throngs of abuse. Why? Because when you isolate people, loneliness is a hell of a thing, they delve further into their only constant friend- the abused substance.

Drugs have killed our society and shame has buried us alive. And until we find healthier and better ways of dealing with abuse, we are only building houses with glass ceilings. And those ceilings will come crashing eventually.

We’ve tried the whole- insulting, ridiculing, and making fun of those dealing with substance abuse. But name one person that has helped?! Time after time after time, we shame people from wanting to seek help, with our words and our manners. Read more

Writer’s Poem: Loneliness

Writer’s Poem: Loneliness

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Have you ever wished you could leave your loneliness behind and it would never catch up to you? I do understand, sometimes, it is one of those experiences which is part and parcel of life. But at times, loneliness stays for a longer time than it is wanted.

Loneliness is not spending the day all alone in your room. It creeps up on us and wraps it cold arms around us, regardless, if we are alone or in a crowd. No wonder, we sometimes wish we could leave it behind. Today’s poem by the phenomenal writer, Naomi Shihab Nye, touches on this same topic in a few lines. I hope you enjoy it.

The Rider by Naomi Shihab Nye
A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,

the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.

What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.

A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

Half rebel/Half angel

Half rebel/Half angel

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What can I say about the woman,
Who grows younger with age;
And when she smiles,
It looks like the sun shines out from her face.

The woman, who
Struts the earth, like it’s her stage,
And it’s dwellers, her audience.
Whose voice carries an arid detachment
When necessary,
Yet holds within it- a sanctity which says
Okay- you got this- I am here for you,
When necessary.

What can I say about the woman-
Who is part storm, part rainbow,
Part rebel, part angel;
Part Iron, Part Honey
A woman who is everything
I hope to be.

All I want to say,
I cannot say…
About the woman who grows younger
With every passing day.

For so long-

For so long-

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We’ve been quiet for so long,
Swallowing our words,
Locking them with clenched teeth.
We bury the memories
(Try to anyway);
But they come roaring back,
Stronger, fiercer
Like the crashing waves at shore.

We’ve been quiet for so long,
Nodding our heads
With upturned lips, and our
Everything is great”
Remark.
Bound by fear,
Enslaved by memories.

We’ve been quiet for so long,
At the cost of our sanity;
You and me afraid to utter
Yes, it did happen to me.
we swallow our words,
lock them with clenched teeth,
At the expense of our sanity,
And what has that achieved?
We’ve been quiet for too long…

Writer’s Poem: The past

Writer’s Poem: The past

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I came across a phenomenal African Poet today. Her poem was shared by “global citizen”. It fuelled my love of poetry, reminding me of the power poetry has to revolutionise the world. It reassure me that poets are here to make a statement, an impact and as a reminder. Especially, in places where oppression is rampant whether in visible or hidden forms.

I stalked the author and found that she has a blog here. Thank you very much Zuhuru Seng’enge for your poetry.

Do not fear the past by Zuhuru Seng’enge
Do not fear the past.
It is ugly
but it is ours,
Do not hold on to lies
That you were fed when you were young.
Learn the history of your people
Find the truth
to free your soul from evil
Learn the Qur-an
Learn the bible
Find the meaning of life and religion.
Do not fear the past.
It is painful
but it is real
Blood was spilt and people died
but love and unity had survived.
Learn the tongue of your ancestors
Reconnect with the roots of your blood
Find the knowledge
That was stolen
Find the life that was robbed from us.
Do not fear the past.
Embrace it
Let it teach you the wisdom of your race
Take its lessons and live by them
Own the identity that was erased.
Do not fear the past,
Do not hate it.
Do not fear the past,
Learn about it.
Let it teach you
Let it nurture you
Let it remind you, of who you are

We are society-

We are society-

 

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We are society.
You, me, her, him.
We are the man with the gun
Bringing an end to another soul;
We are the man on the street,
With hands outstretched
Just one more meal.
We are the woman looking behind
In an empty street,
Hands trembling, praying
for a safe return home.
We are the man with the hoodie
And white powder in his pocket,
We are the kid with the money,
In exchange.

We are society:
You, me, her, him.
We bleed society.
We stain society.
We make society.
We blame society.
It is neither a wall, nor a street,
A road or a bottle.
Society is you and me.
Do you get what I’m saying?

 

Mental Health Friday #5

Mental Health Friday #5

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Imagine receiving a surprise invite to an amazing dinner at the most exclusive restaurant in your city. You know, one of those invite only establishments. The dinner is for the “who’s who” of the world…but somehow you received an invite. Excited about this unbelievable opportunity, you arrive to the dinner early and wearing your best attire. When you walk up to the registration table to find out your seat assignment, you are given an empty name tag.

You quickly try to give your hostess your name, but she replies “oh no, names don’t matter here.” Baffled, you scowl and wonder what type of place doesn’t take names. The hostess notices your confused scowl and says “once you put the name tag on, it will display the current state of your mind; and that’s your seat assignment.

If you had to wear the current state of your mind like a badge, what would it display? Would your badge read “depressed” or “anxious” or “elated” or something similar? Sadly, most people have never thought about this question, so the answer is likely “I have no idea.”

We have all been taught the importance of physical health, but we rarely hear about the importance of mental health. It’s almost as if we have somehow forgotten that the brain is also apart of the same body we strive to keep healthy.

Now listen, I use “we” to admit that I too am guilty of this. Depending upon which point in my life you asked me this question, my badge could read “I just came for the snacks” or “sooooooooo, you don’t have bacon”. Read more

Flash Fiction: Mama’s chronicles

Flash Fiction: Mama’s chronicles

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It was ingrained in me from a very young age, that until the moment when I will step into my husband’s house, I was bounded by my mother’s rules. But,
I had just turned ten, and fuelled with the burst of pre-teen rebellion, I dared to turn a deaf ear to her various warnings of “no one better touch my coal burner before I get back”.

I dared. I decided to use it in my room. I lit the match, threw it into the burner filled with about a dozen coals (I didn’t know how to use it) and almost set my room on fire. 
Mama returned back home as I was fervently trying to clean up my mess.

Safe to say, I learnt that day, though mama’s hands looked like wrinkled skin over flesh, they were in fact made of steel. I felt the steel that day.


Word count: 148 words. This story is in response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge hosted by Priceless Joy. Thank you for this week’s picture @ENISA

Writer’s Poem: The dash

Writer’s Poem: The dash

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One minute we are hale and hearty and the next, we are downing pills trying to make it through the night in one piece. And amidst this is “life”. Today’s writer’s poem wednesday, is a fairly popular one by Linda Ellis, she causes us to reflect upon the life we’ve lived through our journey from birth towards death.

The dash by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend,
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end.

He noted that first came her date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more,
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash,
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Linda Ellis; Copyright Inspire Kindness, LLC 1996; http://www.thedashpoem.com