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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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…

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?

 

Just do it-

Just do it-

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Throughout life,
You will come across people,
who would tell you,
No, You cant.”
You look them in the eye
(stand on your toes if you must)
and declare:
Yes. Yes I can“.
Don’t just leave it at that,
You may add a little spice with-
watch me“.

And then-
you walk away.
You let the conversation go.
You-
do not need to explain
how you are going to do it.
You do not need ANYBODY telling you how you are not going to do.

Just let them know you are and… do it.

The thing about addiction-

The thing about addiction-

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The sun sprayed gloriously upon my skin, the mockingbirds sang the tune of my soul, natures forces whispered to me and I felt renewed, rejuvenated…. That, is not how it happened. I wish I could say that was it, but it wasn’t it.

It took a tragedy to pull me out of my darkness. A tragedy so great, I expected it to plunge me further into darkness’ clutches. I didn’t just wake up and decide to take hold of life; I woke up, and Life happened to me… That woke me up!

The sun did shine gloriously that morning, the hummingbirds sang, and nature’s forces were aligned in their greatest- but one person didn’t.

How it started, I can’t even remember. And before we could figure out our lives, the drugs had taken control of us. But that’s the thing about addiction, you don’t realise it is a problem until It has it’s cold arms, wrapped tightly around you in an unrelenting grip.

She didn’t wake up. I watched her lying there, with too many tubes, looking the most peaceful I’ve ever seen her, the doctor’s words amplified in my head; not a single visitor, not another friend present… I knew, unless I changed something, sooner rather than later, It would be me lying there.

I wish I could say, I simply woke up and decided to change my life. It took a tragedy, to pull me out of my darkness.

 

In Plain sight-

In Plain sight-

 

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Night sky
No longer scares me,
Neither the darkened alley,
Nor darkened rooms.
I have seen darkness,
On a bright summer day,
In the hearts of fair men
Whose smile,
Melt most people away.
I have heard darkness,
Through the words of women,
Covered up head to toe
In spirituality.
I have felt darkness,
From hands that pass the
Biggest offerings,
At religious gatherings.

Night sky,
No longer scares me.
I have seen enough of the dark
To know, the worst there is-
Hides in plain sight.

For my sisters:

For my sisters:

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110 of my sisters were taken today.
No yesterday… no,
It’s been a week now.
I’m losing my mind?
Just like the government who claimed:
No, they weren’t taken.
No, they’ve been rescued.
Ohh we’re sorry.. yes they’ve been taken.

110 families,
Under the watch of their leaders,
Awakened to the news their daughters,
Have been taken from their schools.
And the leaders stay sheltered,
In their villas and mansions.
110 of my sisters are gone,
And their leaders are radio silent.

The mothers at weeping,
The fathers are grieving,
My sisters have been taken by men,
Known to show no mercy.

110 of my sisters were taken from school,
To the leaders, I say this: 
It could have been your daughters too. 


MINI RANT: 110 girls were kidnapped the past week from their school. All that these girls and their families wanted, was an education, and now they’ve been taken. At first, the authorities denied that the girls had been taken before eventually admitting it.

A few years back, over 200 girls were kidnapped from their schools and we are yet to rescue over a 100 of them. This doesnt give us much solace regarding the girls taken now. There’s a saying: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. It is a shame that we, as a country allowed this to happen again. All these girls (Dapchi Girls) wanted was an education, I pray we get them back safe and sound….. Its been 9days!!!! 

Nothing prepares you…

Nothing prepares you…

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Nothing prepares you for that knock on the door, that one thing which throws your world into a whirl storm.

There is no set manual which details- preparation for loss.
But, it doesn’t come as a shock either.

You’ve felt flutterings in your heart all morning, not the pleasant kind.
Your hand trembles as you lift the coffee cup to your lips.

You feel some type of way but you don’t know why…
soon enough- you do.

There’s a banging on the door. A body is framed in the doorway.
Your heart skips a beat, lips quiver,
no word is said but a silent motherly message passes across- from her to you.

She barges into the house, turns on the TV set. Her legs give way.
She collapses onto the couch.

You crash beside her, hands intertwined in each other’s. Holding onto the only thing you’ve got- hope.

A voice on the TV utters, “school under siege”.
All you hear: “our baby boys are under siege”.

Nothing prepares you for that knock on the door. When your world as you know it- is thrown into a storm.

My Father-

My Father-

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My father…
What isn’t there to say,
About the man, whose voice
Carried a coldness, akin to the
December weather.

His footsteps-
you could swear left
imprints, on the cold hard
Impenetrable ground.

And his eyes,
had a constantly hovering
Guard of beetle black hair
Furrowed above them. Like a
Permanent tattoo.

He stood ramrod straight,
And spoke in an untremulous way.
He was the dictionary definition of
“Head of the household”.

Then- mama found a place
Amongst the soil,
Six feet under- enshrouded
In white.

His shoulders slopped,
His eyes sacked,
His voice lost the arid detachment
It was famous for… His footsteps,
Barely audible.

And I learnt,
Even a mountain requires
A solid ground to build up on.
Without it- it’d crumble.
My father lost his solid ground.